South Melbourne – May 25th, 2008

I woke up this morning feeling decidedly beneath my best, not surprising considering we went on a pub crawl last night. I felt like we were back at uni, wandering the streets of Fitzroy in the early evening, from one watering hole to the next, in progressively more meandering paths.

I called Doug at five minutes to midday so I that I could still legitimately say ‘good morning’. Last night we had decided that our destination for today would be the South Melbourne Market. Originally, we were going to go to the Preston Market – but Melinda knocked back the idea because Preston is her neighbourhood and she wanted to go somewhere new. She didn’t end up coming though, all the more dim sims for me.

We got the tram from Melbourne Uni to Bourke Street, and luckily the number 96 was only a few minutes away. Sitting at the tram stop was entertaining in itself, watching a child busker playing the chicken dance, a man doing what appeared to be a mixture between capoeira and creative movement, and an elderly woman (unintentionally) dressed like an elf.

The best thing about the number 96 tram is that after it turns down Whiteman Street it becomes the light rail. It’s like being on a train, but you’re still on the tram – it’s crazy, and I love it. In fact, sometimes I want to catch the tram to St Kilda purely so that I can ride on the light rail. I know, I need more excitement in my life. We were all pretty hungover, and the conversation hovered around its usual level of bad jokes and personal affronts. Doug expelled me from the middle class the other day (on the basis of my not knowing my way around Camberwell), so I felt compelled to continue giving him schtick about the number of holes in his jacket.

When we arrived at South Melbourne ‘station’ (or is it a ‘stop’, it’s hard to tell with the tricky light rail), we followed the crowd ascending the stairs towards the market. The first thing on my mind was finding the famous and much talked-about dim sims – a sure-fire hangover cure if ever I heard one. Amongst the maze of aisles, we walked through everything from handmade soaps to pigs’ ears (pet food, not human food, luckily) to find the famous South Melbourne Market Dim Sims. A solitary fried dimmy was all I needed to get me back on track, Cara went off for coffee so she didn’t have to be too close to the aroma of pork and cabbage. It was a substantial feed – not bad for $1.40 – and I can see why they’re well-known around Melbourne.

Fed, but a little sleepy, we continued our journey around the market. We stopped to buy our vegetables for the week – beans, broccoli, avocadoes, zucchini and some mushrooms, all bagged up for $1 each. It reminded me of going to the Vic Market at closing time when everything was a dollar and doing my entire shopping in five minutes.

At the Golden Dragon Asian grocery store we found some interesting treats: instant cuttlefish and gunpowder green tea, and loaded up on fresh noodles and tofu for dinner. We ran into Ben and Kitty, who we hardly ever see now that they’re living south of the river, and they invited us back to their house for a cup of tea. We declined the invitation, as I knew that in my state of recovery I would be terrible company.

As we continued around the market, we passed a Tarot Card Reader, which prompted one of Doug’s worst jokes for the day, “What do you call a violent soothsayer? A tarot-rist!” I stopped to look at clothes, in search of another onesie (my new favourite item of clothing with a skirt, shirt and vest all sewn together in one, I never want to buy individual items of clothing again). Doug bought a new hoodie, but there was no mirror when he tried it on so Cara took a photo to show him what it looked like. It’s like that bit in Clueless when Cher says that she doesn’t trust mirrors so she always takes Polaroids – when we first saw that it seemed like such an excessive thing to do, but now it just makes sense. So we can’t make fun of Doug’s jacket any more, luckily he leaves himself wide-open to comments with a continuing run of bad jokes.

Before leaving the market, I decided to get one more dim sim, since we had come full-circle, literally. We washed it down with some of Rod’s freshly squeezed orange juice before making our way back down to the platform for ‘I can’t believe it’s not a train’. Coasting back into the city, we got off the tram at Swanston Street to do some final weekend shopping. Doug is now the proud owner of two new pillows and pillowcases, which means he has expanded his bedroom accoutrements by 200%.

