Where Graffiti is Art and Greek is the Second Language

I have a strange feeling of déjà vu. I’m sitting on an airplane, netbook on the tiny tray table in front of me, typing my blog. This time however, I am on my way to Karratha, flying steadily away from Melbourne. Below me lies mile after mile of nothingness. Just red land, occasionally rising to form a small hillock, but otherwise a vast tract of the same sun-baked, water-deprived Mars-like land. Quite a contrast to the hustle and bustle, the libraries and museums, theatres and galleries, boutiques and purveyors of fine foods, bars and restaurants, of Melbourne.


Ah, Melbourne, how I love thee. A surprise awaits the visitor around every corner. An Art Deco apartment building from which one could almost see Hercule Poirot gazing out stands proud next to its modern equivalent, a soaring tower of glass. The Yorkshire cottage James Cook grew up in, shipped to Melbourne in pieces and reassembled in its finest park, complete with an English cottage garden. Graffiti so beautiful it could be described as nothing less than art, discovered down unassuming cobbled lanes. The old and the new nestle comfortably beside one another. Grand Victorian buildings rub shoulders with 21st century glass- and steel-clad multi-stories, resulting in an eclectic mix of architectural styles all jostling for space along the streets.

And that one word sums Melbourne up nicely – eclectic. It has the feeling of being a very inclusive type of place – Greeks, Italians, Brits, Chinese, Japanese, Middle Easterners, have all settled there (Melbourne is home to the largest number of Greeks outside Athens), artists, actors and writers flourish, and a Bohemian vibe can be felt throughout the city and its suburbs. Its architecture, its food and its culture all reflect a continually changing city, one which has the ability to constantly surprise. I loved it and I didn’t even get close to Ramsey Street – it turns out there is definitely more to Melbourne than Harold and Lou!