We have finally left Melbourne although some say that the settlements down here on the Mornington Peninsula are just suburbs of the great city and if this is so, perhaps I am mistaken.
Yesterday, our last day in Melbourne, was spent following the last of Chris’s trips of nostalgia. When he first arrived in Melbourne about forty years ago, he and his mate were T-boned at an intersection on or near Sydney Road. He was taken to the Royal Melbourne Hospital for remedial rescue and much later in another life, he worked out of an office and yard located in the same road. All of this became clear yesterday when I asked him about his persistent interest and desire to “do” Sydney Road. And so we caught the tram from Preston down to the city, a half hour trip taking us through Fitzroy visited many weeks ago. The graffiti was worse if anything, but Fitzroy does have a certain surreal charm, or at least from the tram window.
Our timing was amazing; we immediately caught the North Coburg tram, once more heading north, more or less parallel to that just minutes before. We alighted outside the Royal Melbourne Hospital and walked on up Sydney Road. Here it is a beautifully wide tree lined street, with Princes Park running up one side, an extensive park giving the suburb its name of Parklands. Several kilometres on we came to Brunswick, a jaded streetscape busy with Muslim business, the women heavily shrouded in burkas, the butchers all selling halal meat, stores just full of wonderful exotic produce and the most amazing number of shops selling formal and bridal wear. I called in to see a beautician to have my eyebrows done, something that Chris cannot be trained to do despite having learned to colour my hair so well. The beautiful Iranian woman and I chatted at length, both being from other countries, but her a longer resident than I. I lamented that our children and grandchildren were far across the seas, but then remembered that her family probably were even more so, and so it was. Apart from her husband, she has no family here at all. These conversations put life into perspective.
A little further on, we drifted into a clothing store, the fittings and stock being marketed at giveaway prices. Here we engaged in conversation with the Chinese proprietor, a new Australian of twenty eight years, who spoke frankly about doing business here in Australia; how hard it was to operate above board when the taxes were so onerous, the rents were so steep and the minimum wages at $18.50 plus superannuation which is tipped to be 12% in the near future. He felt as if he had been working his guts out seven days a week for the whole twenty eight years and achieved nothing. The building had been sold to developers and so he was soon to be out on his ear, although consent for the new work to begin was dragging on giving him both respite and uncertainty. When we asked him what he planned to do next, he shrugged his shoulders, lamenting that his mother and sister had done well without the slog, and there were state beneficiaries who were doing well without doing anything at all. Australia was not the land of milk and honey some portrayed it as. We wished him luck as he did us, and continued on our way up the road, until we arrived at Coburg and here we delighted in yet another exotic part of Melbourne.
The cafes and restaurants, stores and services are mainly Greek and African and Middle Eastern Muslim, however there is evidence of just about every other ethnic group imaginable. It is the whole world all poured into the one area, and just wonderful.
When we reached Bell Road, at least five kilometres from where we had set out on foot, we caught a busy tram back into the city centre, lingered for a while listening to the buskers in Bourke Street mall, then caught an even busier tram back to Preston, and then drove the short distance back to camp.
It should be noted here that Chris was unable to remember exactly on which corner the car accident had occurred or identify the corner where Higgins had operated from all those years ago.
We were expected in Sunbury at Bob and Janet’s home for dinner at 7 pm, so we quickly readied ourselves and drove the three quarters of an hour west. Janet had been called into work unexpectedly and had been home for less than an hour. Despite this, she had cooked an absolutely wonderful three course meal, which we washed down with the wine we had brought. We sat around the dining table until late, hesitant to leave, knowing that it could be some time before we caught up again.
With instructions to take an alternative route back to the city, we left Sunbury just before 11 pm but found the road closed for maintenance. We followed a series of detour signs north and through the countryside, pleased we did not encounter travelling roos, and arrived home sometime later than expected.
This morning dawned clear and promising excellent travelling weather. We were organised and out of camp soon after nine, and on through the busy city roads, making our way through to the Eastlink toll road, listening to the regular kerchunk as we passed under the automatic electronic toll “booths”. We wondered how they worked, then decided that even if it was explained to us, it would probably be too complicated to understand, but we did wonder how much each kerchunk cost and how much “the system” would grab from our credit card for the privilege of using this excellent road. We did also wonder what the hideous structures on the pedestrian bridges over the freeway were for, and decided that beauty was definitely in the eye of the beholder.
Soon before midday we arrived at Frankston and made our way to the Information Centre. Parking suitable for such a rig as ours was difficult and by the time we arrived at the Centre, we were not enamoured by Frankston. We walked back to the town centre, and found it to be city-like in every way and agreed we had probably been too hasty in our criticism. We were also disappointed to discover that all camping sites on the Mornington Peninsula are priced in the mid-$30s and more, including the coastal reserves made available by public authorities.
And so we made our way on south to Mornington to this camp, the only one in this particular township. It is an absolutely delightful camp, aptly named as a “Garden Holiday Park”. There appear to be many permanents but their “dwellings’ are tasteful tidy portable structures, surrounded in beautifully kept gardens and each partitioned by hedges. Birds abound and we are sure we will be very satisfied with our stay here.
Once we were set up this afternoon, we drove down into the township, and on down to the jetty at Schnapper Point. Here we found numerous fishermen quietly contemplating the sunny seas, periodically pulling up fish. The restaurant on the wharf was busy with customers and there were many others like us enjoying the day and the delightful spot. Chris took great pleasure drooling over the trailer sailers through the high net wire fence in the compound. We then walked up and down the main street and agreed that Mornington was just lovely.
Since arriving back at camp, we caught up with Olly on Skype and chatted with little Matthew, up again out of bed. The electricity had gone off in that part of Auckland and security alarms were going off all about; not conducive for settling children at night. Time for bed for him and time for our dinner; we said goodnight. What a wonder modern technology is!
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