We headed home for an afternoon of Uno and Boggle, and delicious Grill’d burgers. The jokes kept coming too: “The potato cod? That’s like fish and chips all in one!”. It was lazy Sunday fun at its best, now we just have to decide where to go next week.

When a car would be good

Generally, I’m all for the idea of taking public transport to our destinations, except for one that was mentioned today – the Coburg Drive-In. After deciding that it would be possible to PT it there, we realised that, were we actually going to the drive-in to see a movie, we’d have nowhere to watch said movie from. I guess that’s why they call it a drive-in, go figure.

Yarraville – May 18th, 2008

Doug called to find out where we were meeting as soon as I had finished writing the previous post. I collected up the spare Sunday Saver tickets I had found in my desk drawer and Cara and I headed off to Melbourne Central station, the likely starting point of many Sunday trips to come.

I went to the information booth at the station to get a map of all the train lines for future reference. Cara looked at the snacks in the nut shop – I asked her if she was thinking of buying scroggin in case we got lost somewhere and needed to keep our strength up. She had never heard the word before and swore that I was making it up, so I had to wait until Doug arrived for confirmation that scroggin is indeed a real thing.

We had a little while to wait for the train, and looked at the map to choose future travel destinations. I like the sound of Merlynston and Batman, and we lamented the fact that Stopping Place no. 15 and General Motors are no longer on the Metlink map. Catching the Werribee line to Yarraville meant that we could go to Aircraft if we wanted, but something told us that it wouldn’t be as exciting as it sounded.

Part of the Sunday Savers adventure is the time spent on the train, and the scintillating conversation to be had. In other words, it’s an excuse for us to sit and talk crap for a while because there’s nothing else to do. Not that we need an excuse, of course, as Doug and I have already discussed our respective talents for crap-talking, and how it is something of a feature of our generation in particular. It was like when I met a friend of a friend who said, “Nick said that you’re one of the smartest people he knows, but that he’s yet to see any evidence of it.” I was suitably offended by that to go and ask him what he meant, to which he replied,

“What I meant was – I know you’re very smart, and people have told me that, but whenever we’re together, we just talk crap, we never talk about anything intelligent at all.” Which is utterly justified, because it’s completely correct. Anyway, we sat and talked, and watched the scenery fly by, and told each other jokes off the wrapper of the gingerbread man I bought at the supermarket. They were all very punny, things like: ‘What colour is a burp? – burple’, pretty much on par with most of the jokes Doug had been making already. I looked at the address on the back of the wrapper and suggested that we visited Broadmeadows one Sunday so he can meet the fine folk at UniBic and offer to write some of their material.

I assume that the introduction to any place we visit on our Sunday adventures will involve disembarking from the train and heading for what looks like the main road. Today was no exception, but I have to say that I did think that the main road would be bigger. Just near the station was Yarraville Records, where we went and browsed through the old vinyl in search of long-forgotten tunes and artwork containing bad 80’s hairstyles. I bought a pile of 7″s, including the theme from Ghostbusters and a ‘free poster bag’ edition of Bros’ ‘Drop the Boy’. As far as I was concerned, the trip had been worth it already.

Exploring further down the main drag, Doug observed that Yarraville seems to have been built on a foundation of cafes and gift shops, there is an Irish pub too – with ‘locals’ night’ every week (do they not admit out-of-towners? I’m glad we didn’t come on that day, I don’t think we would have been able to get away with just saying that we were friends of Dave).

We went to Universe Aquarium to look at the fish. I’ve not had the best luck with goldfish in the past, I watched the last lot all slowly go moldy and then start floating towards the surface. I would like to get some more, but I think I might be aquaculturally challenged, so it’s probably best if I just look at them in the shop. I do find them fascinating though, especially the ones that look like little sharks.

A bit further down the road we found the Bargain Browser, where I was tempted to buy an impressive-looking $6 picnic basket, but had to remind myself that I already have a picnic basket, and so does Cara, and that there are only so many picnic baskets that a two-person household needs.

