Meet You by the Cow Up a Tree
22nd May, Melbourne, Australia
"It would be great if in years to come the people of Melbourne would say: 'Let's meet by the cow up the tree'."
So said the artist (I've paraphrased) responsible for one of Melbourne's strangest local landmarks, a sculpture called 'Cow Up A Tree'. Apparently the strange site of a cow stranded in a tree is not complete fantasy, but does actually happen from time-to-time thanks to the unpredictable and sudden nature of Australian floods. However, I don't think the cows normally look much like this one:
Cow Up a Tree - sculpture in Melbourne's Docklands area.
This was our first spot of site-seeing for the day, down at Melbourne's Docklands area. The cow is right by the water's edge, opposite the Telstra Dome, the spiritual home of Aussie Rules Football in the area (I'll never understand the attraction - what's wrong with proper football?). Everywhere around us we could see signs of redevelopment, new buildings and apartments complexes rising out of the fenced of depots. Maybe in a few years, people would be meeting up by the 'cow up a tree', but for my money this part of town was still a little too remote from the heart of the city.
The Exhibition Building
We made for the Exhibition Building next, a very grand looking piece of architecture that was designed and constructed for the Melbourne expo in 1890. From a distance, it looked quite impressive - a big domed roof, some decorative towers - but on closer inspection it was obvious that this was still a relatively recent building; it was not on the same decorative level as the various churches and cathedrals that we had seen in places like Italy, Prague or Copenhagen.
The Exhibition Building.
We had been told (by my auntie Chris) that the interior was worth a look - the ceiling was a work of art in itself - but once we made our way round to the entrance we discovered that the place had been booked out for an event for a few days. Now, we could have paid the $13 for this event just so that we could get inside and see that fabled ceiling. In the end, though, we decided that the 'Gay A-Z Expo: The A-Z of Gay Life' probably wouldn't be our thing.
We also took a look at the casino and leisure complex just down the road and on the southern side of the Yarra River. Just like the last casino I had seen (in Surfer's Paradise, Queensland), it meant just so little to me. I have never understood any of the attractions (if that's the correct word to use) and therefore just walked through the complex, dumbstruck by the gold and silver reflective surfaces, mystified by the strange white lines and numbers on the green tables upon which cards were being dealt to people who knew much better, and totally, blissfully ignorant of the etiquette of betting on the pokies machines (aka one armed bandits, fruit machines). For all I know this ignorance of all things gambling could be to my advantage, but today wasn't a day that I'd find out if this is indeed the case. So, on we walked, all the way through the complex and out on to Southbank.
Preaching to the Disinterested
Just two minutes after leaving the gleaming, polished confines of the casino I found myself watching a straggly haired woman in her mid-to-late forties wearing a long leather coat doubling over, apparently in some kind of anguish, as she sung with all her heart into the microphone she held in her left hand. "She's not bad," I thought (meaning her singing). I had judged too early, though. As she continued, I realised that she was really over-doing it, over-doing everything from the vocal gymnastics (she wasn't quite the 13-year old Olympic gymnast, in that respect) to the actual bodily motions that she obviously felt were necessary to achieve such vocal contortions. Then I realised that it was Jesus that was telling her to sing (I don't recall him being much of a singer either). I watched as she almost lost her balance because of the way she was throwing her head around, and couldn't help but admire her dedication in destroying a perfectly good amplifier - and all for a crowd of passers-by who really couldn't give a toss about whatever message she was trying to convey in her 'performance'.
Manda on Melbourne's Southbank (of the Yarra River).
Last stop of the day: Village Cinema, where we got to see Troy. Strangely enough, one of the big stars of the film, Eric Bana (who played Hector), hails from Melbourne and this actor got his big movie breakthrough playing a notorious Aussie crim, Mark 'Chopper' Read, who also hails from Melbourne. Somehow it seemed appropriate to watch it (Troy) here. Factoid number two: the director, Wolfgang Peterson, is clinically insane. I wonder if there could be another connection with Melbourne here, perhaps the shrieking singer on Southbank that we saw earlier?