The silence of St Kilda

St Kilda is the beach of Melbourne. It’s just a 30-minute tram ride from Nomad’s layby, so I book in for longer on the very first day. A small hostel, nothing special, but no vomit on the stairs. It’s easy to be happy. The beach is just 400 metres away. Supermarket round the corner, and lots of nice little shops and restaurants.

I walk through the neighbourhood. All I hear is birds chirping. Peace and quiet. The botanical garden, Aussies lying in the sun. There’s an old wooden rollercoaster from 1912 on the beach and a huge theatre where small bands like Toto play. The WiFi is working, I’m working like crazy to balance my account.

On the second day, I visit Sotos, the Greek kite instructor I met on Nananu-i-Ra in Fiji. It’s a long way, even by tram, but there are beautiful things to see, such as colourful birds nibbling off blades of grass in pairs on a quiet side street. Or a beautiful sunset. Chinatown and so much more.

Sotos is already making travel plans again as he devours a bowl of soup that any farmer would pass off as a trough because of its size. I get a little lost on the way back. The tram to St Kilda stops halfway and goes back. I have to take another one. While I wait for this one, I get some nice long exposures. Melbourne at night.

On the way home, I walk past an old hotel. “The Esplanade was built in the 19th century. Now it’s one of Melbourne’s most important live music venues. Today is Tuesday. Upstairs, a girl is playing acoustic guitar and singing, and punks are rocking their hearts out. I’m already looking forward to Friday. 30 bands for free. Ay. It’s going to be very unhealthy fun.

There’s a girl sitting alone at a table in the hostel at one o’clock. Last night in Oz. She’s in the US Army. Was deep into drugs before. Looks lovely, talks sensibly, wittily and very critically about a variety of topics. I’m amused that even my preconceptions about US Army personnel don’t always have to be true.