Melbourne is a City for Lovers ... And it Stinks!

Have you ever noticed that when you're heart is broken all of a sudden the entire world is in love? Melbourne is fraught with couples hand in hand, young families glowing with familial love and senior citizens basically fornicating in public parks. Never before was I a girl who noted these things, let alone disdained them, but that all changed. With my wounds still gaping and raw from my love lost, the salt of others happy endeavors feels like grains being dropped into those war wounds one at a time. Bitter? I hope not. Dramatic? Most definitely. Sad. No Doubt. But alas, when in travel, as in in life you are expected to keep your head up, pretend those annoyances of life do not exist and march on...

After the underwear debacle in Fed Square I managed to put on my most suitable homeless lesbian ensemble, meaning everything I own all at once, and headed out on the town. Out on the town meant Elephant and Wheelbarrow, which seems to be two parts English pub one part Disco.

We immediately procured two local brews and set up shop at one of the picnic tables in their outdoor section. Between billows of cigarette smoke we managed to chat for a bit, before meeting our male counterparts for the evening. Rob and Liam were simply looking for an open seat, but little did they know they had just made American friends – at least for the evening.

Rob, an Abercrobie model in the making with golden locks and big innocent blue eyes immediately took a liking to Jackie. Liam, his brunette and pierced companion was left to wing man it out with me. As Rob attempted to charm the pants off of Jackie – literally – Liam recounted his tales of a recent visit to America to me with flash and fervor. Live music was being played upstairs and we made our way up the steep staircase to find a cover band and a sea of Aussies rocking out to American classics. By classics I mean Blink 182 and Eagle Eye Cherry. It was like high school all over again with a disco ball illuminating the eager crowd.

After the boys were kicked out of the bar for some mysterious reason we made our way down the block to yet another bar with yet another cover band. It seems that the money for entertainment here is invested in actual musicians as opposed to juke boxes or a dude with a laptop and and iTunes playlist. Refreshing - gold star for Australia! We danced the night away to some untapped female talent belting out Bruno Mars and Katy Perry as I tried my best to be the ultimate wing woman. This role is a delicate balance as you have to be around in case she wants you to save her and you have to make yourself scarce in case she wants to get busy. The signs are hard to read and I did my best to be present but not too present. It was once Rob became too inebriated and too frustrated with his stunted progress with the 6-foot tall blonde of his desire that he chose to confide in me about his love woes. Something about me makes people feel comfortable telling their sad tales. One of my many talents, I suppose. As we commiserated I felt incredibly old – and incredibly human.

The night was cut short as the rain came in and we parted ways with our boyfriends for the evening promising to meet up the following day at St. Kilda’s Festival – a huge weekend-long music festival held in Melbourne annually and the reason for our moves down South rather than West as we had originally planned. The weather was perfect as Jackie caught the tram out to the Docklands to meet a friend from her previous travels for brunch and I visited a local craft fair where I managed to pick up a couple gifts for loved ones back and home and ate breakfast by the river. Sitting in silence in the sun is perhaps one of the greatest things on earth.

After managing to get a handle on the public trasport here in Melbourne I met back up with Jackie in the late afternoon at St. Kilda. This is basically blocks of a big street party leading to a series of stages with free music situated right on the ocean. It is almost too good to be true. We had arranged to meet at the Latin tent and Jackie managed to dance a couple salsas and I managed to locate a short Hispanic man yelling out ‘Wepa’ before we headed deeper into the belly of the beast. The blue grass tent had Quarry Mountain Dead Rats and the main stage offered the musical talents of Ash Grunwald and Bluejuice. Jackie had yet another friend to meet so we took the 16A tram back into the city so she could have dinner with him and I could drive the car in circles for an hour, take a quick cat nap and pick her up before driving back out to Docklands where we would make our home for the night – in the frigid car alongside the ocean.

These car nights always have me up at the crack of dawn, and with few options and nature calling – sometimes pissing in a gutter. Not my finest moment, Ill admit – especially since after the sun rose and I went on my morning run along the water I saw a public restroom was not but 150 meters from our car. Oh well.

