Coming Home

Melbourne! A city I once knew so well, now a culture shock.

It is very strange after being away ten years apart from an occasional visit, the last one 12 months ago. But here I am. In a place once familiar and now almost surreal.

I can see now why Melbourne is seen by other Australians, as the staid city. The grand old lady of the south. I've been here a week now, working away all day and seeing the occasional friend at night.

Today I ventured out of the apartment in the daytime. I stood on Bourke Street and watched the small crowds of Melbournians go about their daily business. Middle-aged ladies, probably younger than myself, wearing neat little jackets in faded primary colors, with brooches. Impeccably groomed. I felt as if I was in the twilight zone. And not inappropriately. Whilst having breakfast earlier, I'd turned on the TV, and after flicking away from the children's shows which seemed to have a monopoly on the morning airwaves, I came upon an "adult" show - "Seventy Seven Sunset Strip". Oh how simple the world once was when everyone was in black and white!

But back to Bourke Street. I stood waiting for a tram with the well-dressed ladies. In the far distance I could see five trams waiting in a line at an intersection four long blocks away. They were waiting for cars doing the famous left-handed right hand hook turn that confuses strangers to Melbourne's CBD. I smiled at the lady with the bright blue jacket wearing a Mona Lisa brooch carefully pinned on her lapel. She graciously dained to smile back. Together we waited for the distant car to free the trams.

The twilight zone, Sunset Strip, the brooches, the carefully groomed hair. Schoolgirls in uniform wearing hats. What year was this?

But suddenly from the 1950's I was transported to the nineteen seventies. The long awaited tram arrived, glorious in its seventies colors of blue, yellow and bright green. People clutched at the vibrant Amazon parrot-colored ceiling straps. Shiny kindergarten blue seats vied with the orange and yellow walls for attention. I was reminded of Lego sets ... and what else ... oh yes, the Rubik Cube, who has been reborn giant-sized in Melbourne's Exhibition Gardens. I felt a little like Alice in Wonderland transported from Seventy Seven Sunset Strip to Play School.

On the tram. Surrounded by yobbos, ladies with brooches and a few old diggers I just had to marvel at what makes this city unique. I alighted at Elizabeth Street. So royal are we Melbournians! And decided to people watch. The people in the street could only be Australians. I stared. What was it about them that made them so obviously Australian.

OK the men mostly had beer bellies or alternatively looked like they were on day release from heroin addiction support centers ... but it wasn't just that. What was it?

The walk I decided. I watched carefully at my fellow Australians making their way to and from the office. They were "loping" along.

Americans tend to walk from the hips, arms swinging. Power walking. Suddenly the Elizabeth Street people started to look like Irish dancers; arms straight at the sides, walking from the upper thighs. Loping along in no particular hurry.

I glanced down at my arms. They were swinging a little. I tried to suppress this American tendency and to Irish jig along with the rest of my countrymen.

And so to Carlton. Lygon Street where Aussies take it easy in sidewalk cafes, drinking Shiraz whilst hard working Italian waiters make a pretentious point of saying 'grazie' and 'ciao'. Prego I dutifully replied as I joined the lucky country throng with a latté for the ten o'clock coffee break.

No ladies with brooches here. Carlton, once a university suburb is now populated by burnt-out boomers in decreasing numbers, and young health fanatics who ride bikes, drink latté with soy and wear ergonomically correct bicycle helmets. Only the Italians remain unchanged.

I met my friend. We settled on one of the endless stream of outside cafes. It was hard to get a seat. January in Melbourne is still holiday time.

Prego again for the latté We sat in the sun; the smell of smoke from the bushfires lingered in the air. Next to us a table of chalkies sat sipping coffees and complaining about Bush.

After the umpteenth 'prego' of the morning, my friend, like many of my old mates, asked me about guns in America. I tried to explain that I knew no one with a gun. "But every third American has a gun in his pocket", she explained to me. Oh well, I changed the subject.

At least she wasn't wearing a brooch....

Kate Juliff
Melbourne
February 2003