Pick Your Favourite City

Pick what you like, that was how I went about it.

I was still sitting on Magnetic Island and knew that I did not have much time left down here in Down Under. Either I would do something I had not done before, yet again, or I would take another look at something I had already visited once.

I considered Perth or Alice Springs. Holy shit, Alice Springs was expensive. The flight alone. And Perth, yes, why not? But then I thought: why not Melbourne?

The whole trip would cost me less than a flight to Alice Springs, and one should also see the place in winter. Everyone had always whined to me that Melbourne was so cold in winter. Early June here is basically early December turned upside down. So I sat at Townsville airport and put together my trip. Fly via Brisbane and then straight on to Melbourne.

When I saw the hotel prices, I had to laugh. Compared with many other places, Melbourne is really cheap. I even had the sixty extra dollars left for a room with a view of the skyline. And what can I say? An investment that paid off, I think.

My heart still whined a little about the missed Perth opportunity. Just at that moment, the delayed plane from Perth landed in Brisbane, the one that would later become my plane to Melbourne. The passengers getting off did not look very happy. Even the captain apologised for the delay. The flight must have been pretty rough and bumpy. Storms in Perth. And suddenly I was completely happy with my decision.

It can be that simple.

Despite the delay, I arrived in Melbourne early enough to take the SkyBus into the city. When I stepped out of the airport, the temperature hit me first. A nice fresh ten degrees. Wonderful. I was prepared, with a jacket and long trousers.

Just after one in the morning, I was at my hotel, which I had booked near the SkyBus station. When I came into the room, I could already see through the blinds what I wanted to see: the night skyline. Of course, the backyard skyline and not the expensive riverfront skyline. But hey, I am a child of backyards. Why pretend to be something you are not?

The next morning, of course, I had a hard time getting out of bed. Transfer days are starting to sit in my bones. I am not forty five anymore either. How could it be otherwise?

But the coffee drove me out of bed. Or rather, the craving for it.

I wobbled towards Queen Victoria Market, one of the main reasons for my Melbourne decision, only to discover that it is closed on Mondays. Mondays and Wednesdays. Good, noted.

So I sat down in the café across the street.

Winter in Melbourne is like autumn back home. Southern German autumn, mind you, not that rubbish they have in the Ruhr area, where even summer feels like autumn, only wetter.

So what does one do with a day like that? I asked myself after my second coffee.

Exactly that: drink coffee and stroll through the city.

I had my laptop with me because I still had a few things to take care of. At some point around midday, I was back at the hotel because it had started raining after all, and I had a table by the window with a really nice view. Besides, how much coffee can a person drink? In my case maybe five or six. After that, many things become difficult to impossible.

Then came Tuesday.

Finally market. Finally ginger shot. Finally.

And as an insider tip: Tuesday really is one of the quieter days at the market. You can actually get into conversations. Melburnians are genuinely quite chilled and like to chat.

Alessandro was my coffee dealer for the day, at one of the stalls. He wanted to know where I was from and what I wanted to see. Then came the tips. Absolutely try the American doughnuts over there, they are hot and delicious. And definitely the Royal Botanic Garden and the museums. He was raving.

It is rare that residents are so enthusiastic about their city. He has the same love for Melbourne that I have for Stuttgart.

Alessandro is the child of immigrants from Argentina, as he told me. Argentinians. Funny people. They look like Italians, behave like the British, and Buenos Aires at least once had the highest density of psychologists in the world. But I digress.

Melbourne.

Interestingly, Melbourne’s cityscape feels very international, partly Southeast Asian in character. About twenty three percent Chinese ancestry, about six and a half percent Indian ancestry. Around half the residents of Victoria’s capital have a migration background, with both parents born overseas, and somehow you notice that in the city.

At the same time, Melbourne feels much more European than many other Australian cities. Or a little like a city on the East Coast of the United States. No evergreen deciduous trees, autumn temperatures, a different rhythm. As I said, all the Australians told me Melbourne was freezing in winter. The wind probably comes from the Pole too. But during these few days it really was not too cold. Good clothing, in my case a cotton jacket over two layers of shirts, and that was it. I am used to worse. I am actually enjoying this.

Quite pleasant.

And then the people are more of the nice kind. They talk to you at the stalls when you buy something. It really is pleasant in this city. Sure, they also run around here and go about their business. Sure, they push past you if you leave space. But most of the time I have my head in the clouds anyway, looking at the skyscrapers or sitting around in museums.

I let my soul dangle.

I reflect on life, on my life, sit in my room while it rains and stare at the skyline. And do exactly the same thing.

Yes, rain. Yesterday I had one of those days. Not really unpleasant either. I like it when rain falls down through urban canyons and the wind almost blows you over. I am into that. It reminded me of the time I once saw a thunderstorm approaching in Manhattan in late summer. It was impressive and spectacular, how it moved through the street canyons. And it was like that here too. Just a little colder.

