I miss you Melbourne

I was in Melbourne for a very quick trip for my friend's wedding. 

I arrived just in time to watch an AFL game, so I arranged to go with some other friends.  Combined with a few beers and a chicken parma, it was a good way to spend the first night back in Australia.

The next day started as terribly as it possibly could.

I woke up and looked at the clock.  I was very late.  It was less than an hour before the wedding.  Somehow, the wake up call hadn't been made.  I scrambled to get ready.  Fast show.  Quickly dressed.  I ran downstairs and demanded from the front to desk to know what had happened.  They assured me that a wake up call had been made to my room and that a lady had answered.  Well clearly they had called the wrong room given I was in the room by myself.

I ran out the door without acknowledging them further.  I flagged the first taxi I could see and begged the driver to take me to the address I showed him as quickly as possible.  As he drove, I explained my situation, and he said he would do his best.  As we got close to the house, I had prepared the money owing and pressed it into the driver's hands as I jumped out the door and ran towards what I hoped to be the right house.  A knock and a ring of the bell yielded no results.  I ran to the side, I could hear that the wedding had started.  I went back to the front door and knocked again.  Mercifully, someone came and opened the door with a smile.  I apologised as profusely as I could and made my way to the garden at the back.  I was just in time.  I could not have been any later.  I had missed all of the speeches.  I had missed the entrance.  I had missed almost all of it.  Yet somehow, I was there for the most important part as the bride and groom were about to get married.

The part of the wedding I saw seemed great.  The bride and the groom were happy.  There were lots of smiles and there was lots of clapping.  After the ceremony, we all went to another house where there was a traditional Vietnamese ceremony.  With that finished, the food began.  First it was the "family" food at the home after the Vietnamese ceremony.  Platter upon platter of rice, noodles and snacks were brought out, all of it delicious.  After this, we were told that the "real" reception would be starting.  Everyone made their way back into the city to the restaurant where we had a full Chinese banquet waiting for us.  Once that dinner was all finished, the party continued at a nearby rooftop bar.  I was exhausted, but this was a party that was worth fighting the sleepiness for.

I woke up the next day very late and with a sore head.  It had all been worth it though.

With only a day left before heading back to Hong Kong, I thought some calmer activities were needed.  I saw on the map that the National Gallery of Victoria was close by.  I didn't think I had ever been, even as a kid living in Melbourne, so I set out to explore. 

There were a variety of temporary exhibitions on show, the cost of entry to each being surprisingly high.  A very large exhibition with some installations for MC Escher and also a separate exhibition for Julian Opie.  It was all fine and a good way to spend the afternoon, but given my sore head I was in a sufficiently welcoming mood to consider this art.

My trip to Melbourne had been short.  Most of my trips back to Australia seem short these days.  There wasn't enough leave and the distance of the travel always made it tough.  I missed Melbourne.  Being here made me think back to my childhood.  I remembered leaving when I was young and being devasted.  I remembered the very last day in Melbourne before we drove to Canberra, I was feeling sick and my parents took me to the doctor.  I hoped that my illness would somehow mean the move would be cancelled or delayed, but of course that wasn't to be the case.  The doctor was kind, he talked to me about how he had moved to Melbourne and how he now considered it to be his home.  I had promised myself that I would move back to Melbourne, that when I was old enough I would go back home to Melbourne.  Over the years, I still had that idea in my mind and heart, that I would "return".  It never did quite happen.  The trips back to Melbourne became more infrequent and that pull slowly faded.  After all these years, I still considered myself a Victorian, though now I wasn't even living in Australia anymore.  

An incredible Sydney day

It's a bit strange being in Sydney as a visitor.  It still feels like my home, but I've now been away long enough for some of the familiarity to have faded.

I was staying with Sarah.  Her apartment is in Bondi.  We arrived back at her place late at night when it was dark and I crashed onto her couch almost straight away.  The next day, I was woken up by the light streaming in from the windows.  I got up and looked out.  Her views out towards the ocean were incredible.  I felt a definite twang of nostalgia, thinking back to what I used to have living in Coogee.  I didn't have a views like this, but I certainly missed the proximity to some of the best beaches in the world.

We went for a walk around the area.  It was all as I remembered it.  The air was fresh and I could smell the ocean.  I definitely missed it all.

Summer in Sydney is also a special time and place.  I can't think of many places in the world that have such an incredible combination of lovely weather, public holidays, and general upbeat holiday mood.  There is a confluence of a whole variety of different factors which just makes the whole city buzzing with a happiness.

Later that day, I went and met with Helena.  There was an AFL game on, and she got us tickets.  We sat in the stands, watched the game and chatted.  Hels was one of my oldest friends in Sydney.  We knew each other from back in our old Cirque du Soleil days.  The game itself didn't seem very important.  Just the simple act of spending the afternoon together was what we wanted.

Later that night, I went into the city.  Grainne and Shiral were waiting for me.  We went to the basement of No 1 Martin Place.  We ordered wine and a cheese platter.  We drank and ate, talking and laughing about random things happening in our lives.

Nothing particularly interesting had happened during the day.  There had been no big events.  No big stories or occurrences to remember.  But this was still an incredible day.

English Football

I had never been to a football game in the UK.  It seemed like a bucket list experience, so my brother arranged for us to go to a match.  Ashan wasn't doing anything, so he decided to come with us as well.

There wasn't a premier league game on nearby, and in any case we didn't want to pay the premier league level prices for tickets.  Instead, my brother found tickets to a game between Fulham and QPR.  Fulham had been relegated from the premier league, so this would be a Championship league game (with corresponding Championship league ticket prices).

It was a cold day out.

It was dreary and overcast, which made the experience feel all the more British.

The home ground of Fulham is Craven Cottage, which is a small boutique stadium next to the Thames River.  It was a tiny little stadium and there was a lovely in tight feel to sitting on the long wooden benches.  The Fulham fans are all quite "posh" relatively speaking, and there was a lot of polite clapping throughout.  The QPR fans on the other hand were chanting and screaming from behind the goal where they had been cordoned off from the other fans.

It was an enjoyable experience, even if I was freezing.

We left the ground after the match and walked straight to a pub where we warmed ourselves inside and had a beer.