While back in the US I rediscover old grammar school paperwork that provides early evidence of my fondness for sailboats and an interview by a fellow 4th-grader stating my ‘deep desire’ to visit Australia. And although I’ve yet to see any ‘marsoupeels’ or become a ‘mareen biolojist,’ I still don’t consider myself all ‘growd up.’ Isn’t it fascinating how much clearer your ambitions are when you’re young? Either way, this confirms my lifelong fascination with visiting the land Down Under.

En route I get yet another Quad-S on my boarding pass, but survive the extra inspection without having to remove my pants and manage to board the plane in time. I finally cross the Equator (and by chance the International Date Line at exactly the same time), and my first glimpses of Australia out the tiny plane window are exquisite. Pat and Ron pull out all the stops literally giving me the red carpet treatment upon arrival at their long standing family home in the suburbs of Melbourne. What an introduction!  

Despite all the hoopla surrounding my arrival, it is appropriately eclipsed by the arrival of the newest family member, Isaac, born in the final minutes of December 1st. The day after picking us up, Clare’s parents return to the airport for a flight to Brisbane to visit their first grandchild. Within the month we’ll all be up north where the weather is warmer (still getting used to that concept), but wait, isn’t it summer now?

Melbourne lives up to its reputation of four-seasons-in-one-day sending Clare and I to the thrift shop in hunt of long pants, wool jumpers, and extra socks. Sufficiently clothed, we can now visit Clare’s home city with a speedy tour of her old flats and haunts, and all the bars that served under-aged students 🙂 She even calls on long-time friends for tour-guide assistance, and during one overnight stay we explore the city’s renowned back-alley cafes and bars, some of which have ridiculously high standards for admittance. 

“Wha’d’ya mean I can’t come in?” I protest to the bouncer after regaining my footing from a sneaky curb that ambushed me on the walk across the street.

”Don’t worry about it mate,” Daniel takes my shoulder, “that guy always picks on foreigners.” 

He then guides us through a handful of turns and twists and leads us to a Chinese restaurant that has no sign, windows, or menu. We are ushered to seats in the sweltering, sticky room and within minutes plates of food crowd the table. I have no idea what we are eating, but we happily spring for seconds.

I confess that hitherto I underestimated the urban capabilities of Australia. Melbourne is a far bigger, varied, and vertical city than I imagined could exist in such a remote corner of the globe. The CBD is a blossoming garden of glass and steel sky-scrappers. The city’s botanical garden is vivacious with glorious skyline views to match. The central library is work of art and reflects the architecture citywide, a tastefully creative mix of classic and modern. And the city’s residents–no matter their description or preoccupation–all seem to wait at cross walks, weave through train stations, or stride across the broad boulevards with an air of dignified casualness, as if they are exactly when and where they are meant to be at all times A comfortable ballet of unhurried hustle.  

That doesn’t mean that the city is without its idiosyncrasies. There’s the death-defying crossing-all-lanes-and-directions-of-traffic-at-once ‘hook turns.’ Or the tram boarding stops smack in the middle of busy roads with no apparent pedestrian right-of-way. Or how it requires secret knowledge to order a simple coffee…since when do cappuccinos come with chocolate frosting?! 

On our way home we stumble into the iconic Federation Square which is hosting a bustling African festival. Large crowds weave through colorfully adorned booths pecking at food on sticks, while others clap along with djembe drum circles or cheer their favorite dancers on stage. The atmosphere is at once relaxed and lively, inspiring one to find a perch on a public stairway and tap along to the beat. And then within an hour Ron is picking us up from the train station back in the quaint SE suburbs and suddenly the vibrant city is–for better or worse–a world away.

All the same I look forward to being a passenger on an upcoming Jenkins’ family road trip. In the meantime, I’ll do my best to get used to the cars driving on the wrong side of the road, toilets draining backwards, and developing a taste for Vegemite…oh wait, I’ve already done that, gimme another Cheesymite!