Since returning home from my aforementioned Sydney sojourn I’ve been suffering a lingering bout of Melbourne malaise. There is something seriously liberating about being in a city where you know no one and each day presents an exciting question mark of possibility…
In contrast, the daily ritual (ahem) of work and a mounting pile of university readings calling my name is proving a tad dull. However, nobody likes a negative Nancy, so I’m going to word vomit up some highlights for you and then shut my trap once and for all about the joys of “living” (okay it was 6 weeks, not 6 months) in another state and concentrate on doing as the Latin phrase commands and seize the day. Promise.
Insane tortilla chip salad at El Loco that provided a counter argument to the claim that you don’t make friends with salad.
Ever the penny pincher I made a point of visiting the Surry Hills, Paddington, Bondi and Rozelle markets. Rozelle came through with delicious gozleme made by the Nonna I never had and a beautifully tailored wool trench coat I spent way too long deliberating about considering it was only $25.
Bondi Markets gets my tick of approval for an encounter that suggested that chivalry is still alive and well. A ridiculously good-looking stall holder forced $20 into my hand for coffee on him after my friends and I tried to make banter without turning beetroot by asking where a good place for a latte was. I later spotted him modelling the jumpers he was selling, here. Mr.Carter, if you’re reading this, do you want to go out with me? I know I live in Melbourne, but we can make it work, Tiger flights are really cheap these days!
Freshly squeezed apple juice and vodka at Shady Pines Saloon. The peanuts are free and liberally placed, just like the hipsters who frequent the place.
The 18th Biennale of Sydney launched during my stay and I was lucky enough to jump aboard the first ferry of the festival to Cockatoo Island to get some culture into me. My knowledge of contemporary art isn’t exactly vast but I guess that’s really the point of endeavours like the Biennale—they talk art out of the galleries and into accessible and innovative spaces where commoners like myself can interact with art so it becomes something other than just, well… that shit rich people buy for their lounge rooms. Cockatoo island was once the stomping ground of convicts and ship builders, very Shutter Island-esque. If you choose to go just don’t miss the last ferry back to the mainland because if you want to make it out alive…
Okay, I’m done now, not a word more of Sydney will be said. Melbourne’s not so bad, apparently we even have Miss Chu here too…. X