Today’s task was the Great Ocean Road that provides some great ocean and a lot of road. Thank god I was in the driver’s seat (as I have been 99% of this trip) as we traversed the PCH of the Southern Hemisphere because I would mos def have relived the days of my childhood trips up to Lake Tahoe, and blown chunks all over our cute little hatchback otherwise. With a couple fantastic views of the crashing waves we landed in Apollo Bay for a zen-like nap on the beach and some overpriced noodles. Noodles were chosen because it seems the custom in this country to close between lunch and dinner – ie the time we usually eat our meals and the noodle house was open, so it won by default. How is it not possible that people don’t see the money making opportunity in being available for business between the hours of 3 and 6? Or is that just the New York hustler in me? But I digress…

En route to Port Campbell, our arbitraty destination for the evening, I managed to scare off a flock of sheep and met two cows who could not have possibly cared less about my presence. The barnyard highlight of the day, however, was spotting the wild kangaroos the freeway. You fear for their safety when you see them grazing along the paved roads– but it is also a reminder that you are not driving along the coast of Central California and that in itself if thrilling.

When the sun began to hang low in the sky and the ocean became frothy with it’s early evening tide we made our way to the 12 Apostles, a series of large limestone formations – of which there are not 12 – that stand in the ocean and evidently were once considered a wonder of the world. I have to admit, I can understand why. There is no way any photos I took of the tourist attraction do justice to the beauty of mist surrouning the bases of these mammouth tan structures. It was awe inspiring, but the awe was quickly forgotten as some French bitch clearly looking to expand her portfolio not so politely asked me to step aside so she could take yet another photo of herself in Gucci knock-off shades and a red windbreaker leaning against the safety railing in front of the rocks. Tourists!

Not 30 minutes later you come upon a town called Port Campbell which at first seems fairly underwhelming – but once you drive inside you see it is a charming little town with cute hostels and shops and a fantastic view of the sunset over the ocean. We feasted on peanut butter and crackers while watching the sunset and then headed back to Port Campbell Hostel to escape the increasing chill in the air and to take advantage of a lodging, at least for the evening....

Melbourne and the VPL

With our hostel located on Flinders, we had prime access to all of the hotspots. All of the hotspots we could not afford. That being said, we had seen a poster for Motown Thursdays a few blocks up from us and decided after checking into our swank suite that we would clean up a bit and head out there. As I rolled into Melbourne I was full of energy and ready for what this new city had to offer. As the hours passed I became increasingly sleepy and had to drag my ass out to da club.

Last summer (in North America) I had the opportunity to shoot something for Nike at which I met some amazing people from all over the globe. When I knew for certain that I would be coming to Oz, I got in touch with the man I had met from Melbourne. This means I know exactly 1 person in all of Australia. So what are the chances of, not 10 minutes after stepping out of Greenhouse Backpackers hostel and hitting the streets did I spot someone who looked suspiciously familiar dining at a local restaurant. I backtracked, and lo and behold – it was Andy. We chatted with he and his wife and dinner companions and promised to get in contact again in the next couple of days, while we are still here.

My head still dizzy from the strange coincidence and we made our way to Motown, only to discover we couldn’t figure out where it was. Or how to get in. Or what was going on. Upon closer inspection it appeared to be an office building. Confused and dismayed we wandered – a task at which I am a black belt now. The weather was comfortable and the city was enchanting. It made me excited to see it in the daylight.

Well, the daylight diminished the enchanting part, but the perfect Friday weather and readily available public art and diverse population set the ideal backdrop for some more wandering. Free brekky at the hostel consumed with fervor and and we were out the door – in canvassed foot to drop off some more postcards US bound and head to Queen Victoria’s Market where any number of cheeses, fruit or pies can be sampled. Having seen the Australian penchant for pie Jacks and I had agreed to sample the local fare and were not disappointed when trying the Thai Chicken Pie at the market. It was the only pie with no cheese or cream (per my request) and although it was a little ‘saucy’ for me I had a couple bites, and I would potentially have a couple more.

The market also offered any number of unnecessary knickknacks located at most of the markets located across the globe. Phone chargers, kitchenware, Australian beach towels and bras only your obese grandmother would be in need of lined rows of stalls as far as the eye could see.

I am not sure why, but I seem to have been particularly exhausted on this trip – perhaps the emotional turmoil carried over from home exacerbates as you cross time zones. With not a cloud in the sky we stopped for a rest in Flagstaff park before a long walk over to the supposedly hip neighborhood of Kinsey.

Exhausted from the sun, the walking and the lack of proper nutrition I ended up at the hostel getting my Wifi fix. Man, I am old.

