The Modern Woman's Survival Guide

As the great Frank Sinatra sings, Melbourne is “my kinda town”. Well, it has been since 2001. You see, I grew up in Perth with the beach, hot summer nights, endless heatwaves and running under the sprinklers in my bathers. I love that Perth was my childhood. I really do. I wouldn’t swap it for anything.

However, as most “Perthites” do, I had an insatiable urge to spread my wings and travel overseas (maybe it was from doing all those primary school projects on European countries and cutting out pictures from brochures my nanna got me from the travel agent). At 22, I quit my job and bought a one way ticket to England. The plan? Make it up as I go along.

I remember just before I left, a friend told me about her time living overseas in a ski resort (just the kind of adventure I had been lusting over that led me to cleaning out my bank account and exchanging it into pounds, leaving me with just enough money to buy a meal at Burger King). She said that during her 3 years overseas, she had the highest of highs, but the lowest of lows.

Yes, the lows were low, but the highs were oh so high, that they made every single moment of living in London worthwhile (a story I will save for my book). There were Natalie and Hazel (two very très fabuleux girls), the millennium new years eve in Edinburgh, living in the beautiful English countryside, traveling through the Rocky Mountains for 3 weeks and then there was Paris.

As soon as I stepped off the train at Gare De Nord station, a shiver ran up and down my spine and tears streamed down my face. London may not have been the city for me, but Paris certainly was. I had spent so much time thinking I was some kind of failure for not being able to crack London, when in fact, I never belonged there, and nor did I ever want to. London was frenetic, cold and masculine. Au contraire, Paris was welcoming, serene and feminine. I think it was what you call, love at first sight.

It immediately felt like home, like I had been there before. But, I had never been to Paris, nor had I any feelings for it, other than it being the place with the Eiffel Tower (an obligatory holiday snap to send home to family and friends – this was back in the day when you took photos on film and had to post them back home).

After gallivanting around the UK and Europe for a year, I returned home to Perth, and experienced the horrible transition most have when returning to the motherland. I did my best to fit back into Perth, but I had outgrown it, and like a jumper that has been put through the wash and shrunk, it not longer fit me. Whilst trying to squeeze myself into a city that no longer felt like home, Melbourne started calling my name. Call it an existential crisis if you will, but I prefer to call it destiny.

For, my time overseas (in particular Paris) had changed me. It had planted a seed of living a romantic life, and more than that, fulfilling my soul’s purpose. I was a on a mission. I was following my intuition on the path it was taking me down. There were questions, lots of questions, along with uncertainty in equal measures. But I had to listen to that voice that was telling me to move to Melbourne, even though I didn’t know why or what was there for me. Because destiny doesn’t trade in practicality or  reason. You either hop on for the ride, hold on tight and reach your destination, or stay in the same place you always have.

I booked a ticket for a holiday to see what all the fuss was about, and Melbourne didn’t disappoint me. My friend and I, wined and dined the city, whilst swiping and signing our plastic along Chapel St. I was smitten with the European lamps, cobblestone streets, lane ways with hidden bars and cool cafes. By the end of our trip, I was certain of one thing. I was moving to Melbourne.

In 2002, I packed up all my belongings and boarded a Qantas flight, destination me. However, it wasn’t all happily ever after and the stuff that dreams are made of. Try as I might, things just didn’t fall into place like I wanted them to. Mainly because I was sick, but again, that’s a story I’ll be saving for my book. I moved back to Perth in 2003, but I knew that I had unfinished business in Melbourne. I settled back into Perth, but, I am not really the settling kind of girl.

Every year without fail, Melbourne would beg me to return. It was as though we were soul mates who had a summer romance on holiday in an exotic location, but circusmtance had pulled us apart. We were meant to be together, but the best I could do, was visit every year to rekindle our romance, and give me the injection I needed to continue living my life elsewhere.

Then in 2007 after a particularly bad break-up, I found myself homeless in Perth during a rental crisis. Always one to look for the opportunity in troubled times, I joked to a friend, hey, I could just move to Melbourne. Three months later I was again on a Qantas flight. Melbourne embraced me with open arms, and I’ve never looked back. Why do I love thee so you ask? Besides the undeniable style, culture, cafes, restaurants, bars, shopping, and the European architecture, it’s because in Melbourne you can be whoever you want to be.

Melbournites embrace individuality, nurture creativity and support entrepreneurialism. Where I come from, if you don’t have a steady 9-5 job, a mortgage, a car and kids, you’re considered unstable. As beautiful as Perth is, it’s no place for a tall poppy like myself. I love being surrounded by people who are inspired, who have great ideas and make them happen, who never let other people’s beliefs tell them what they should or shouldn’t do – and there isn’t a lot of that going in Perth. In Perth, if you work part time and freelance on the side, people think you are weird. In Melbourne, you’re just fabulous.

I adore the French way of life, from the way they sit in cafes and people watch, celebrate femininity as an art form, eat from beautiful china and set the table. Life isn’t about continually rushing from one social event to another. They seem to savour the beauty of each moment. Relaxed and romantic. They don’t go to the supermarket once a week and throw things into their trolleys as quickly as they can to get the chore of shopping over and done with. They go to the butcher, the grocer for their fruit and vegetables, the bakery for their bread and the markets for their flowers.

You see, I’m like that. I enjoy working from home with a beautiful bunch of flowers on my desk, drinking endless cups of tea from my french cups, burning candles, looking out the window and pausing to stroll down to the shops to buy something for lunch. I hate being run by a relentless schedule that leaves you feeling like you are never really giving your best to anything and just going through the motions of life. I need time to breathe. Time to do nothing without having to label it and mark it into a calendar. I want to live, really live. Experience the joie de vivre of life. I am a French woman trapped in an Australian woman’s body – a mademoiselle in Melbourne.

Why not move to Paris you ask? Yes, a good question, a very good question you raise there. I have thought about it a lot (or should I say fantacised), but as much as I am Parisian, I too am Australian. Even though I live on the opposite side of the country from my mum, my dad, my Emily and my friends, it’s only a 4 hour plane trip and that is comforting. I couldn’t spend my life without being able to see my niece Emily grow up, or to hug her and spend real time with her. Because as much as I love writing and romancing Melbourne and Paris, I love her more. My dream is to live there 3 months of the year (“I’m just off to summer in Paris”) and spend the rest of the time, here in this fabulous city, I love more than false eyelashes need glue.

Like the perfect relationship, my connection with Melbourne was not only love at first sight, but familiarity hasn’t bred contempt. In fact it has only grown stronger and left me wanting to know more. So, come explore Melbourne with me. The Melbourne that calls to me when I wake up every day, and says, I have secrets, come and find them.