Birrarung Marr

According to the erstwhile Boffins at the Bureau of Meteorology, Melbourne 'enjoyed' its coldest June day in ten years with the temperature rising to a balmy 9C (that's 48F) - though a heatwave of 12C (54F) is forecast for tomorrow. As it was Tuesday, the day I normally undertake shopping for the various bits n' bobs to keep the Plod going, I thought, 'Stuff it!', do something out of the ordinary, send the routine to the irrelevant basket. Hark! Break forth Plod and venture yonder. But what to do on a day that threatened glums heaped upon glums? Then the idea struck with a mild, more as timid like, connection of a few billion neurons (and that, I understand folks, ain't too many), to sacrifice a long standing attitude. This attitude was my reluctance to go anywhere near the Melbourne CBD as I had once commuted to and from that den of inequity for many, many years, a very long time ago and now generally detest the place. Add to this, the lottery Melbournians endure with our metropolitan (suburban) train system. Our trains, I recalled, are as described by an Old Timer I know as he zoomed passed me one day on his souped up Scooter yelling - "Look out you young plod!" - with vigour that denied his four score years. "Melbourne trains? First world country with a third world transport system", was the Old Timer's mantra. Amen to that Comrade Oldie.

So, with enormous fear and a zone 1 daily ticket to hand I was on my way. Our suburban transport structure is divided into 2 zones with zone 1 more or less being the inner zone and zone 2 reaching the extent of the Melbourne suburbs - well it was that way in the 1920s in relation to the suburbs bit. I might add we have two ticketing systems at present. One system, not much loved, has been around for well over 15 years. It prints out a ticket from a vending type machine or you obtain one from one of the few manned railway stations on the network - amusingly they call such stations 'premium stations'. The other system is a ticketless system called MYKI (pronounced my-key) that is well overdue (3 years late and still not ready). Well over budget so far costing upwards of $1 billion Australian dollars. I kid you not, a billion smackers and it's about $300-$400 million (yes, million) dollars more than the original tender price! Ah! I hear you cry, that's value for money and a hospital or two that could have been built! The idea here is that you use your MYKI (about the size of a credit card) by first 'topping up' and like a debit card, pay as you go by swiping the card at touch on/touch off point (located on all stations). When you complete your journey, you 'swipe off'. The MYKI wizards (probably underpaid garden Gnomes press-ganged into service for the Government) then 'calculate' your fare from whence you came and deduct this amount from your MYKI. Actually, it's not a bad idea but it has been poorly implemented and is the source of much amusement and outright anger amongst long-suffering Commuters. Absurdly though, at present you can only use your MYKI on train travel. You can't use it on buses or trams. To this effect you have to use the old ticketing system. Really dumb in my view. But we are 'assured' by those calm and collected types from the Government (who probably come to work in their taxpayer funded cars) that all will be well 'soon' and MYKI will be able to be used 'everywhere'. Ironically, most Commuters, according to a recent survey, are still using the old system - I do.

However, the dissertation on the Melbourne public transport ticketing systems aside. I duly trooped down to the local railway station (which I had not seen for a long time). It's a grubby place; tired, unloved, drab and bashed up by years of neglect and paint-overs. It is, sadly, quite a notorious place, along with its surrounds, of drug dealing and assault. I've even had my run-ins with thugs wanting to relieve me of items I really don't need, according to them. Mind you, nothing a good whack with the Plod-stick does not sort out quick smart, most but not all of the time. Though, I was once mistaken for a lump of meat and stabbed after I had alighted from train and was on my way to the plod home. Fortunately, they missed my vital organ: a book of Pablo Neruda's poetry that I had in my shirt pocket. It's a boring enough event that ended well enough.

However, as I was going into the City and I was doing so amidst the evening peak, glum faces of the sardine packed in commuters were mostly coming from the City. So, the graffiti smeared carriage I sat in was sparsely full and as it is winter school holidays, none of the chattering uniformed texters were on board either. Not that I mind the schoolkids, as invariably they are quite funny to watch and to listen.

