The arrival
We are in Melbourne.
We are Adam - my partner in adventure, love and writing, Pearl - my loyal and furry friend in walks and pats, and me - my distracted and inescapable companion in everything.
It is now months since we packed up the ute in Broome and drove it across the country. After ten years of trekking around the beautiful Kimberley, moving to a big city has been unworldly. Not only because the scrub and the red dirt have been replaced by bitumen and graffiti covered brickwork, but because Melbourne is like no city I have ever experienced.
It is cold in Melbourne. It’s true what they say. It was not long before my thongs and shapeless pindan shorts were binned and replaced with leather boots, thermals, jumpers, coats, scarves and a snow hat. I am looking quite smart now, especially since I started work. I am a smartly dressed michelin man, or woman.
We are living in Northcote. We call this suburb ‘The Spelt Belt’. If you’re into spelt, activated, sour dough, bio-dynamic, organic, raw superfood, this is the place to be. A constant tide of locals sweep through the narrow isles of the local organic food store like a tsunami. It is a labyrinth that must be navigated strategically because if you miss the sour dough loaves at the first bend, there is no turning back, unless you want to get stuck in the coconut charcoal cul de sac for hours.
The suburb is a grid of tightly packed terrace houses, divided up by secret cobblestone laneways. The front yards are small and packed with bikes, toys, bins, chickens, cats and gardens. I assume all those things are out the front because like our house, there is no room inside for anything apart from the inhabitants.
I love our house. It is our own private little square of space in a big city. We are borrowing this house from a good friend so it comes pre loved, with her collections of books and records and spices and lamps and chairs. We cook feasts from turmeric stained pages and pack our clothes into soap scented drawers, and when it warms up, we will walk around the house naked.
On this morning however, my weather app says it is three degrees. Pearly is wound up like a mosquito coil on the lamb’s wool rug. The tips of her ears are freezing because the heater hasn’t kicked in yet, so I blow on them to heat them up. Adam is sitting in the backyard in the dark, as he always does, drinking his coffee and reading the Guardian. His old man slippers are tapping to the rhythm of something. I go out to tell him the news,
‘Three degrees it says! But feels like 0.2! No shit! Pearl’s ears are like fucking ice cubes!’ I don’t wait for a response and walk straight back inside.
The trains are honking regularly now, it must be six o’clock. I can hear them coming from a suburb away, rumbling up the track and past our back fence. Then a big honk and a ding! ding! ding! as the gates close at the crossing. All the Northcote workers will jump inside, wrapped up like packages, find a place to stand, and then look at their phones. I know that because in an hour, I will be on that train too.
But I will not be looking at my phone. I am still fuelled by the curiosity of the excited newcomer. I will be spotting the communal food gardens that have sprung up along the train line, the vast works of graffiti that colour the walls of houses and industrial blocks from Collingwood to Balaclava, and the dog parks and reserves that were once garbage tips.
These are some of the little pockets of activity that are making me happy. They are pockets of community, signs that the people who live here are connected to their space, active in it, and proud of it. I thought I had left all that. But it’s here. It’s everywhere.
There’s a sense of freedom about Melbourne, a freedom to claim and transform the bland spaces with creative energy. It is not self-conscious and it gives this city the unpredictable personality that makes you want to step into it and discover.
The first week we arrived, Adam and I were wandering through the city when we spied a busker wearing a big panda head and playing the drums. He banged away like he was just wearing a regular hat.
‘Not another drummer with a panda head!’ said Adam
‘Oh Melbourne!’, I said.
On this morning, I will warm the cockles of my heart with the porridge that Adam has made me, brace myself, and step into that cold. The street lights are still on as I rush towards the station. The clouds are low and I am wrapped up like a package. You’d call it bleak, if you were feeling that way. As I pass through the little reserve at the end of my street, I am glad to see the lady reading a book is there again.
‘Good morning!’ I say, and do a little skip.