We really knew that we were in a different neighbourhood when we overheard a couple talking about whose turn it was to pick up the pony. A pony! Unless they were talking about a small quantity of heroin, we definitely weren’t in Carlton any more.

It was getting on to 2pm, and lunch seemed to be the most important item on the agenda. In an attempt to fight off a slowly dissipating hangover (it was 3am when I left the party last night, and I know that the beer was still flowing), Doug was in need of coffee. We decided to go to Mojo’s Weird Pizza, which was conveniently located near the station on our way home.

We resisted the urge to have the ‘Yarra Villain’ pizza just for a touch of the local fare, and sat for long enough to watch the leftovers congeal as we worked up the energy to head home. Somehow the conversation turned to the amount of money people used to be able to make writing slogans in their spare time. Our attempts at slogans (for slogans, because it was the only thing we could think of to advertise) wouldn’t have been enough to win us any whitegoods, Doug’s “Slogans: if you can’t beat them, join them,” paled in comparison to Cara’s “Slogans: they’re catchy,” but I’m glad that we have other sources of income.

The wordsmithing continued at the station as we waited for the train (Doug: You know what they say, wait not, want not . . .), moving on to poetry and unsuccessful haikus (Days are long, flowers are sweet, this haiku has got me beat – which is just a rhyme). Heading back to Flinders Street, we got our Sunday Savers out again and contemplated where to go next week. The only rule is that we can’t have been there before. Oh well, at least that rules out Frankston.

Let’s go!

OK, so it has been decided that today (being Sunday) will be the first day of exciting inner suburban travel. I think we’re going to Yarraville, which is all of 15 minutes away on the train, but I’ve never been there. That’s the point though, to go somewhere new – the only problem now is sorting out who’s coming.

I haven’t heard from Doug yet – when I bade him farewell at 3am, I told him to call me when he woke up, whenever that may be. I actually got up surprisingly early, did the vacuuming, and am now ready to go. I think Cara’s going to come with me (she did ask if we could drive, and I said that was against the rules), so I think it might be time to start the adventure . . .

The beginning . . .

I have always been fascinated by what lies at the end of our suburban train lines, what happens when the tram reaches the depot at the end of the night, or where the bus goes when it disappears around the corner after your stop.

I feel like there is a whole world of suburban travel out there, out into what used to be Zone 3 and beyond, and it’s just waiting to be explored. I feel slightly guilty for dreaming of overseas travels when I haven’t gone very far into my own backyard. I am trying to broaden my knowledge of local geography but, beyond reading the Melways, there’s not a lot I can do without a car.

Actually, it’s not just the lack of car that’s a problem, it’s more the lack of driving ability. I am without a license in a world that seems to depend on cars to get around, but so far public transport has served me well. I am used to allowing at least half an hour to get anywhere that is further than 5km away, and I’m certainly not afraid of using my own little legs to carry me wherever I need to go. I would like to explore further though.

It’s like the day that my friends decided to drop acid and go to Northcote Plaza. Except without the acid. And maybe not in Northcote. The idea was just to go somewhere different, relatively close by, but a world away in some respects because it’s unfamiliar territory. Even without the acid I find it strangely intriguing to see different shops, in a different setting – especially those with funny names. Like the ones at Brisbane airport where every food outlet has a punny name to do with flying.

But I’m getting off the subject. The point is I am about to embark on a local travel project of, well, local proportions. It’s not going to be mind-blowing, it’s probably not going to make me any more wordly, but – if nothing else – it should at least be fun.

I’m going to utilise the great value of a Sunday Saver ($2.90) to go as far as the transport will take me. I’ve even discovered a new ticket – a Weekend Saver that will allow the same reasonably priced transport on Saturdays as well! Just how far can you go for $2.90? I’m going to get my money’s worth, that’s for sure.

Following on from our recent conversation of industrial tourism and lack of vehicles/funding for such ventures, Doug has agreed to join me. It should be a lark! Now we just have to decide where to go . . .