Mad Traffic and the Golden Yarra
Lying in my bed at Nomads All Nations Hostel Melbourne. Not only has pedestrain density met critical mass but the mass is a fast moving wave of multiculural abundance. The other day I saw two middle-aged men collide. Wow. Melbourne has always struck me as the gold-repping palm-slapping sidewinding boss of cities. First impressions proved true to this premonition. But then I got a little deeper.
A trip to St Kilda showed the golden handshakes “Chill” side. Met with my friend Kanadia, a fleece wearing South African who peddled handmade jewellery. My friend said the Melbourne council wouldn’t allow him to hustle his wares in the CBD but recommended he try St. Kilda. I hadnt yet got my busking licence so decided a spot of lo-fi street rally would go down well. Now the urban free-wheeling beef burger of a city had some funky bbq sauce.
A mad hippy-roadie from california named Juliana told me I would like Fitzroy. She always had a habit of getting just slightly too personal, like she was a 5 year old coloring in, she would cross the line sometimes. So basically I trusted her.The place was the nightmare suburb of my dreams. Slippy trance. The DIYesque architecture, the eccentrically twisted graff-art and the Goths. Australian Psycho. This suave yuppie has a dark inner child. The shipwrecks beneath the golden Yarra.
After a night of partying a lovely girl from Wales and I had agreed to go to the Victoria market together. The helpful crew at All Nations backpackers Hostel reception gave us directions. The market was immense. The mad traffic was back. But we couldnt marketeer on empty morning after stomachs so we called into a Pizza shop on the corner of Peel and Victoria street. Aptly recommended by a friendly longterm backpacker staying at All Nations backpackers Hostel who said it had good quality to value ratio. I ate half of my Narnianly epic “large – lot” pizza and carryied the rest around with me eating pieces while walking, true kiwi tourist style.
The market was full of knacks ranging from fresh fruit to novelty belt buckles. I heard the high, harrowing and awe-inspiring call of a Maori Kuia (female elder), and I said to my friend, I think that there is a New Zealand section in the market. We followed the calls. Alas, It turned out to be a crazy young indian banana salesman, mad-eyed, and yelling “bananabananabananabanana” over and over, really fast. Well done Melbourne.Great job!
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