Melbourne, AU

We've almost reached the end of September, and I've yet to report on August! (Apparently, I do need my mother nagging me every other day.)

So much has happened since I last wrote: the seasons have changed, I've moved to the North Island, I have a new flat, I've traveled across the ditch, said good-bye to some American friends returning home, and begun a new (and somewhat final) phase of my research.


Before I departed Christchurch, I scheduled a handful of meetings and interviews in Melbourne and I allowed myself a 5 day weekend to explore this hip Australian metropolis with my friend Jenny, who came down from Sydney to hang out. Staying at the Nunnery, we positioned ourselves well to see, hear, shop, and taste the charms of Melbourne. This convent-turned-backpackers skirts the trendy, yet edgy neighborhood of Fitzroy (Melbourne's smarter answer to Williamsburg), faces Carlton Gardens and the Italian flavored uni district, and is just elbow-nudging distance from the CBD (um, that's Australian for 'downtown').

On my first day there, I found my way to the Royal Children's Hospital, and met with the social worker and adolescent gynecologist for interviews. While I was going on very little sleep (I had to be at the airport at 5am that morning), I managed to conduct relatively coherent conversations and learn some interesting things about their "centre of excellency." As I walked home, my impressions of the meetings sublimed into vaporous memories and recollections that I hoped would somehow deposit themselves in my field notes and transcripts. But I didn't care that at each moment these impressions fell further away--I wanted to take my time going back to my room to meander through the shop-lined streets of this foreign city. Weaving through Friday's pedestrian traffic, I ducked into a bustling bookshop to peruse the shelves of international and local literature. When I had visited Sydney, I made an effort to purchase a book by an Australian author, but this time, I felt like an ex-pat drawn to a nostalgic (and romanticized) vision of home so I bought "The Yiddish Policeman's Union" by Michael Chabon. (you may know him from his Pulitzer Prize-winning novel "Kavalier and Clay"). His latest is a noir detective novel, about a murder, a messiah, and a bunch of jews in the Yiddish-speaking Alaskan district of Sitka--oy, need I say more!? Anyway, bookworming aside, I returned to the convent and had a shluf, until my friend Jenny arrived.

The remainder of the weekend was filled with a trip to the Victoria Market, a gallery hop, fancy cocktails, coffees, a bike ride to the seaside suburb of St. Kilda, yummy food, giggles, a mosey through the Botanic Gardens, shopping, and last but not least, a Ryan Adams concert! It was my first time seeing him live, and it was as welcome as a warm slice of Americana pie. As Jenny and I waited inside St. Kilda's Palais Theatre, the Art Nouveau auditorium teemed with flannel, plaid and cowboy boots. The show was wonderfully teasingly mysteriously fulfilling. Not once did he allow the lights to light up his face or the rest of his band; his sometimes syrupy, sometimes gravelly voice emanated from the darkness. Ryan Adams is known for being a temperamental performer, and that evening he lived up to his reputation. He had the audience groveling on a string and at every break we braced ourselves for the worst: that--in that good ol' fashioned country music way--he might love us, leave us, and take the dog.








cheers for now,

D