Melbourne: March 11th to 16th

The Unwins, mum and dad Mary and Ian and kids Nick (20) and Clare (19), are old family friends of ours, though it might have been a decade since I saw them last. Mary incredibly kindly offers to pick me up at the ungodly hour of seven in the morning from Melbourne's bus station but before I get to meet her, something lovely happens. Alex is waiting on the platform outside my bus. We stare disbelievingly at each other for a second before running into a hug. It's like seeing an old friend and as soon as we open our mouths, the words can't come out fast enough. He is on his was back to Sydney after an adventure in the outback. But alas, twenty minutes later and it is seven am and time to meet Mary. We embrace again and I feel a hit of sadness as I leave him to board his coach.

I find Mary outside and she drives me back to her family's beautiful house in the suburb of Hawethorne. We go out for what is probably one of the best breakfasts I have ever had at a cafe before I take the tram into the city -Melbourne is set apart amongst Australian cities for its efficient and extensive tram network- and potter around the CBD for a while. The city has, at first look, a more European flavour. The buildings seem older, in some street leaning towards
one another like those of Paris or Amsterdam. I spend the afternoon with Nicole, an amiable and helpful travel agent for Student Flights. She books my upcoming epic train journey- the three day Indian Pacific from Perth to Sydney.

When I return home I meet Clare for the first time. If ever there was a more smiley, welcoming person, I should like to meet them. Ian take Clare, Nick and I out for dinner before we ariive at Melbourne Town Hall where we are to see comedian Ross Noble as part of the city's annual Comedy Festival. A British comedian was a good choice as it means I do not have to sit and look bewildered through two hours of jibes at politicians I have never heard of. Needless to
say, it is very funny and lying in my huge bed later that night I reflect on how nice it is to be absorbed into a family for a while.

The next day I receive an e-mail first thing from a young Melbournite named Sam. Sam, like me, is a member of the traveller's website couchsurfing.com, a network of over 40,000 travellers from countries all over the world. Seeing that I am in Melbourne, Sam messaged me offering to show me around his home town. I meet him in the CBD, he sits reading Bronte on a bench, and after a quick whiz around a supermarket for chips and juice we head out to the Botanic Gardens. We climb up a warm memorial for a panoramic view of the city. Melbourne's heart is an organised, well thought out hub of business and entertainment, but like every other city it sits, muted by a haze that is an unavoidable reminder of pollution and population. Though the vista is a fine one, I think wistfully for a moment of the view from Glastonbury Tor, where the only thing that stops you from seeing the entire world in crystal clear is the curvature of
the Earth.

We stroll to the Gardens. These are not as striking as their Sydney counterparts, most likely due to a lack of water, but Sam takes me to a quiet shady spot and we lie on our stomachs like teenage girls and talk the afternoon away. We share lists of music, discuss our mutual admiration of Regina Spektor and Nietzche. and muse on the subjects of poetry, adolescence, and whether my admiration for Shakespeare is simply a patriotic bias. Sam is vastly intelligent,
soft-spoke, and funny. He has the pleasing air of one who has acquired self-assurance through years of life's trials and errors. Too soon the afternoon is disappearing, but before he must return to study he takes me to a hidden bookshop I would never have found any other way and selects a favourite volume of poems and reads one aloud to me. Never in my life have I heard a poem read in such a way, and for a moment my breath catches in my throat. I tell Sam
never to read me poetry again or I would have to marry him. He laughs and we embrace goodbye.

After he is gone I buy the book and walk down to the river side to read. I sit on the grass banks of the Yarra near the big twinkling ferriswheel that turns slowly to the soundtrack of childish screams and a city winding down after work. A guy and a girl, both dressed punki-ishly, are sitting in front of me by the water. He walks teeteringly along the edge, kicking stones and squinting at the setting sun. Every time he turns his head away, his female companion
pulls out a camera and swiftly photographs him before hurridly thrusting the camera back in her bag before he sees. I do not know whether he is camera shy or whether perhaps she harbours feelings for him he knows nothing of, but whatever the reason for this secret display of affection, I am oddly touched by it. Back at home, Clare and I watch amusing Internet cartoons together before I fall asleep quickly in Melbourne's most comfortable bed.

The next day is Saturday. Footie day. This afternoon the teams of Carlton and Essendon (carn Bombers!) will play Aussie rules football together and we are lucky enough to be going. First though, the two of us take a road trip to Saint Kilda, a slightly bohemian seaside suburb. The main street here reminds me somewhat of Newtown back in Sydney but with far more cake shops and palm trees. We have some delicious eggs and then wander up and down, browsing the stores before making out way to the beach; a long, skinny strip of dirty sand lapped at half-heartedly by a calm, distinctly Isle-Of-Wight-ish sea. Perhaps better viewed from a distance, Saint Kilda beach is not the world's most beautiful, and removal of shoes is at the risk of being stuck by a syringe in the sand. Clare and I pass an amusing half-hour poking at the numerous dead jelly fish before it is time to get home and get ready for the game. Sitting on a train packed with eager footie fans on the way to Melbourne's famous stadium, the MCG, and hour later, it
is impossible to not feel a sense of anticipation. The MCG is huge and today around 65,000 people are sitting in it. Ian, Clare and I take our seats and I realise I have absolutely no idea what the rules are. Clare gives me an outline- there are four posts at each end, get the ball between the outer ones for one point, and between the inner ones for six points. Kicking the ball is the only way to score, though the players can punt it to one another if they wish. By
the time it starts the rules hardly matter, this game is fast and fun. Watching fifteen guys in tight short shorts running around is not a bad way to pass an afternoon. We have beer and snacks and cheer and boo loudly, clapping on Essendon. Sadly, as Ian puts it, they manage to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory and Carlton are the winners. We return home long-faced to another lovely meal by Mary, before the Unwin family depart for another night of comedy and I catch up on my e-mails.

The following afternoon, after market browsing in the morning with Clare, I meet Sam again at a decent little bar called The European which, to my delight, sells pints instead of schooners. We are the first to arrive of a gang of Melbourne couchsurfers who are meeting today for the first time. We chat for over an hour before Jess, a smart, friendly and inquisitive young local arrives, followed by the serious but passionate Joao from Portugal, warm and funny local Alisdair, cool cat and meet organiser Stu, fun twosome Naomi and Yuku, and jovial Scott, and English motor
biker. The party is vocal and friendly and welcoming banter flips back and forth as we all explore each other's personalities. Sam asks if I would like to join him to eat and so, four hours after we first meet and with several offers of free accommodation in Melbourne, we go out for noodles. I am incredibly sorry to part with my newest friend this evening, rarely is talking so easy with new people, but that's travelling; you meet people, you get to know them, then just as you become good friends you leave and start the process all over again.

The next morning Mary drives me to the airport for my flight back to Sydney. When I arrive I meet Nicky, Steve, and Eli at the excellent Hyde Park swimming pool. It is truly good to see them. The following day is Tuesday and so karaoke. I finally get to introduce Justine and Eli, and the three of us plus the wonderful Anabelle -also from UTS- burst ear drums with a tuneless rendition of Avril Lavigne's 'Complicated'. It is strange how, 10,000 miles from
Bridport, I can still feel like I am home.