Wait, what time is it? What day is it? Where am I? It is dark outside, the buildings outside the window are beautifully lit and my watch is telling me that it is 6:30pm. My body, which according to the time change, should be thinking that it’s 4:30pm, feels more like 10:30pm. I guess that’s what 18h of travel (with a budget airline) will do to you. The plane to Melbourne was quite large and quite empty. I was all the more grateful as the Malaysian lady and her son (nothing against little children, I do love them, just not on airplanes) who were supposed to sit next to me got up to sit with grandma and grandpa a few rows behind. For some reason, I had failed to check the duration of the flight when I booked it and expected something shorter. As the pilot announced 7h 50mins, I nearly slipped out of my three chair bed. It was too bad that Air Asia no longer had stock of their Comfort Kit (a blanket, an inflatable neck pillow and that thing that covers your eyes). At least I got to sleep for a few hours, slowly drifting off as the mother in the row behind me read a very cute children’s book to her daughter, only to wake up because of a severe case of the sniffles, belt-buckle-pressing-into-my-back syndrome and the sun rising over the clouds. The latter being quite beautiful.
Upon landing and successfully getting through immigration, I got onto a bus going into the city…and fell asleep. Sorry suburbian Melbourne, but I missed you. I tried so hard to stay awake, which probably made it look even sillier to the other bus riders, but my tiredness overpowered me. I awoke because the lady next to me “accidentally” bumped into me while getting off at the main station in the city Southern Cross. I lugged my bags out of the bus and followed the instructions given to me by the hostel’s website. Just as I was asking myself how in the hell my youth hostel could be amongst these grand buildings and expensive looking facades, my mom called and asked if I had found the hostel yet. In that moment, I turned my head and noticed the only old and charmingly shabby looking building on the corner and the colorful sign inviting backpackers to the Nomads All Nations. I had arrived. Of course, the question immediately came up “Where are you from?” and when I made him guess, I got a “Will you shoot me if I say American?” and because I nodded he decided I was Canadian.
My room has five bunk beds, therefore sleeping ten people. Two were still in there when I entered around 11am. I think I have five roommates, but I can’t really be sure till I go to bed. Having already written a To-Do-Upon-Arrival list, I grabbed a map at the reception and went on my first walk in Melbourne – right smack through the city centre and the CBD. It reminded me a bit of the area around Friedrichstrasse in Berlin, mixed with some areas in London. The modern and the old, both equally impressive. Slight elevations, old and new trams, the grandeur of the Strand mixed with the hustle and bustle of Piccadilly Circus and the colorful faces of downtown Berlin. I found the post office, I found a SIM card, I found a pharmacy (seeking aid in killing this cold asap), I made an appointment to open a bank account, I found a yummy roast beef roll and cheap coffee. But still, disoriented and tired, not really here or there, home or away. I think it’ll take me another day or two to arrive. Before heading back home I sat down in Southern Cross station to enjoy the free Wifi and immediately felt like I did when I first got to Berlin, sitting in the Sony Center in Potsdamer Platz, freezing my fingers off just so I could check my mail. Maybe I should take it as a good sign, since, in the end, it all fell into place and worked out just fine over there as well.
Getting on a plane in 30degrees and tropical humidity and getting off in 8degrees and gray wind does kind of affect your body – your toes, for example, they get cold. Duh. The fresh air is heavenly, the wind-chill is not. When I got back from my couple of hours out and about, the only thing I could think of was a warm, no make that a hot shower. And boy did I get it. Every once in a while in your life, a hot shower is one of the most satisfying things once can experience. Today was such a day. And I didn’t even mind blow-drying my hair with the automatic hand dryer in the bathroom. As Woody Allan would say:”Whatever works”. When I got back to my room, a Korean roommate offered me an orange.
Sadly, I have noticed that my German cell phone, which is on some kind of travelers thing, is not receiving any text messages. And my Aussie number also has something against me reading texts from someone I really want to receive them from, because they are not arriving. Damn it.
Note: I like hot showers and oranges. I do not like cell phone providers keeping my text messages from me.
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