The Archive

Lord of the flies

Ok, first real day in Melbourne so I did what I normally do, which is walk for miles and miles and miles around the city just trying to get a feel for the place.

And what have I discovered? It's big. And my feet hurt.

Actually, it's kind of interesting architecturally (God, did I really write that? I'm so sorry everybody. Don't worry, it'll be back to brothels and boozing tomorrow). It's got a number of high rise, proper-city buildings, but also a lot of older, lower buildings that look a bit like something out of the Old West.

Oh, that really wasn't interesting at all was it?

Ok, how about this. One thing I've noticed about the place is the total lack of aborigines. Now if I was an aborigine, I'd realise I am a walking, talking tourist attraction and European tourists would pay good money to hear me hum tunelessly down a length of painted drainpipe.

"oh wow, it's, like, almost spiritual. Totally in tune with nature and the universe. I think I'll give him money, which he will proceed to spend on Jack Daniels and designer shoes".

The point being, I saw no sign of any kind of aboriginal culture centre and the only evidence of the natives is the 'hand painted by abbos' souvenirs in the (European-run) gift shops.

They're really missing a trick. Let's face it, a bunch of black blokes prancing around a fire or something is what the tourists want.

Frankly, you could do the Charleston, call it an invocation of the dreamworld and the audience would start shitting cash. So give it to them. Take their money and run you fools.

God, do I have to do everything for you?

Or maybe there's a huge celebration of all things aboriginal in town and I just haven't found it yet.

What I did find was a huge shrine of remembrance for the soldiers who have fallen in various wars, which was very well done and even I shan't taint with a sarcastic joke (also, it's early in the morning and I can't think of one right now).

Also, in keeping with the first rule of travel (wherever you are, get as high up as humanly possible, as soon as possible. Must, gain, altitude) went up the Rialto observation tower. Fifty five floors up, this is the tallest building in Melbourne.

And it was shit.

Why? Well the view was nice, I have to admit, but what is the point of tall buildings? To have a bar or restaurant at the top, that's what.

Ideally this bar or restaurant will also revolve, but I'm open minded and can accept that sometimes that's not possible.

But I do expect to kick back and enjoy a bite to eat or a cold beer whilst surveying a magnificent view of the city to which I have arrived.

But the observation tower was just that, a walk-around with free binoculars from which you couldn't even really see into anyone's apartment properly.

Sure there was a cafe, but it was one of those designed to get you in and out as fast as possible, utilising demonic feng shui (you couldn't actually see out of the window from the cafe) and rock hard plastic chairs to stop potential lingerers.

So all-in-all, an opportunity squandered I think.

So I jumped on a tram (I approve wholeheartedly of trams. They have nice clear maps and they tell you where you are at each stop. Take note, evil buses) and headed down to St Kilda, which is allegedly the 'bohemian' district.

Not during the day it isn't, I can tell you. So I have made an appointment to check it out again at night later in the week because I feel the need, the need for sleaze.

Actually St Kilda looked pretty nice, but I think I was there way too early in the day. In fact, that seemed to be something of a theme for my day, but by the time it was late enough for things to start getting interesting, I was tired so I went home.

After dinner though, Will and I went to a bar nearby that was allegedy a hopping joint with the local students.

When we got there, there were about thirty 'young people' in bedsheets enjoying a toga party. Having neglected to bring our nightwear and suffering a little from the flight, we stuck around for one or two beers (the local stuff, not bad at all), it was quietly home to bed.

A note about flies: There are flies here. Yes, I know we have flies at home too, but these ones are different. It's not that there are more of them, but fuck me, they are tenacious bastards.

Our feeble flies back home buzz around for a moment then bugger off if you wave gently at them. These hardcore bastards sit on your lips and eyelids (for the moisture presumably) and however many times you wave at them, they keep coming back.

At one point I was swatting at a fly that kept getting closer and closer to my nose until I literally smacked myself in the face. Oh well, I suppose it's better than paying someone else to do it eh?

But this also explains the Aussies talent for sport. The constant, 24-hour fly waving motion you end up adopting really builds up the tricep and deltoid, rendering you perfect for throwing balls.

It also makes you look like a bit of a spastic, waving your arms all the time like a drunken homeless. But the flies, shit, they're unbelievable.

Oh, I have also nominated myself for a blogging award. Feel free to do the same. Not because I deserve it, you understand, but because it would be funny to see much better blogs lose out. It'll be Belle and Sebastien all over again.

posted by Peter The Great @ 10:09 PM