I am very lucky to live in a beautiful place. I didn’t really understand this, until we seriously looked at moving to Melbourne (Australia). I spent some time there, talking to job agencies and looking around. The thing that struck me was how ugly it was. This is a bit sacrilegious of me, as New Zealanders seem to love Melbourne. They rave about its restaurants and its shopping and its job opportunities. But I shrug. My sister-in-law who lives there comes to Wellington to shop, and eats out with us and raves about our restaurants, and pays a fortune for houses that would be half the price here. I took off my rose-coloured, Melbourne-wannabe glasses, and I actually looked at it. And concluded that it was ugly. Melbourne is not a city built around its river (a dark brown silty slow ugly river) or its flat, featureless coastline. Most of Melbourne is flat, filled with dull red brick buildings. Houses look out their windows at each other.
In Wellington, we look out our windows at the ocean, at the valleys, at the hills opposite, covered in houses but somehow still green, or the hills in the valleys several suburbs over. Some of us look out at the mountains on the South Island, or down to the Antarctic, others of us look across the Tasman towards Australia and trendy, expensive Melbourne. We look out our windows at living things, at green trees, at flying tui or wood pigeons, or if we’re really lucky, at the occasional orca that finds its way into the harbour. We look out our windows at people enjoying the Oriental Bay beach, and at ferries and planes, bringing people to our windy little city or taking them off to the rest of the world, to spread the world.
When considering a move to Melbourne, I realised how important it was to me to live in an aesthetically pleasing landscape. It wasn’t the deciding factor, but it made me appreciate life here. It opened my eyes, and made me understand that I gain a great deal from living in a beautiful place, and that without it, my life would be diminished.
However low I feel, whatever I might have faced that day, I can look at the play of the light on the harbour, the rush of the clouds racing by, white against the blue blue sky, the red bloom of the pohutakawa trees, and I feel joy. The harbour is different all the time – calm and beautiful and balmy and blue, wintry with cool green waves tipped with icy white foam, or wild and wanton and destructive, the waves splashing over the railway tracks and across my windscreen as I drive along the motorway. I love the storms as much as the calm. I love the invigoration wrought by these changing scenes, the energy required to fight against the wind, the effort and decision needed to live here.
I know how lucky I am. A simple drive home from a Christmas-shopping expedition to a mall, when I catch sight of green Matiu Island sitting in the middle of the blue sea, or a detour via my favourite coffee shop on my way into town for a meeting, when I round the hill and the harbour and city opens up before me – these sights flood me with always unexpected joy.
Got to agree about the aesthetics of Melbourne and Oz in general. But I still enjoy the great coffee, art galleries, shopping and diversity of food. And maybe we kiwis just need to get our ‘eye in’ and appreciate the more stark landscape in Oz?
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What – the brick buildings??? I’m not against Oz – Sydney, Perth and Brisbane are all much more attractive cities than Melbourne. Doesn’t mean a long weekend in Melbourne wouldn’t be fun though!
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Love this (and would love to see Wellington!). I used to wonder, before moving to Vermont, if given basically the same daily grind and hardships, if seeing mountains and farmland every day would make a difference. It does.
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Did I tell you I stayed in Wellington eons ago? I remember a stormy, Heathcliff-like town with great scones.
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IB. That’s exactly how I feel. It makes a difference.
Helen – yes I think you’ve mentioned it. It still is a stormy, Heathcliff-like town at times. It has grown up a lot in the last 10-20 years. Though I’m sure the scones are still good. I just always feel guilty about the amount of butter in a scone, and so avoid them.
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aesthetics are important. i think it’s something we tend to overlook, particularly here in the States. but now you’ve got me thinking you definitely need a visit from a Brownie …
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If you’re the Brownie, I won’t even make you clean the house! Well … maybe once …
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