Flowers at Fitzroy Gardens, Melbourne

Natürlich

Darling buds look down,
as emperor on subjects
except, natural


Photo: Fitzroy Gardens, Melbourne
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Melbourne, a note

The moment I disembarked from the plane, I knew this was going to be an experience I’d never have imagined. As I walked into the chilly Melbourne streets shrouded by patches of dark and light clouds, melding into one, meandering through the skies, I fell in love. 

It wasn’t the first time that I’d taken such a string liking to a city. Melbourne is home to millions of heart beats, yet it thrives with a unique pulse that matches none other’s. Every iconic city is iconic for a reason, and I was about to discover Melbourne’s.

Sure enough, when I left my hotel ten minutes after checking in, it was still mid afternoon on a Saturday, and the central business district (or CBD) bustled with wanderers—tourists and locals alike—coffee or iced tea in hand, exploring the various nooks and crannies of the painted city. The first noticeable thing about Melbourne is the immensity of people. Though not as dense as Chennai, where I lived for six years, it’s still a haven for lots of shuffling bodies.

Stumbling into people from all over the world, I followed the directions on my map to an alleyway. Melbourne is the only place where alleyways are so versatile that they’re tourist attractions, shelters for the homeless, getaways for smokers, canvases for artists overflowing with talent—all in one.

One side of the city boasts vintage Victorian architecture, every brick instilled within screaming grandeur, while on the other side are rows upon rows of these oiled up walls carved with emotions, philosophy, and outcomes of deep-rooted fear of (and for) society. It was as if the artists of the city exclaimed, “Look, wall!” and went crazy all over it.

Nodding to a tune in my head and smiling at the tens of unrecognisable languages that floated through the air into my ear, I realised Melbourne is far more multicultural than any other city I’ve been to. And I’ve been to San Francisco, Los Angeles, and New York. Although, in many aspects, Melbourne resembled New York to me. The city’s weirdness reminded me of the vagueness and unpredictability that hung around me in NYC.

My gut feeling only solidified as the day wore off and darkness blanketed over the neighbourhood. All of a sudden, musicians popped up in street corners, strumming their creativity through empty glass bottles, metal serving plates, and brass cymbals.

Unsurprisingly, onlookers gathered, dropping jaws, filming videos, cheering on, laughing and dancing to the tunes. It was a carnival on the street, where everyone forgot their problems—overdue bills, medical appointments, insurance claims, tax returns—for a few minutes and surrendered themselves to the moment.

It was past 10 pm—bright, noisy, teeming with life. Wonderful.

The next day when I stepped out of my hotel, a pop-up coffee vendor greeted me with a wide smile and a “Hiya, mate!” I didn’t think—my mouth split wide in joy and I reciprocated with all the enthusiasm I could muster. His hello kept the spring in my step throughout the day and I felt myself bouncing on my toes as I walked down street after street, marvelling one moment at the brilliant architecture and then at the lack of creativity in naming roads—Little Burke Street came after Burke Street. Then came Collins and Little Collins—I felt amused, but also thankful for it was easy to remember.

While the CBD sported such names, a little further away, outside of the heart of all the bustle, weirder and quirkier names popped out at me. Hosier Lane was home to some of the greatest graffiti I’ve seen. Literature Lane, appropriately named, was rather glum and ignored. Chopper Lane sported a dog that watched a fish swim away, and AC/DC Lane celebrated the height of rock music that once moved the world. Colours bright and dark mapped faces, caricatures, buildings, and stories, narratives that’ve survived years of camera flashes, oohs, and ahhs, and pointing of fingers.

Melbourne turned out to be so much more than I imagined. It was bright and airy and cheery, but also dark, dreary, and gothic. I loved every bit of it.

Spring greens in Sydney

When I moved to Australia in April, we were gob-smack in the middle of Autumn. Five hundred shades of red and yellow and green filled my eyes with wonder and brimmed my soul with glee. Every time I heard the crunch of whittled leaves, orange-ing before browning, before being swept away in a flurry of breeze, my heart skipped a beat. All my life I’d dreamt of fall and the moment I saw it, I fell in love.

And then came winter. 

And I realised the first experience of anything is always cherish-worthy. I lived through my first winter shivering, but also dropping my jaw at the barren white eucalyptus trees whose land we’d encroached. I walked along the Lake Ginninderra every day, inhaling breathtaking freshness that came with a stinging white breeze. I was so inspired and awestruck that I showered my blog with haiku and photographs. 

And now it’s spring.

I spent the last couple of weeks travelling to Auckland, Sydney, and then Melbourne attending corporate conferences and presenting in each city. As nerve wracking as it was, I still managed to get away, to get time for myself to scale volcanoes in Auckland and to tread on a sheen of valleys in Sydney. 

The first time I was in Sydney was last June, and Vivid Festival was in full blow. As is customary for any traveller, I took the ferry across to Manly and back. It felt like a massive achievement. But alas, I couldn’t visit the botanical gardens.

This time, I knew I’d rectify my mistake. And I couldn’t have picked a better time to go. On a Saturday morning, I checked out from my hotel early (I was flying to Melbourne later in the day), and wandered off to the botanical gardens. It was a mere five-minute walk from my hotel—perks of travelling for work.

Royal Botanical Gardens, Sydney

When I got there, an expanse of green waved at me. As always, my mouth slipped into a permanent smile. First volcanoes and now this—I was having the trip of my life. A little light headed and a lot light hearted, I made my way around the garden. It’s a massive space full of native plants and flowers, studded with small waterfalls, fountains, and rock formations.

Thousands of flowers were in their prime, blooming out of trees, from behind bushes, and peering through the ground softening up dry parched land that winter had left in its wake. Pristine is an understatement.

