Australia Revisited: Day 1-- Auckland, NZ to Melbourne, Victoria

Ahh, the sweet relief of finishing my exams! It's a great feeling to be done, no matter the results. I think my final three exams went pretty well, and now the wait begins to get my official results, followed by what I'm sure will be another long wait until they're posted on my official transcript.

Now I only have three more full days in New Zealand. Incredible. Time has both flown by and come to a halt here. I imagine that coming back to the States will feel similar to coming home during breaks in freshman year, back before I had built up a community in DC and it felt like I was living in two separate worlds. I used to describe it as coming home feeling like no time had passed and nothing had changed, except that some of the furniture had been rearranged. We'll see if I encounter any reverse-culture shock as I make my re-entry back into America.

Speaking of re-entry into the US, Qantas' A380 fleet remains grounded. I got an email saying that my flight from Sydney to L.A. had been switched to a 747-400. A little disappointing that I didn't get to experience the more comfortable A380 on a long flight. I'm glad I got the chance to fly one with Emirates...who knows how long it'll be before they're back in service. Now, only 32 hours of travel on Tuesday and a tricky connection in LA stand between me and home!

And with exams out of the way, I can do my last trip recap of my voyage to Australia two weeks ago. I'll try to get these done before I leave the country. Here goes...

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I've learned over time that having to get up early generally sucks, no matter the exact time. Whether it's 5:00 or 6:30, I still get the focused grogginess and sour stomach of the early morning. But there's something about 4:30 AM that makes it a particularly unpleasant time to wake up. I watched a TEDTalk a while ago about how "four-in the morning is the new midnight," a strange hour of limbo where human activity generally ceases except for that of night-owls and unsavoury characters. On the walk to the bus to the airport, I saw a few of both. Lights were still on at the student apartment buildings near mine (not surprising, given the upcoming exams), and the dairy built into the base of one of the apartments was still open for business. Other than that, Auckland was quiet and tired, and so was I as the bus arrived.

Auckland at 4:45 AM

The bus driver was a short Maori guy--no more than 4'6"--whom I recognized as my driver from the last time I took the bus to the airport. A nauseatingly upbeat soundtrack of muzak versions of terrible 70s pop songs played in the background. I don't know if the music was of the driver's choosing or some sort of torture test from the bus company, but I fished my iPod out of my pocket and tried unsuccessfully to overpower it with my own tunes. The bus stopped to pick up a surprising number of other passengers: a couple of sleepy backpackers, a rather chipper gray-haired older woman, and a pilot for Air New Zealand who clipped on his stripes to the shoulders of his white shirt as he boarded the bus. He looked very tired of the whole routine. I breezed through security and passport control (hallelujah for better planning) and killed an hour watching planes take off through the sunrise.

A Qantas jet departs. I don't remember taking this picture, but it was on my camera.

Air New Zealand 123 was operating with a Boeing-777-200LR (registration #ZK-OKE [for my own reference only]) which was another new airline and another new plane for me. I think the 777 is one of my favorite planes to look at. It's perfectly proportioned, and gives off an air of both sleekness and power. One inside, though, I didn't notice much difference from the LAN Chile Airbus A340 I flew from Sydney--they're both comfortable widebody aircraft. The Air New Zealand crew was decidedly members of the over-50 set, an equal mix of gray-haired men and women. My seatmate was a Maori woman who needed a seatbelt extender to hold in her infectious, chortling laugh as she joked with her friend and nearby seatmates. Good winds over th Tasman made the crossing quick, and we landed 30 minutes early.

After a good bit of search, I found my public bus to the city. Three bus drivers, in a perfect demonstration of the Aussie "no worries" mentality, stood around the bus, chatting noncommitedly about the ramifications of a shattered turn signal near the driver's door. As I boarded the bus, the driver told me to "just take a seat, mate" since apparantly the farebox was broken too. No complaints from me--that just means I got a free ride! As I had done in Sydney, I took the bus with the broken turn signal to a suburban train station, where I bought an all-day transit pass and took a commuter rail into the city.