Arriving at the grand Flinders Street station - the main central railway station in the City and the oldest having been built in 1909 - the place was abuzz with the impatient masses shuffling along its 14 platforms heading for their homes in the suburban disapora. The station itself is quite an icon for Melbournians with the famous saying, 'I'll meet you under the clocks at Flinders Street' part of the local lexicon. I understand over 120,000 commuters pass through the station each day, brought in (and then out again) by 1,500 train movements, most of which are running late. This may seem quite impressive but it's somewhat less from its heyday in the 1920s-1950s when well over 250,000 used the station each day. The building is worth a photograph or two, so next time I venture forth I will snap away.

Leaving the station and its hedonistic rush, I plodded toward the nearby Yarra River, a mere stone's throw away, which is Melbourne's principal waterway, rising some 80 kilometres away beyond picturesque town of Warburton in the Yarra Ranges (a part of the much larger Great Diving Range). Nestled beside the Yarra River on the 'City side' on what was a former floodplain, is an 8 hectares/20 acres sized parkland area called, Birrarung Marr. The name is derived from the Woiwurrung language of the original indigenous custodians, the Wurundjeri people and means, 'river of mists' and 'river bank'. The park opened in 2002 on what was previously a roadway and tram route & terminus (and a rather seedy place especially at night). Birrarung Marr now offers a number of pedestrian and cycling pathways, numerous short and long bridges across formal gardens adorned with Australian native plants. It is also a BBQ area, playground and meeting place with numerous landmarks and sculptures. These features include Speaker's Corner, William Barak Bridge (named after a Wurundjeri elder), Artplay (place of creative arts & theatre), Federation Bells, and the Angel sculpture (a huge and riotous artwork that's one of my favourites). There is also a modestly sized Ferris Wheel and plenty of places to sit, relax, read and be at peace in a valium type haze if you wish. All of this right under the buildings of the CBD and a hop skip and plod foot or two from Flinders Street station.

Being a late June night, from a bracingly cold day, few people were about in this idyllic pocket from the madness surrounding. This suited me fine as I could photograph and wander about in ease. Naturally, I was drawn (like a plod-moth to the flame) of the Ferris Wheel with its delicious colours, and light patterns on its superstructure. I find Ferris Wheels irresistible to photograph and it had been donkey's years since I'd seen one in action. I found a perch along a bridge behind the Ferris Wheel near what is called the Federation Bells. This remarkable site is an installation of 39 upturned, yes upturned, bells. They were created to celebrate Australia's centenary of Federation in 2001 and at certain times of the day these bells are rung via a programmed 'drag and drop' timeline - I have no idea what this means but it does sound impressive. What I do know, the bells have an extraordinary array of sounds. Even the narkiest of types could not help but smile when assailed by the sounds that ring forth from these bells. So, I set up the camera on the tripod and waited - a Kit-Kat chocolate bar helped pass the moments. For ages the Ferris Wheel did not move - no customers on this brisk night. Then I spotted a gaggle of young things, excitedly giggling and all trying to shout over each other loom toward the laconic Ferris Wheel operator. After relieving the youngsters of some of their loot, he bundled them in to the cabins on the Wheel (their infectious laugher still bounding across the parkland) and cranked up the well oiled motor. Here was my photo! The spinning Ferris Wheel with its spectrum of colour with the Federation bells in the foreground and aspects of the CBD to the rear including the bluish spire of the Victorian Arts Centre near on a kilometre distant.

I had a hoot of a time. It was not until 11:00pm until I called it a night. By this time I was near frozen and seriously depleted of caffeine. I hopped on board the train to take me back to the Plod-house and yes, the train was running late. I should think I would be game to go into the city again in the very near future and do some more photography. I was pleasantly surprised. Though, I still prefer a beach or a forest of lush eucalypts.

Too, this one's best viewed 'large' I reckon.