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Lodge Safaris in Tanzania - I will try to avoid the travel clich

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Melbourne: A City of Character Melbourne is the capital city of the state of Victoria and while the confines of Melbourne are home to only 65,000 people, the surrounding metropolis is home to over 1million people. Situated at the head of Port Philip in the South East of Australia, Melbourne is a buzzing city with more than a little flavour of the multicultural.

The centre of the city itself was laid out by John Batman who is the only Australian born explorer to found a state Capital. Batman was so far ahead of his time that he even wanted to compensate the aboriginals for the use of their land. Among one of the prospective name for Melbourne was Batville or Batmania Luckily they stuck with Melbourne. One thing that will stick with visitors to Melbourne is the trees as most streets are tree lined. It is a tribute to the design of Melbourne that today the streets are so rich with trees.

The centre of Melbourne is laid out in a grid formation, ten grids across by ten grids tall. It is a bustling city centre with pedestrian shopping streets and trams running ever two blocks. If you are driving through Melbourne City Centre, be forewarned about turning right when there are tram lines present. You cannot make a standard right turn as the nose of the car will be on the tram tracks. Rather you indicate right, but park in front of the traffic to your left which is queuing to go straight on. When your lights go red you complete your turn. My advise would be to watch this carefully from the footpath before trying it with a car.

The Queen Victoria Market is as much a market as a tourist attraction as a market. It is a vast complex offering everything from fruit and vegetables to clothes, fine coffees and local produce. The market is open every week from Tuesday to Sunday and is within easy reach by foot from the centre of Melbourne.

From this central area of Melbourne, the other sections of Melbourne radiate at angles. Among them is the fashionable area of Carlton. This is a fashionable area that is famous for its restaurant lined streets of typically Greek or Italian nature. This is a great place to walk in the evening as the restaurants vie for every piece of prospective business the passes by.

Among the other fashionable districts of Melbourne is St Kilda. It is easily reached by tram and offers not just scenic views over the bay, but also a mish mash of cafes, restaurants and luxury home made items. While St Kilda is now a fashionable area, it wasn’t always that way as it was associated with drug addicts and prostitutes. While this reputation it not justified, there are still prostitutes working in St Kilda today.

No visit to Melbourne should be undertaken without renting a car and heading out the great ocean road to see the 12 Apostles. The 12 Apostles is a rock formation which consists of 12 rock stacks which stand independently. The views are spectacular as the mist from the South Sea rises as it hits land. While making this trip there are a number of fashionable holiday towns that are worth stopping in for a night or simply for dinner.

Ronan Menton is the webmaster for a number of travel related websites and has been for some in Ireland, been associated with search engine optimisation in the Irish travel industry. Among the many sites he is currently working on are the following: hotels in Melboure and hotels in Sydney.

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Mandurah, pioneer settlement, now a zesty seaside resort in Western Australia, was in the 1950’s a yawning fishing village. It used to be wriggling with family campers, propping up tents and flicking blankets on the grassy foreshore to relish the sheer laziness of crabbing and sand-garnished sandwiches. This “pirate’s cove” filled scrapbooks. Awkward black and white shots, clicked with a Kodak “Brownie” camera became our childhood mementos. The Brownie swung with a casual pride over bare backs that resembled ham steaks. Sun-screen and sunglasses were sophisticated items for movie stars, though odorous tan oil gleamed over the figures of calypso-dreaming teenage girls.

I was one of those sun-struck kids, scurrying around in frilly cotton bathers, sucking technicolor icy-poles and tearing into hot bread. It was the most wonderful time ever; lost in freedom, the future quite meaningless. Everyone felt a wild release from the sweaty city. Thinking of the return trip in a cranky car (being bull-whipped in the face by searing breezes as you drooped your head out of the window) made you want to stretch out every moment. One year we were lucky enough to holiday at the creaky Brighton Hotel, which was almost as scintillating as Casablanca. A necklace of glass beads, a tumbler of ginger ale and mother’s flamenco red lipstick transformed me into a Starlet. In a glissando of rapture my cousin and I ran across the moonlit beach, faking an ebb-tide romance. We reveled in clear nights under weak yellow lights and genuinely hoped we would never have to go back to reality. They were undemanding times.

Much further back in Mandurah’s history, we can delve into some bristling accounts of ghosts from the foundation days. Handwritten details of shipwrecks and bodies shredded on the reef send a voltage through your marrow. There are tales that fade timid cheeks, pricking you into an eerie awareness. This idyllic place is shared with vibrations unseen.

I had heard of an elderly woman boarding at the old Peninsular Hotel, who vanished from her blood-splashed room. Intriguing. The Peninsular stands on curvaceous, lawn coastline fingering into the sea. Sections have been tacked on and pulled down over the years, giving it a jokey, cardboard facade.

Toasting for adventure, I lingered over the grounds, knowing others from the departed realm desired to be noticed. A toad-faced man sat on a short, disintegrating pier, gulping wine and spitting out sea-shanties. Later, I found out he had been knifed to his end by a jealous wife in a fierce argument.

The perfume of the ocean gardens carried sweetly on the breeze. Another time is passing within, I thought, as I paused under a glorious, emerald tree. I penetrated the windows of the hotel’s dining area. The ill-fated woman from the bloodied room called wordlessly to me. As if in conversation, I asked her “Yes, what must you tell me?” Grieving intensely she related back “They’ll never find me.”

She faded, clinging to my mind. The atmosphere withered in energy. Again, it aroused me in the bathroom. At last, in a shuttered side room, I found her essence craving beneath the stone floor. An antediluvian mangle pressed upon her like a paperweight.

There her form lies, lulling her bones into peace. All these years she has yearned (1910), making herself visible now and again (maids ironing in the area believed they glimpsed her visage). Will she be uncovered?

Note: The Peninsular is now marked for demolition, to be replaced with a star-rated tourist hotel. Part of the original, 19th century front could remain as a heritage spot.

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Esmerelda Jones… The Knitting Wench
Writer Of Desires
Writer Of Old Curiosities

Victoriana, Victorian Swoon, Gods & Goddesses: The Wisdom And Pleasures of Ancient Greece, Classic Romance, Poems For The Passionate, Whimsical Tales, Bushrangers & Australian Pioneer, Ghosts I Have Known, Gypsy Knitting. Ratings and comments delightfully accepted.

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