A Village Idiot

A Village Idiot

Having just returned from Sydney following a two-week survival course,
visiting the families with two little ones for Christmas, I realise
just how fortunate I am to have selected such a salubrious City to make
my home.
Ahh, Melbourne! Australia's home of the city-fringe village, the caf?
latte, the AFL, beaches without waves, trams, and drivers unable to
decide upon lanes.
Travelling home, I actually felt the tension ease from my
bushfire-scented body as we approached the spaced out suburban lights
of Craigieburn, which some inner-Melburnians argue seems half way to
Sydney. As the Falcons, boasting air horns serenading us with the
nationalistic 'Dixie', successfully dragged my poor child and toy-laden
little car at every intersection, I even welcomed the site of Fawkner's
final stop. It has taken me four and half years, but I feel I have
become a true inner-suburb dwelling Southerner.
You see I have really grown to love Melbourne, especially my patch in
the inner north, and know that if I can even excuse enduring 16-degree
days in December, then it must be lurve. My inner-city, childless,
professional Sydney mates, whilst showcasing their decorator-advised
minimalist apartments with water views and gutted but what I think were
once Victorian terraces, cannot but help express their disbelieve I
have chosen love in a cold climate over the fleeting, hot passion of
Sydney. Once the shopping and sporting novelty has worn off, you will
come back one day&;#8230; Like I couldn't possibly think of living
this earthier way of life indefinitely in Melbourne's inner
burbs.
Well, I guess I can. Each time I leave my little village, I know that
upon my return I'll be welcomed back with a smile from neighbours and
baristas alike. Now perhaps I am being a little optimistic here, and
maybe the accepting people I have come to know are simply acknowledging
the grin of the imported village idiot, but I'm not fussed, so long as
it's based on sincerity and good coffee. The owners of cafes I frequent
even respect my still unshakable northern desire for cappuccinos after
noon. See what I mean about accepting?
While up North, we attempted to maintain our weekend afternoon
tradition of strolling down the strip for a coffee, so headed off to
Sydney's Leichhardt, long heralded as being as close to Melbourne's
Carlton as urbanely possible. It was a mission doomed to failure. My
partner and I optimistically approached a couple of cafes only to be
told in affected Italian accents of course they didn't do jus' caffe.
We mistook a few establishments strongly resembling cafes as service
providers welcoming clients. We were soooo na?ve. Believing we had just
managed to get a couple of tossers at a bad time we soldiered on to
Balmain, another candidate in Sydney's new claim to caf? society
fame.
Now in Balmain we found places appearing to actually take orders and
serve coffees without the Norton Street prerequisite of three
overpriced courses as an accompaniment. There were people crowded onto
thirty centimetres of pavement in the scorching thirty-eight degrees
sun sipping cappuccinos. Our homesick tastebuds danced in anticipation
at this sight for smoke affected eyes. We bounded in, believing we had
found the real thing. I personally was quickly disillusioned by the
look of horror in the faux addict smudged eyes of the waitress as she
tried her best not to make way for our two strollers in her
comparatively spacious (to say Rathdowne Street) cafe. Now I'm not
saying that all inner-Melbourne caf? proprietors have welcomed my
preschooler and toddler with open arms, as both leave Alice or indeed
any cat for dead in the curiosity stakes, but we usually at least get a
chance to outstay our welcome. Let's just say the Balmain crew made it
clear that our repeat business was not necessary.
The first chance upon our return, I threw the summer clothes to the
back of the wardrobe for use next month, dug out our thermals and
bundled the kids off to our favourite caf?. Greeted by dual cheek
kisses and the smell of unburnt coffee, I knew I was finally home.