Well, I finally made it back to Melbourne. It has been nice to come “home” to the familiar faces, sights and sounds. On my first day back, I took pleasure in wandering my neighbourhood to admire the spring foliage and sweet smell of blossoms. It comforted me to go to crowded Victoria Market and hear the stall-keepers shouting their wares, “Mushrooms! Six dollars! Fresh mushrooms only six dollars a kilo! Get your mushrooms here!” Back at school, my community in law, around campus and at Graduate House greeted me with a hero’s welcome – I felt like an old friend who was dearly missed.
Ever since I arrived in July, people kept telling me, “Oh, just wait until the summer – it is amazing.” Back then, it was hard to imagine what they were talking about. Just as in Canada, it is hard to imagine the lushness of summer when the weather is cold and dreary and all the trees are naked of leaves, looking like gnarled claws reaching for the sky. But then, unexpectedly, comes the vigour and promise of spring. On campus, stately rows of trees have burst forth with fresh green leaves, creating a canopy over walkways to shield us from the hot sun. On a warm Saturday night, Swanston Street downtown is full of crowds, all in skimpy dresses and short sleeves, wandering ever so much more slowly, languidly, enjoying the night. Then, the first Sunday at the beach in Brighton: it was so hot that the water felt refreshing even though it was the temperature of freshly melted icebergs. The Melbournians were right: this new season is amazing and you have to actually experience it to understand how lovely it is.
I’ve spent more time recently with real Australians, as opposed to other exchange students. Ramiz, a Melbournian who I met through a co-worker in Montreal, took me to Prahran for an afternoon of sangria and people-watching from a terrace in Chapel Street. Prahran is despised in some circles as being too fancy-schmancy but I thought it was interesting: the people all have interesting outfits, from grunge to fashionista, and the window shopping is to die for. You could spend a lot of money in Prahran but I wisely kept my wallet tucked away in my bag and enjoyed the pleasures of the neighbourhood without actually consuming them. Mid-way through our sangria, some mates of Ramiz’s passed by after their 9-to-5. They are a secret couple by office romance: co-workers by day and lovers by night. We all went for lovely evening of Thai food with BYO white wine.
At the dinner, I was reminded that Australian humour is very much based on “piss-taking” or teasing of other people. It seems the Aussies like to show that they care by “taking the piss” out of their mates or family. In particular, I’ve noticed this between couples when the boyfriend mercilessly teases the girlfriend, perhaps taking the jokes a bit too far but then saying that it is all in the name of fun. It amazes me that these women put up with it! I wrote in an earlier blog about Nick, the Australian sailor who loved Canadian women. He admired the Canuck ladies for their ability to be feminine feminists, that is, asserting their rights and not taking shit while still being lovely attractive women. I like to think that Nick’s description suits us Canadian women. And I guess my father can rest assured that I won’t be getting married to some piss-taking Aussie bloke and settling down here. I prefer my men a little sweeter!
Then, last Friday, I introduced the Texans to Steve, another Melbournian that I met through friends in Montreal. We sipped iced green tea and dined on Indian food in the early evening. When Matt and Kelly retired early (they had a camping trip the next day), Steve and I ventured to Brunswick Street and had a few excellent drinks at Polly, a cocktail bar. The place was opulently decorated with red velvet walls, chandeliers and low lighting. Steve observed that it was like being inside a vulva…whatever that means. The drinks list was enormous – about 50 specialty cocktails alongside all the other sundry beers, wines and mixed drinks. First, a round of mojitos: mine was pomegranate and Steve’s was mandarin orange. Later, I had a cocktail of gin, grapefruit and cherries while Steve indulgence in a Freudian Sip: absinthe and green apple with lemon and sugar. We continued down Brunswick and came upon an improptu gathering: a five-piece band was set up on the corner and jamming out some very groovy music. A crowd of mostly young men had assembled, spilling out onto the street, and they were all dancing like mad. I’ve never seen men, especially 20-somethings, dance like they do in Melbourne: this was no cool-duded swaying back and forth. It was all-out, footloose, hands-in-the-air, eyes-closed dancing. I like to call it the Melbourne Shuffle (although that is actually a dance – and not the one I’m describing here). To me, the Melbourne Shuffle is when a hot guy just goes wild on the dancefloor, not caring what anyone else thinks. Unfortunately, people did care when the cops turned up to break up the unauthorized street party. Steve and I moved on and soon called it a night, parting to go our separate ways.
