AM: I saw the river yesterday, but not the sea. So, this morning I headed to St. Kilda, the beachfront town that drew merriment makers out of Melbourne every week-end, probably for as long as there has been a tram connection. The ride was short. The town was quiet. The beaches were deserted save for a few joggers, dog walkers, and a vagrant or two. Bakeries seem to be the specialty of Acland Road, but the baked goods look better than they taste (same story as in most of Europe, sorry to say). I found some books for granddaughters (one, soon two) at Readings, a locally grown bookshop. (By the way, the Borders in Melbourne’s CBD was closing down forever and I’ll bet Readings was grinning!) The name Paul Jennings had filtered into my aural environment somewhere along the way, so I asked for his books. And, in them I found dragons. Perfect (but little did I know that I would come face to face with a dragon in just a few hours). I bought three Jennings at Readings, the kind of shop every town should have. I could say the same thing for the place where I had a hamburger (without the egg, thank you, but alas, no ‘American’ mustard) for an early lunch. It was chaotic and disheveled, but it had tables outside along the street. It seemed to be the most popular place in town. I have developed a technique to salve my newspaper-clipping angst. I use my camera to take a picture of any article I would like to clip. In passing by on the sidewalk, a man noticed and we had a good conversation about photography and the days of the 35mm. I asked what the yellow sack on his back was. Had it been red, he could have been Santa out of season. It was his laundry. Doing mine was last night’s work.
Filigree: The answer is: Richmond, New Orleans, and Melbourne. What’s the question? What three cities have the world’s largest collection of cast iron lacework? (Actually, I think Paris outranks Richmond.) Victorian filigree: that was the focus of my afternoon walk. I got off the tram in Middle Park (south of Melbourne) and walked for miles, all the way to Port Melbourne, by which time the sun was pretty low in the western sky. All of these suburbs seem to be the product of the street car. I found a date or two on some of the houses, and it appears these housing estates came into being in the 1880s, perhaps maturing in the early 20th century. The houses are really cottages, what would be called terraces here. This is where the workers lived for the docks and industrial plants (including the brewery whose shell still stands as a condo collection) along the waterfront and the river. The small yards (big enough for a shrub or two) are fronted with cast iron fences and their porches decorated with cast iron lace. In the newer areas (Middle Park seems newer; Albert Park older), stained glass and ornate roof lines seem to have been the way to elevate your status. These neighborhoods stretch for miles between the CBD and the beach at St. Kilda. I really don’t know why travelers go to so many museums, when the best museums are neighborhood streets. A historical placard or two would have made a world of difference, though. And, these days walking tours delivered over cell phones are becoming the rage (though I have no cell phone here).
I could not stop snapping shots of lacy fringes and balustrades. Confronted once was I: by a local resident who wondered why I was taking a picture of his home. “You do know why I am taking pictures, don’t you?” said I. He didn’t. “Because Melbourne is famous for its iron lace.” He and his wife seemed clueless about the history of their neighborhood, but they also seemed satisfied with the explanation. I asked a passing pedestrian if he had ever been attacked by the rooftop dragon that lords over the street where he walks every day. “Still alive,” said he, and then added a few thoughts about the gentrification that was going on. Victorian filigree: there’s more in Melbourne than any other place in the world. What surprises me is its geography: it’s part of the neighborhoods where ordinary people have always lived. To me, it looks so elite.
My apologies for loving the world's ordinary landscapes so much. But, when you start looking, every landscape is really extraordinary.
Geographically yours,
D.J.Z.
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