I have travelled to Melbourne a number of times and yet I have seen very little of it. This is because I normally go for a purpose and that purpose usually involves sitting in a large room in some suburb quite removed from what could be called the more tourist specific parts of Melbourne.
And so it was that after too little sleep (thanks Qantas) I was up and alert to leave my hotel in Melbourne for a taxi ride out to the suburb of Reservoir. The taxi driver didn't seem to believe me. I had to spell the street name and then I had to spell Reservoir but eventually his satnav persuaded him that the place existed and with the air of a man journeying beyond the ken of civilised mortals he pointed his vehicle in roughly the right direction.
Reservoir is currently experiencing a period of growth as people look for homes not too far away from the Melbourne CBD without having to sell their organs to afford them. As suburbs go it looked very suburb-like. Despite an increasing level of concern on my part the taxi driver did find the place (or at least his satnav) did and he deposited me on the curb before fleeing the scene as fast as he decently could. I looked around for my destination. There, nestled in Edwardes Lake Park overlooking the eponymous lake was the rather handsome Reservoir Bowling Club. Next door to that was a somewhat less handsome scout hall which would be my home in the daylight hours for the next two days.
I was here for a wargaming competition because continual failure at these events somehow doesn't dim my enthusiasm for playing in them. I had arrived early. I knew that because the room was empty and the sole other occupant looked a little startled to see me despite the fact that he was one of the organisers. Once he got over his shock we exchanged greetings and then stood around waiting for somebody, anybody, else to turn up. Eventually they did and I got my losing campaign underway.
In between games (and when I needed to slink away and weep) I went outside and wandered around the more scout hall accessible parts of the park. Birds were in evidence, lots of birds. In addition to the lake there was a creek and the map promised wetlands as well. Just the sort of thing I would normally walk through however the scout hall was calling and I turned my back on the wonders of nature for the joys of having my arse handed to me in a sack by my gaming comrades.
Lest you think that this suburb journey was an aberration once the competition was over and I retired covered in whatever the opposite of glory is I did it again the next day. I have a friend who amuses me by moving to a different suburb of Melbourne whenever he hears I'm coming for a visit. I had threatened a visit on a couple of occasions which didn't come off due to covid with the result that he had wandered around random dwellings in Melbourne for no good reason. Now he was living in Pascoe Vale. No, I've never heard of it either.
"Where the hell is Pascoe Vale?" I asked.
"Just catch the tram to the end of the line."
"Which tram?"
"The one that stops right next to your hotel."
Surprisingly this was a feat of navigation even I could manage and the next day I rattled and dinged my way through Melbourne's inner suburbs. I had been promised bacon and eggs so I was looking forward to our reunion with enthusiasm. As if to dampen said enthusiasm my friend (who I shall call Morgan because that's his name) texted me while I was on the way informing me that he hadn't been able to source any milk and I would have to have soy milk in my coffee. In a brief but I think eloquently crafted text I informed him exactly what he could do with soy milk.
Despite this I didn't turn around and return to my hotel. After all I had been on the tram for twenty minutes and I was nothing if not resilient. That previous statement is true by the way you just have to think about it for a moment. Alighting from the tram I gazed around at another piece of Melbourne suburbia. There were shops that weren't open (hence the lack of milk) and dwellings, citizens for the use of. Standing outside the front of one reasonably handsome dwelling literally across the road from the tram stop was Morgan. He certainly hadn't been lying about the convenience.
This is the point at which any halfway competent travel writer would tell you a little about Pascoe Vale. It has a tram stop. There you go. I spent most of the day lounging around inside the house catching up, introducing myself to his partner and generally outstaying my welcome. This latter I did so effectively that in a desperate attempt to get rid of me Morgan offered to drive me back to my hotel or indeed anywhere that wasn't his house. Also he had a delivery to make which was on the way.
I had now spent three days in Melbourne and had seen a microscopic amount of precisely two suburbs. The next day I promised myself would be different. Strangely it was.
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