Melbourne Day Two

The paper here is wide, not the printer paper but the newspaper. I’ve always found a US broadsheet to be just a little bit unwieldy. If you have a Eurocentric commitment to the square root of two and the AX sizing system, your wide broadsheet just got wider. The whole thing feels off in the hand. 

I walked from the house and started my day with a new experience, a flat white. Allegedly it was invented here and I haven’t had one yet. Skip it, it’s an extra milky cappuccino. If you love hot milk, hate coffee, and want to tell people you like coffee it’s a great choice. Why? I had to kill some time before my first real excursion, a trip to an art installation at the Jewish Museaum of Australia. Tammy Kanat is making some really incredible woven contemporary art and it was a treat to see her stuff. Full of creativity and craftswomanship.

They spin too

More art? Why not!? I pointed myself back to the CBD to The Nicholas building, a historic high rise known for being a vertical artist’s hangout. I was examining the directory when a tenant offered to take me up and give me the lay of the land. Why not!? I soon found out. The man talked my ear off and seemed to be capable of speaking for eternities at a time without stopping for breath. After the cessation of his lecture, a period that must have been six or seven hours, I managed to slip out his door without too much trouble. I learned a lot of nonsense about his view out the building and his dull life’s story. Ever play the game where you see how long it takes for someone to ask you a question? I played. I lost.

On the walk

I escaped to the botanical gardens, a lush place that does what it says on the tin. It was the perfect spot to unwind and let me brain reset after being scrambled by the aforementioned art dealer. By this point I was getting hungry and Amaris was awake. That’s right, she came from Sydney to Melbourne. We arranged to meet at an Italian restaurant for lunch. I’ve been in enough Italian immigrant neighborhoods to know when the pasta is going to be good. Indeed it was. As was the refreshing Moretti in the iced over glass. As was the grappa soda.

I walked Amaris to a park and big her goodbye. See you again in California. That feels weird to say.

Back in the Ghetto (local term for the Jewish neighborhood) and I’m transferring from train to tram to get home. I’m stopped by two young boys with the local Chabad. It is Friday night and they are offering to help anyone remotely Jewish looking to wrap tefillin. It’s been some time for me so I join in. After we’re done he’a slowly taking it off and I see the tram. Hurry up, the sixteen is coming so you’re in a race now. He beats it.

I make it back to Sam and Eva’s to say goodbye. They’re skipping town tomorrow and I’m off to the Starr’s house to see more people still in more places. The son, Ash, arrives and I bid my loving hosts farewell.

Gefeltie fish and Frank’s Red Hot

I met Ash for the first time about a year ago when he came to California. He was making his way to Gainesville to study abroad. From here to Florida don’t get much more culture shock than that. His parents have been kind enough to put me up for the remainder of my stay. I’ve never met them before but his mother Jacki knows my mother Jackie well. Ash’s mother, father, and sister are home getting ready for a Friday night dinner. In short order his grandparents roll in. What a surprise, I met them a few years back at a family gathering in California.

I regale the table (drone on with) tales of my journey. The grandfather makes dirty jokes while the grandmother rolls her eyes, feels familiar. We trade stories about people who are out of the room. Some around some long gone. It feels good to be around people I know. Warm.