When Jackie came back to meet me, Anzac Biscuits in hand, she wavered back and forth between whether or not tonight should be a dine out or dine in evening. Functioning on a tight budget in what has to be the most expensive place on the planet has made editing essential. This means from time to time food and lodging simply don’t make the cut. Finally, she decided we could rally, run a brush through our respective heads of hair and makes moves to DeGraves street, located not far from our hostel and known for its outdoor eateries and lively social scene. We decided on a bustling Italian restaurant based largely on budget and, although I knew better than to eat Italian food down here, I purchased and consumed yet another unsatisfactory meal. Luckily, this time the atmosphere made it all worthwhile.

As a visual artist, people watching is one of my favorite activities – especially when traveling. We were seated next to a junior Aussie version of Sex And The City ready to rock the town, eventhough I am almost they were old enough to order a cosmo. I found their awkward style and cherubic faces slathered in makeup to be endearing and although there was not a wrinkle or grey hair at their 4 top – I did not envy their exposed bra straps and precarious heel posture one bit. It was while situated in this busy marketplace that I came to the conclusion that down here granny panties are all the rage and whether you’re rocking Dockers or Herve Leger – a visible panty line is A-ok. Well, my uptight American ass disagrees and would like to impart some wisdom to the women of Oz – buy a thong; purchase some shape wear; have a girlfriend look at your ass in your clubbing dress before heading out to pain the town red. I mean, its just simple logic…

Some late night strolling took place and some Australian magazine racks were perused before heading back to our new bunk on the 3^rd floor that smells of sweat socks, stale food and Axe body spray. It almost made me long for the days at San Francisco State University where dorm life allowed me to live most of my life in pajamas.

The next morning was a running morning for me and I did so along the river and over to Southbank. I was privelaged enough to watch the early morning rowers and feel the early morning rays beaming down upon me. The quiet and solitutde of running makes it such an ideal sport for both body and mind, and when immersed in beautiful scenery you cannot go wrong.

After reconnecting with my travel companion, we decided to once again cross over to Southbank, grab some breakfast and head to one of the free museums we’d read about. Being a part of the Pacific Rim, it seems that all things Asian are big in Australia as well, and this in no way excluds Chinese New Year, a celebration for which Jackie and I found ourselves immersed in. Having regretted eating my low fat muffin when I saw the fried delicacies featured at the festival, I persevered and we moved on to a Travel Expo located in the Exhibition Center where we received free tote bags and the allure of more untapped countries.

Finally ,we made it to ACCA – the Australian Center for Contemporary Art – where ‘Desire Lines’ was currently showing. This exhibition consisted largely of quirky video installations. There was a pleasant trans in their strange monotony – but, in my humble opinion, they were art only a mother could love.

Over to Queen Victoria Botanic Gardens for another break in the shade and some light coversation about religion, love and the meaning of life and we were on our way to yet another museum - NVA. The National Gallery of Victoria is a large imposing building that in itself is worth a visit. The architecture – as it is in much of Melbourne – is both striking and beautiful and after checking out the costume exhibit of ballet costumes and swinging by the café, where lone apples could be purchased for a mere $2.50 – we were back across the river to Greenhouse Backpackers to make a homeless dinner of scrambled eggs, red peppers and boiled sweet potatoes.Yum!

Dinner was surprisingly satisfying it was a quick turnaround back out into the world and into Fed Square – where free wifi is promised and not in any way shape or form delivered. Luckily we were provided entertainment from the locals as Jackie and I scoped out two prime deck chairs in the middle of the expansive square and made our way over to recline. It was in mid recline that a woman, likely in her late 40s or early 50s literally asked me if I was wearing underwear. I will admit I wore a dress that is perhaps too short for my advancing age, but my legs are still on point and it was easy to pack so I didn't pay it much mind. I had even gone so far as to do as the natives do and wear full-assed underwear as to spare any passerby from having to come face to face with my lady bits. This was not enough for the woman. I, seated, lifted up the side of my dress to show her my purple chonies. Still not enough –  I stood, lifted my dress and pulled my underwear down to an acceptable cheek level for this balsy Aussie. Appeased, she relaxed and seemed content with the now placement of my undergarment. I am uncertain as to whether it was her brazen question or my full rear nudity in public that was more distasteful or offensive. I’ll let you be the judge.

Who knows what else this night will entail...