Melbourne is new.
So new, in fact, that one of the main attractions is the Australian explorer James Cook’s parents’ cottage, built in Yorkshire, England, in 1755, but purchased by Australia and transported here in 1933. It’s the only 18th century building in Melbourne.
There are massive TV screens everywhere, shiny new stores (with more plasmas advertising their wares) and brand new cars weaving the streets. It feels clean. It feels young; kinda like L.A.’s hip little brother. Every guy has on skinnier jeans than me
I’m comparing, because it’s easy and it’s 10 p.m., and I’m being lazy. St. Kilda, where I spent the morning, felt like L.A. Maybe it was just the whole “palm trees + beach + city” thing, but for a second I felt the California breeze off the Pacific. It feels slower than New York. More laid back. That’s a good thing.
We ate big burgers (I got a salad instead of frieds, I’m trying!) and shopped. I got a hot pink shirtdress with little doggies on it. I saw the most adorable pair of grey mary-jane heels, but dragged myself away. No heels, still, no heels!
The middle of the city, at the brand-spankin’ new Federation Square, with the river running through it, felt like Chicago. Again, probably just because Chicago was a big, clean city with a river running through it. I’m comparing. It’s 10 p.m I’m sleepy.
Oh yes. Did I mention the boys here all wear tight jeans? I like.