I went to the National Gallery of Victoria three times. That red room with the European works really got to me. Apart from that, too, it is a very well made gallery.

I walked up and down the Yarra River. I actually went to the Royal Botanic Garden, and yes, it is good. Not like the botanic gardens in some other Australian cities. It is really good. Almost like the gardens in, well, you know where.

Why does Stuttgart not have a skyline, actually? Right. The fresh air corridor would be missing in the basin.

I did in fact try those doughnuts at Queen Victoria Market. To my surprise, I was holding Berliners in my hand. Original Berliners, with jam filling, warm. Tasty, but nothing extraordinary. But tasty.

And so the days passed rather quickly after all. That happens when you walk through the city with your head tilted upwards or spend time figuring out the public transport system.

Melbourne has good public transport. True, inside the Central Business District you are probably faster on foot than with those trams, but hey, they are free. Just like admission to the galleries and museums. And the hotels are cheap.

So I am into this city.

Not only because of the market, which really is special. If I ever emigrate to Australia again, then certainly to Melbourne.

I had still considered doing tours. To the Twelve Apostles or to some islands. But every time I sat down by the window and looked at the skyline, I lost that thought again and did not pursue it any further. Then I went out, drank coffee, and the idea of a guided tour disappeared.

By now I have even found my regular café. Right downstairs there is an old railway carriage with a nice café inside. The coffee is good. The coffee is strong. What more do you want?

I like this city. It brings thoughts to a close.

Now it is back to Brisbane and then back to the Swabian province. And I am looking forward to it. Truly. I am genuinely excited. My few belongings arrived today and are standing in a barn, waiting for me.

Alongside anticipation, reflection is an important quality. And people can say a lot about me, but I can reflect. I have been doing that over the past days and weeks, and Melbourne has helped me sort things out and separate the important from the unimportant. Still, much is still fermenting and will need to simmer a little longer. But some things have matured, and some processes have been quite revealing.

I will soon be fifty, I noticed recently, looking at my passport.

A quarter of a century ago, in the middle of my studies, somewhere between fear of failure and delusions of grandeur, I sat down, looked in the mirror and defined my philosophy of life. I had met some people, experienced a few things, and at that time I had a truly strange flatmate. In general, there were quite a few people around me back then who only saw themselves and their own advantage. People for whom anything was acceptable as long as it made them look better. People who attach themselves to you until you slow down, and then act as if they had overtaken you by their own strength. I was willing to do almost anything not to have those bloodsuckers around me. I looked at that and wanted to become anything but like them.

And spoiler: I succeeded.

Back then, I defined how I wanted to become. What the axioms were, which lines I would not cross. The basic idea was that in fifty years I would still be able to look in the mirror, look myself in the eyes, and not have to feel guilty. About anything.

Today, twenty five years later, I can do that.

I can reproach myself for very little. I do not exploit people. I do not manipulate. I do not lie. I do not sneak myself advantages. I do not put others down, because this is a sign of a weak character.

Maybe stupid. Maybe not.

But a detached house with a garden and a mortgage I have to pay off for thirty years was never my goal. I love freedom. This unbound freedom. This being here today, and if I do not like it, somewhere else tomorrow. It is restless, not secure, not easy. And slowly I am getting too old for it. Positions are already being rejected because I am simply old now. Yes, that is discrimination, but not if no reason is given.

Whatever.

I do not need much. It goes on. I am competent and good, reasonably intelligent and extremely creative. So, no worries. So far, I have been able to reinvent myself every time.

I am not driven by envy, something I am particularly proud of. Envy only leads to dissatisfaction, as I have unfortunately observed too often in my closest family circle. Sadly, envy is also a powerful engine.

Yet I have noticed that I could make a few fine adjustments.

I do not have to swallow every lie, shrug my shoulders and carry on. Of course I can keep doing that as before, because I never wanted to lower myself to that level. How did my ex wife once put it, full of love: “Do you always have to remain the moral victor?”

I have thought about that for a while now, and even today I have to say: yes.

It will not buy me anything. It will not make me rich. But at least I do not have to lie to anyone, cheat anyone, insult anyone or betray anyone for it.

In recent years, it became more frequent and more intense. Promises and untruths, so that I would go somewhere, leave something else behind, come here or go there. I only need to look back at the past few years. As soon as you were there, none of it was visible anymore. All promises, no longer existent. This has been going on for a few years now.

And when I had had enough of being manipulated, lied to or shouted at, and left, then they added one more thing on top. Professionally as well as privately.

So I think it is time to change this.

Not an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. That is not me. That is not how I function.

But simply turning the other cheek again and again?

No.

There is something better.

For every lie, there will now be a truth.

Because lies have an expiry date.

Truth does not expire.

In that sense.