Arch Of A Journey

Having returned to Melbourne and feeling compelled to embrace the city, I thought, what better way than to become intimate with its most iconic form of transport, the tram? I could periodically take various routes and document sights and the adventures I would have. This would not only lead to a broad discovery of the city, but also act as a precursor to my desire to write a book on the London bus network. The idea seemed to have merit and so I selected the 112 for my maiden voyage. However, things took an interesting twist when I noticed a drawing of Kat’s on the cover of the M magazine that comes with The Sunday Age. Whilst my initial reaction was one of delight for Kat, I soon found myself wallowing in the reality that while my friends and peers are making constructive contributions in areas of their interest, I was still, what my mother calls, “a drifter”. So I devised a plan to rectify the situation. I would jump a tram, write up my story and pitch the idea of a weekly adventure on a different tram route to various sections of The Age and hope that one would find the idea of worth.
In the past few years, The Age has become increasingly Melbourne-centric. Its desire to promote and celebrate the city has become an obvious and constant theme in its content. I figured, because of this, such an idea would carry a fair amount of weight.
After getting caught up in the hullabaloo of the festive season, it wasn't until a few days ago that I was able to find the time to embark on the journey. I took the 96 down to Fitzroy St. and walked over to the intersection of Park St. where the 112 begins. I decided not to use my iPod or read a book during the trip. I thought it was imperative to be all eyes and ears to truly envelope myself in the experience. However, whilst the tram was sitting on Park St. waiting for it scheduled departure time, I pulled out the light paperback James had slipped me the night before; Alain de Botton's aptly titled "On Seeing And Noticing". I flipped to the chapter "On Single Men" and was engaged by the line "Women should be grateful for the despair of unattached men, for it is the foundation of future loyalty and selflessness." I’ve always thought that I would make an excellent boyfriend, however I’ve never had the opportunity to test this belief. The above quote did give me some reassurance though. Unfortunately, the quote also delivered me a certain melancholy which would accompany me for the duration of the journey.

Traveling along Park St. is a pleasant experience as it is not a shopping strip or major artery, but a residential street. I used to take this tram quite frequently in the late-nineties when the old "W" class trams were still being used on the route and would feel a certain quaint and idealised nostalgia. Nowadays the number 30 is the only route to run the "W" class trams. Rapacious modernity will always be triumphant. The route would reveal further examples of this truth as I traveled along it.

The problem with catching a tram from St Kilda is that inevitably it will be occupied by “St Kilda types” – English geezers needing excitement, collar-up guys, and those with a the misguided belief that they are culturally astute sophisticates. A conversation took place behind me concerning The Cat Empire and I rest my case. "The river has a right side and a wrong side" sang The Lucksmiths, and I can't help but agree.

The tram moves along Albert Road and past the old Lakeside Oval, now "Bob Jane Stadium", and the second saddest sight on the route. If it wasn't bad enough that the Swans flew north to attempt to introduce a decent sport to heathens in Sydney (a sport they don't deserve), the ground is now home to South Melbourne FC, who, with the invention of the "A League", have been relegated to the Victorian Premier League. Ok, so nobody likes the ethnic divisions of the traditional Melbourne football clubs, and although I am enjoying the wonderful success of the Melbourne Victory in the A League, there is a certain soullessness to these newly formed teams. Obviously, they can't help but lack a history, but they also lack community. Whilst we may support the Melbourne Victory, we don't love the team as the Greek community (and others) loves South Melbourne. The Victory are a fully grown tree supplanted in one's backyard, never nurtured from a sapling and with roots than may not take hold.

On Clarendon St. a tourist couple from Brisbane hop on, sit opposite me and start pointing out the obvious points of attraction to each other; the casino, Flinders St. Station from across the Yarra and new Spencer St. Station as the tram turns into Collins St. This is particularly frustrating. I want my idea to embrace the more subtle aspects of the city, the audience I envisage don't care for the casino and they know what Flinders St. looks like, these things aren't interesting to people who live in the city. And so to avoid their inappropriate chatter I had to resort to the iPod for the length of Collins St, up MacArthur and halfway along Brunswick St. when they finally departed.

As the tram moved across Alexandra Parade and up towards St Georges road, the saddest sight on the route was revealed: the old Brunswick St. Oval. I harbour a fairly strong desire to one day proudly stroll the length of Brunswick St in my old Fitzroy jumper and then maybe stop to have a kick on the oval, or maybe to burn an effigy of Ross Oakley. From the time of my birth up until I was around 17 football consumed the majority of my time. However, with the destruction of Fitzroy my interest in the sport waned. I still recognise it as the sport of the gods and pity those who believe otherwise, yet without a team to support there's nothing to really draw me in. It is more than unfortunate.
I try to put all this behind me as the tram moves along St Georges Road. As it crosses Normanby Avenue I start to ponder a little query that has been bugging me for a while. You see the term "by" or "bie" was Old Norse for farm. Towns like Derby in England and Lockerbie in Scotland derive their names from the period of Danelaw in Britian (circa 900 - 1100 AD). The current Normandy region of France was also conquered by these Norse men (Normans), and so it fair to believe that the original name of the area would have been Normanby (as towns in Yorkshire and Lincolnshire are named). So sometime during the last 1000 years or so there was a consonant shift that led to the region being transformed to Normandy. As the Normans were very quick to adopt French (or Norman-French as their dialect became known) as their language post-conquest, it could be fair to conclude that Normandy is a francisation of Normanby. However no material on the region I can find makes any mention of this consonant shift. It's very curious indeed.

The tram ends its route in a partially abandoned shopping strip in West Preston. Several shops are boarded up and it has the feeling of a place only visited by regulars. I hoped off the tram, treated myself to a couple of Curly-Wurlies, and started to sort through my scribbled notes as I hopped back on the tram for its return journey. Obviously, any published piece would be a lot more succinct and streamlined than this, but I felt the need to display a broad range of knowledge that could be adapted to different locations around the city. I'm hoping that someone will think that the idea has enough merit to at least be "kicked around", as I believe that's what these media types do with their ideas. I'm upbeat about the prospects of developing this, and hopeful that this idea won't suffer the same fate as that West Preston shopping strip; partially abandoned and only visited by regulars.