Of Melbourne Train Journeys

There is something about the slow, snaking journey in a Melbourne train.

Your eyes staring out of the window at the landscape that changes from one minute to the next. You leave from the CBD, where you see skyscrapers interspersed with shorter buildings. You imagine the office crowds all clambering to leave the moment the clock’s hands hit 5.30pm. You have left earlier of course. You don’t want to squeeze with the crowds.

You sit facing forwards. The train is not crowded, but it isn’t empty either. You’re in the last carriage, you’ve got more breathing room. Another person sits opposite you. Not directly opposite, that would be rude. They’d sit diagonally from you. Each of you stretches out your legs, settling in to what will be an hour long journey.

You watch as the skyscrapers give way to low rise buildings, old buildings that could do with a fresh coat of paint but will probably never get them. You don’t mind them. They have character.

You see the artwork of street artists, some so large and intricate that you wonder how they even managed to get their proportions right. Others impress you in another way. You wonder how that graffiti managed to get up there, or down here. Did the artist dangle from that bridge in a precarious stunt, just to tag its underside?

As you’re wondering, the landscape changes. You see suburban homes. Townhouses are in abundance. You wonder what used to occupy those spaces, how this place used to look years ago.

Your questions are answered as you ride on. You see weatherboard houses next to brick houses and the landscape starts to look more and more similar. You wonder what the occupants of these houses are doing right now, as you pass by their homes. You wonder how long they’ve lived here, whether they even bat an eyelid at sound of the passing train.

Your vision registers green. Trees are in abundance.

You fall into a meditative state as the train travels on. You vaguely notice the stations, lost in your thoughts. Large stations replete with fare gates give way to quaint stations that a dishonest traveller could get into without a Myki. Yet you know that the vast majority would tap their cards.

It’s what we do.

You feel your breath catch in your throat as you notice the mountains rising in the distance. You realise you’ve come far from the skyscrapers you started out with. You look around the train and realise it’s empty now. You’re one of a handful that’s left, survivors of the ever encroaching scourge of urbanisation.

You heave a sigh of relief and take a deep breath, dropping your shoulders as you exhale. You’re convinced the air feels fresher even though you’re sitting in the same train that you were in at the start of this journey.

You pull out your Air Pods and lean a little more into your seat, the rhythmic chugging taking you further and further away from the bustle of the city.