I have many more Melbourne stories so stay tuned. In the meantime, I have to get to the library…final exams are coming up!
Ever since I arrived in July, people kept telling me, “Oh, just wait until the summer – it is amazing.” Back then, it was hard to imagine what they were talking about. Just as in Canada, it is hard to imagine the lushness of summer when the weather is cold and dreary and all the trees are naked of leaves, looking like gnarled claws reaching for the sky. But then, unexpectedly, comes the vigour and promise of spring. On campus, stately rows of trees have burst forth with fresh green leaves, creating a canopy over walkways to shield us from the hot sun. On a warm Saturday night, Swanston Street downtown is full of crowds, all in skimpy dresses and short sleeves, wandering ever so much more slowly, languidly, enjoying the night. Then, the first Sunday at the beach in Brighton: it was so hot that the water felt refreshing even though it was the temperature of freshly melted icebergs. The Melbournians were right: this new season is amazing and you have to actually experience it to understand how lovely it is.
I’ve spent more time recently with real Australians, as opposed to other exchange students. Ramiz, a Melbournian who I met through a co-worker in Montreal, took me to Prahran for an afternoon of sangria and people-watching from a terrace in Chapel Street. Prahran is despised in some circles as being too fancy-schmancy but I thought it was interesting: the people all have interesting outfits, from grunge to fashionista, and the window shopping is to die for. You could spend a lot of money in Prahran but I wisely kept my wallet tucked away in my bag and enjoyed the pleasures of the neighbourhood without actually consuming them. Mid-way through our sangria, some mates of Ramiz’s passed by after their 9-to-5. They are a secret couple by office romance: co-workers by day and lovers by night. We all went for lovely evening of Thai food with BYO white wine.
At the dinner, I was reminded that Australian humour is very much based on “piss-taking” or teasing of other people. It seems the Aussies like to show that they care by “taking the piss” out of their mates or family. In particular, I’ve noticed this between couples when the boyfriend mercilessly teases the girlfriend, perhaps taking the jokes a bit too far but then saying that it is all in the name of fun. It amazes me that these women put up with it! I wrote in an earlier blog about Nick, the Australian sailor who loved Canadian women. He admired the Canuck ladies for their ability to be feminine feminists, that is, asserting their rights and not taking shit while still being lovely attractive women. I like to think that Nick’s description suits us Canadian women. And I guess my father can rest assured that I won’t be getting married to some piss-taking Aussie bloke and settling down here. I prefer my men a little sweeter!
Then, last Friday, I introduced the Texans to Steve, another Melbournian that I met through friends in Montreal. We sipped iced green tea and dined on Indian food in the early evening. When Matt and Kelly retired early (they had a camping trip the next day), Steve and I ventured to Brunswick Street and had a few excellent drinks at Polly, a cocktail bar. The place was opulently decorated with red velvet walls, chandeliers and low lighting. Steve observed that it was like being inside a vulva…whatever that means. The drinks list was enormous – about 50 specialty cocktails alongside all the other sundry beers, wines and mixed drinks. First, a round of mojitos: mine was pomegranate and Steve’s was mandarin orange. Later, I had a cocktail of gin, grapefruit and cherries while Steve indulgence in a Freudian Sip: absinthe and green apple with lemon and sugar. We continued down Brunswick and came upon an improptu gathering: a five-piece band was set up on the corner and jamming out some very groovy music. A crowd of mostly young men had assembled, spilling out onto the street, and they were all dancing like mad. I’ve never seen men, especially 20-somethings, dance like they do in Melbourne: this was no cool-duded swaying back and forth. It was all-out, footloose, hands-in-the-air, eyes-closed dancing. I like to call it the Melbourne Shuffle (although that is actually a dance – and not the one I’m describing here). To me, the Melbourne Shuffle is when a hot guy just goes wild on the dancefloor, not caring what anyone else thinks. Unfortunately, people did care when the cops turned up to break up the unauthorized street party. Steve and I moved on and soon called it a night, parting to go our separate ways.
I have many more Melbourne stories so stay tuned. In the meantime, I have to get to the library…final exams are coming up!
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