As I climbed up a flight of stairs towards the street, saying goodbye at the gates were the four seasons and their dedicated statues. Autumn and winter held goblets, as they should, and summer considered shedding her cloak. And darling spring with a halo over its head, smiled in silence as I bade a reverent farewell. 

Statue of spring - Royal Botanical Gardens, Sydney

Until next time.

Dream catchers

Catch, dreams and all

Gasp, and catch your breath—
a lasting reality,
becomes every dream

Climbing volcanoes

When I first heard that I’d be travelling to Auckland for a conference, I did the usual happy dance. I was going away for a few days, and to an exotic place I’ve never been to. For months I’d fantasied about the Te Aurora hiking trail that runs through the north and south islands of New Zealand, covering all historic and culturally-significant sites. It’s a 3000 kilometre trek, one that’d take 3 months for an experienced hiker and about 8 months for me. 

But that’s all I knew about New Zealand. Pathetic, I know. Which is why excitement ballooned in me as I clambered on to my flight, scarf and jacket on, ready to face the unknown weather conditions the kiwis were conditioned to.

Welcome to Auckland - airport entrance

When I landed at 12:30 am, it was chilly and breezy. But hey, I’m from Canberra—chilly and breezy is my jam now. I’d researched and planned to take the public bus system all the way to my hotel, a mere 500 metres from the bus stop. What I didn’t anticipate, though, is the lack of meals in my flight. Argh, vegan problems.

I touched down with a rumbling stomach, and the only place open at 2 am (security checks are a pain in the ass) that isn’t a McDonalds or Hungry Jacks was another burger place: Lord of the Fries—a complete, vegan junk food chain. Oh, well.

Dumping the public transport system, I chose the capitalist corporatism of Uber to feed myself. When I slept that night, it was 3:40 am and Batman was on television.

Every time I’m in a new place, my energy levels are so high that it baffles me. I was up and charged to explore at 9 am. I soon realised how cool Auckland’s public transportation system is: their bus card, called AT HOP, comes in two variants—a standard plastic card like the rest of the world or a key tag for practicality. Of course I went for the key tag! 

With a dangling key tag full of bus cash, the streets had become my oyster. Wandering around the neighbourhood, I went past the Sky Tower, spotting it from everywhere I stood. It’s a telecommunications and observation tower in the heart of the city, and like any massive piece of architecture, a tourism magnet. I’d seen a few towers to know my money’s better off someplace else, but I did take plenty of photos for free.

Sky Tower in Auckland

After all, Canberra has its own tower—the central point of focus for many a camera folk and sun gazers.

So far Auckland seemed abundant in glorious buildings. And every shop—cafes, restaurants, bars, quoted reasonable prices. Auckland is far more affordable than what I’d become used to. Nothing to complain. 

When I looked up activities nearby, my top hits were Mount Eden and One Tree Hill. Two dormant volcanoes, havens for trekkers. Bring it on, I thought as I traced the route first to Mt. Eden.

Panoramic view from Mount Eden, Auckland

The bus got me there in about thirty minutes from the city. As I ascended, I came across a notice board declaring the Mt. Eden trek as part of the coast to coast walking trail—the same Te Aurora I’d had my eyes on for ages. Elated, I told myself this’d be a practice session for when I’m indeed ready for the actual one.

Coast to Coast Walkway sign at Mount Eden, Auckland

It was easy enough. Joy and excitement are great motivators when you’re climbing a hill far more massive than yourself. I felt a spring in my step with every forward step. I smiled at trees, chuckled at bushes bursting with blossoms, and marvelled at the study ground that pushed me back as I pressed down on it. 

All around me, nature showered in hundreds of shades. Flowers in yellow, white, purple, and red laughed at me as I scaled their home, welcoming but also doubtful—as if they weren’t sure I’d make it all the way up the mountain. Ha, I never shun from a challenge like that.

View from Mount Eden, Auckland

Breathing in some of the freshest air I’ve experienced, I powered through. The higher I went, the more I saw of a deep gash in the ground. A valley sunk downwards, a clear sheen of grassland except it looked like a mountain turned inside out.

When I got to the top I saw it for what it was: a massive hole in the hill, covered with green, green, and more green.

Mount Eden, Auckland

As I looked around at the city, spotting the Sky Tower and the thousands of miniature homes that housed Aucklanders, I knew I was in utopia.

Sitting on a pile of rocks not long after that, basking in the rather hot sun, I savoured my raw chocolate caramel slice, engulfed in the uplifting scent of wet plants. 

It only got better as I left for One Tree Hill.

This one had more plains to walk through before the actual climb up. A well-paved pathway led me through light green meadows spotted with darker bushes, water tanks, sheep, and tiny humans scurrying across the vastness that enveloped them. 

On the way to One Tree Hill, Auckland

Unlike Mount Eden, the higher I went on One Tree Hill, the more greenery I saw patched by the unmistakable signs of human. I’ve always hated people’s irresistible urge to leave marks in places, to emboss their presence, to shove their opinions and fantasies on unassuming nature. And yet, there it was—a massive heart carved on the ground, names of long lost lovers scratched into the earth, without the least regard. Love can be so cruel at times.

At the top stands a tower, a memorial for Sir John Logan Campbell. Scotsmen Cambell and Willian Brown were the first Europeans to settle in the region, and together they built the first house and set up the first shop. Campbell was also a member of parliament and a prominent social figure before that. No wonder he’s called the Father of Auckland.

Daylight lingered as I descended from the hill. Spring had reached Auckland and I set out to wander the streets—there was still so much to see. But first, coffee. And some glorious raw treats. Well, why not?