I still like cities. They inspire me with their blend of people, capital and potential. I like their architecture, their public transportation, their crowds. I'm not sure if I'd actually like to live permanently in the CBD of a major city, but I still like visiting. This was exactly what Melbourne was: a city. Nothing more, nothing less. It has pleasant architecture, a few tall buildings, an effective public transportation system centred around an extensive tram network that runs down the centre of the major arteries--all of which seemed to exist for the sole purpose of its residents and occupants. There's nothing wrong with that, but I realized as I was exploring Melbourne by foot, tram, and train that there wasn't much to differentiate Melbourne from other places.

That's not to say that it was unpleasant. Melbourne is simply another location where you could choose to live your life. One thought that kept popping into my head during this trip was the realization that there are a lot of people in our world, and how small any single person's life is compared to the full glory of the human machine. Seeing a few other parts of the world (and I've only just begun) has shown me that people have created a lot of little ecosystems for themselves around the planet, all self-functioning yet inseparable. It's been fun to participate in some of these other ecosystems, even if just for a day or four and a half months.

Hungry from my early wakeup call, I somehow located a tiny Japanese restaurant near the University of Melbourne that had gotten rave reviews online called Don Don. True to the reviews, you place your order, pay for your food, and as you're in the process of receiving your change you are presented with a bowl of steaming rice and toppings, all for about six bucks. I wolfed down the rice and tofu steaks seeping in a bowl of generously spicy Japanese curry, and was in and out in about ten minutes.

More meandering brought me to Federation Square near Flinders Street Station. A classic church sat in the background, flanked by a newly constructed, modern Melbourne visitors centre. On the square, a street performer was in the finale of his act. He had culled some people from the audience, and was attempting to get them to juggle increasing numbers of bowler hats. His Korean volunteer kept dropping the hats, and flat out refused to participate when the performer attempted to increase the number of hats to four. If this was the finale, I'm glad I didn't catch the rest of the show. I moved on before the performer tried to pull me into his act. On the other side of the Square was "ABBA World." Truly this was the place of the bizarre.

I had seen two separate people on the trains into the city eating fries out of a paper cone adorned by logo of one "Lord of the Fries." Since two people on two trains were partaking, I thought I should try it as well. The flagship store was easy to find, on the corner of Flinders and Elizabeth Streets. The sign proclaimed "the best fries you'll ever try." I ordered a cone of fries with a peanut satay sauce, selected out of a tempting list of over a dozen different sauces and combinations. The fries were decent, but not the best I've ever had.

After my fries, I decided on a whim to jump on a tram showing South Melbourne Beach as its destination. The two-car vehicle drove agreeably down the centre of the city streets, releasing a satisfying, old-timey "ding" of a bell with each stop. It deposited me after about 30 minutes at a skinny beach south of the city. With its murky gray water and wimpy surf, it's not one of the beaches that would be displayed on the cover of an Australian tour magazine, but it was a nice escape from the urbanness (if that wasn't a word, it is now) of the CBD. There was a even this fishing pier, which was much cooler and windier than the rest of the city.

I went back at sunset, too.

Later at night, I went to Southbank, which is the city's constructed arts and entertainment distrcit. People flock to places like this to feel hip by eating at restaurants with one-word names like "World" or "Umami." Of course, truly hip people probably wouldn't be seen anywhere near this constructed hipness that was reminiscent of the Circular Quay area near the Sydney Opera House. It was a nice area, though, with sculptures lit up in all sorts of colours, and I got some good views of the skyline on either side of the Yarra River.

So, Melbourne came and passed as a place to live and work, not leaving too much of a distinct impression. I'll take fault for this for not looking harder for unique things to see and do, but I'm glad I went regardless. Melbourne, if nothing else, is a comfortable place, and one that I wouldn't mind visiting again in more detail. For this trip, though, the most important purpose it would serve was the starting point for my 11-hour train journey to Adelaide, South Australia.