I should have hated Melbourne. It’s everything I say I hate – the CBD is heaving, bustling, as throngs of people traipse through Flinders Station and pour out into Fed Square. Bodies scurry through the city’s labyrinth of alleyways as people scour for velvety espressos topped with creamy milk and flaky croissants, perfect for dunking. Hole-in-the-wall style cafes hide around every twist and turn, boasting mouth-watering sandwiches ladened with pastrami and cheeses. There are crowds everywhere you turn, the gentle thundering of busy people with busy lives. This is a city that lives, loudly. And I hate cities.
Except, I don’t hate this one at all. I actually think I might love it here.
Surrounded by hoards of people, I should feel claustrophobic, the need to escape to somewhere peaceful clawing through my mind. But, instead, I feel like I belong. I enjoy the sensation of being pulled along with the masses as they go about their day-to-day lives, completely alone while simultaneously feeling like I’m part of some sort of community of people who are also alone. It’s hard to deny that there’s just something about Melbourne CBD that’s unequivocally charming and undeniably intoxicating.
I don’t spend all my time here though. Even though I confess to having a newfound love for the bustle of the beating heart of a city, I couldn’t ‘live’ here. Instead, I find myself staying in one of Melbourne’s many suburbs: Brunswick. We picked our Airbnb for one sole reason – Harvey, the abominally behaved Border Collie. I don’t know about you, but when I’m searching for a cheap place to bunk for a few weeks, if there’s a dog featured in the ad, 11/10 times I’m picking that house. You have to share a tiny bed with your friend and the place with four random cricket lads, oh and there’s only one disgusting bathroom between the six of you? No problem, as long as I can walk the dog.
I digress…
We arrived in Melbourne disorientated, grumpy and tired, after travelling from Bali. Wrestling stinking backpacks onto sunburned shoulders, we headed out into the balmy Melbourne weather to find our home for the next few weeks. I don’t remember a lot of the details of that first day except we walked for, what felt like, hours past numerous Woolies and along tram lines. Ornate and distinctly Australian houses lined wide, leafy suburb streets and artistic graffiti cropped up on street side walls, only adding to the ambience. Our house was somewhere between Brunswick and East Brunswick, about a 30-minute walk from Main Street, and only 5 minutes from a local tram stop, which would have been great to know before our seemingly endless trek in the first place.
The house was surprisingly underwhelming. I don’t know how to explain some Aussie interiors but they have this old-fashioned, brown vibe. Like they built them in the 70s and then never thought to update them, because they’re too busy actually enjoying life outdoors to be bothered with something so frivolous as modern decor. It’s a pretty good mindset when you think about it.
It transpired we were living with three Brits and one Aussie. And Harvey, of course. From a very awkward intro, which left us with our hopes of a fun-filled few weeks together in shambles, to drunken nights and endless chats until the early hours, Sutherland Street started to feel like a home away from home. We trekked to the 1000 steps, a 50-minute drive from the CBD, stopping en route to watch with trepidation as a herd of kangaroos munched on grass in the middle of nowhere. We sipped coffees at one of the many hipster joints in Saint Kilda’s but avoided the beach, still bummed about the lack of Australian sunshine in Melbourne. We went to pub quizzes and drank our body weight in cheap wine, the 15-minute walk home turning into a two-hour blur that we’ll never get to the bottom of.
I meandered alone through the streets of the CBD, strolled along the Yarra River, sipped cheap fizz in the port, and ate some of the best brunches I’ve ever had at Green’s Cafe in Brunswick. I faced real, genuine, horror at the price of peppers in the supermarket, and never got my head around alcohol being sold in a separate store within the main store. At an exorbitant cost, I might add. I spent my days enjoying the city’s idiosyncrasies and learning the quirks that made Melbourne, well, Melbourne.
Nothing really happened while I was there. I’ve got no grand story to share, a tale so epic that I bring it out at every party. No, the weeks flew by and things were very steady as we slipped into a gentle rhythm of everyday life. And that’s why I loved it, it’s why I still love it and why I talk about Melbourne with such fondness to anyone who will listen – because it felt like home. For the first time in my life, I found myself relaxing into the very being of a place and I could see a life there, a life that I not only fit into but also would cherish. And after a lifetime of never really feeling like I was in the right place – suddenly finding it in a city halfway across the world, well that’s a feeling you never stop chasing.
After all, home is where the heart is. And my heart, well, it’s in Melbourne.
So, until we meet again.
X
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