Friday, 29 August 2014

Melbourne Writers Festival

One of the best things about living in Frankston is that it's far enough away from the city to be its own separate entity and yet close enough to take advantage of all of the fabulous arty events that go on in the CBD (translation: downtown). And the best part? The vast majority is free!

Even better? We don't have to pay an arm and a leg to get off an island to get to the closest major metropolis. No dashing for the ferry and enduring that ulcer inducing wait to see if you are going to make the next sailing to Vancouver. No pulse pounding interrogations at the border to get to Seattle. All the art and culture we could possibly want is at our veritable doorstep.

Last week, Sophie and I decided to go to a science fair at the Queen Victoria Market and one hour-long train ride later, BAM, we were there. We extracted DNA from strawberries, tasted all the stages of chocolate production, grew hand crafted bacteria samples and ate our way through several pastry stall samples. All for free. On the way back to Flinders Street station, we decided to pop into the National Gallery of Victoria (NGV) to revisit some sculpture we had previously enjoyed. Again, free.
this is actually from an art installation in Pahran, but you get the idea.
Today, I went into the city on my own to take advantage of the Melbourne Writers Festival. You guessed it - almost all of it was free.

My first session was "The Morning Read" - four authors gathered in a coffee bar to read from their current publications. When I walked in (a little late), a purple haired author was reading a chapter from her detective novel which, from what I could gather, involved half of a body sewn onto a deer's hindquarters. There were a lot of expletives and very graphic descriptions and I was only half listening while I tried to surreptitiously catch the attention of a server. Thankfully, once I had ordered my coffee and was paying attention again, an Irish author was giving voice to his main character, a gangsta rapper from Fremantle. Highly entertaining.



The next session was a group of three debut novelists - a platinum haired poet who "makes works around digital semiotics", a straight atheist who wrote a book about a homosexual boy in an orthodox Jewish community, and a forty-something tv critic who wrote about a fictional reality show called Survivor CBD. A very diverse bunch.

By this time, lunch was in order, so I wandered among the kazillion cafes and restaurants nearby and settled on a eggplant schnitzel baguette with a filtered coffee.
And what, you ask, is a filtered coffee?
I watched the barista weigh and grind the beans, place them delicately in a filter and fit it into a contraption that sits on top of a beaker.

He then poured hot water over the grinds, slowly, over several minutes, to extract a shot glass sized portion of coffee. He proudly poured this into a cup and with both hands, offered it to me. I asked for some milk (Australians don't do cream) and he looked absolutely horrified. I actually thought he was going  to snatch the coffee back from me.
"You should have left it, babe. It's far too delicate"
I didn't dare ask for sugar.

Back at Fed Square, I joined the queue for "Why I Read", a talk with Brain Picking's Maria Popova and literary editor Jason Steger. The session was oversold, so the line was long, but I managed to get in at the very front. I looked back to survey those behind me and saw that everyone in line was reading.
A book.
A real live paper book. No phones or iHooies to be seen.
The printed word is not dead.
The session itself was beyond awesome. Popova must have a photographic memory because I lost count of how many books she quoted from. Steger has a deep British voice and a chummy, laissez-faire attitude coupled with a quick wit. And an undying hatred for Ayn Rand.
I could have listened to them for days on end.

My final session, "Artists for the Environment" included a Michael Stipe-esque musician/writer and a bearded playwriter/installation artist who showed us a clip of himself on stage shoving ice in his underwear. Both of them are doing what they can to change public perception of climate change. They pointed out that we need to stop thinking about the environment as something we need to save and realize that the environment is an extension of our own selves. So, in fact, it is ourselves that we are working to save. In the Q&A, I asked:
"If you could make one small, easily digestible message go viral, what would it be?"
Both of them answered:
"Leave the coal in the ground"
We have our pipelines, Aussies have dirty coal.

So, my take aways from today?
I need to read more. Much more.
I need to stop buying $6 coffees in hopes that I may find something familiar.
I can throw out my unread copy of Atlas Shrugged.


Saturday, 9 August 2014

I heart Melbourne

I’m feeling guilty about the amount of space I’ve devoted to complaining about the weather and the size of the coffee cups here. Let me tell you about some of the things I love about living in Australia and specifically, Melbourne.

The Art

The city of Melbourne has an impressive arts focus. Their Public Art Program states “The City of Melbourne recognises that artworks experienced in public space are visible and accessible to all, and serve as important markers reflective of our cultural identity.” As a result, there are astounding pieces every corner you turn. Even driving down Eastlink, a major traffic artery, is a cultural experience.
Case in point:
 
Hotel, by Callum Morton, is slightly smaller than life sized. Just enough to make you think WTF?! at you drive by.

Panorama Station by Louise Paramor. "based on an assemblage of found plastic objects" Eat your heart out, Mowry Baden with your Pavilion, Rock and Shell

And let’s not forget the laneway art:



The Seniors


I find the age to which Australian seniors remain active truly impressive. Some examples:
  • While waiting for our flight to Uluru, Rob and the girls went to find candy for the journey and left me to wait with the luggage. A charming silver haired gent plonked himself next to me and struck up a conversation. “My daughter just left me at the entrance and told to me sort myself out. I’m 90 years old!” And then followed one of the most entertaining hours I’ve had in a long time. He was a skilled conversationalist and prompted me with questions while interspersing interesting tales from his own life. I learned about his family and he met all of mine. I asked him how he had met his wife and got the whole story, complete with the tale of her passing, after 61 years of marriage, at home, as he held her hand. Oh jeez, it still makes me tear up – look up and to the left – up and to the left. He is still living in his own home and holds a weekly salon for local artists and writers in between jaunts around the country to visit friends and family.
  • Every weekend, exiting Plummer Ave. is extremely challenging because of the massive pelotons of cyclists plowing up Olivers Hill. As I wait for a break in the traffic, I get an up close and personal view of all of the riders and at least 80% of them are over the age of 60. 

  • Recently, we stopped to watch a troop of surfers at Phillip Island. The surf was mid size (says she, who has never caught a wave in her life) and the dozen or so surfers out in the ocean looked like seasoned pros. As they started coming ashore because of the looming sunset, we saw that the vast majority of these neoprene clad people were silver haired seniors. I know wetsuits can hide a wealth of flaws but wow, these fogies were cut!

The markets

Oh, the markets.
Within an hours drive, I have at least four food markets that make Granville Island look like a quaint little backwoods stall.
  • Queen Victoria Market, the grand dame of the city, takes hours to circumnavigate.
  • Pahran Market, in an upscale hipster area, is where I found an avocado the size of an emu egg and Sophie wandered the baking aisles of Essential Ingredient with a look of ecstasy rivaling that of Bernini’s Saint Teresa.
  • South Melbourne Market is close to Melbourne Sports and Aquatic Centre, where the girls have most of their meets. As you swim parents know, you spend eight hours at the pool to watch your pride and joys swim about four and a half minutes, leaving lots of time to shop. The last time I was at the market, I saw a stall with jam donuts filled with warm salted caramel. I circled that aisle five times trying to justify spending $5.50 on a donut that would be gone in two bites. I decided against it and haven’t stopped thinking about that donut since.
  • Dandenong Market is only half an hour away and the meat stalls contain any kind of meat you could possibly imagine, and many that you prefer had been left to the imagination. (FYI - many place names in Australia sound like they have come straight out of Gulliver’s Travels – Dandenong, Woolloomooloo, Brobdingnag, Wangaratta etc.)
 And I haven't even begun to talk about the wildlife...