A trip down memory lane

“Om mani padme hum, om mani padme hum” was the musical chant I heard repeated over and over in the background as I peered in wonder into the prayer room at the back of the Buddha shop on the main street of Yackandandah. Yackandandah is a small town in Victoria, Australia with a population of six hundred and sixty three (according to Wikipedia), and the last place I’d have thought that I’d find a large shop full of Nepalese prayer bowls, flags, mantras and a wide selection of Buddha statues interspersed with various types of incense sticks, figurines, and of course, recordings of the famous Tibetan Buddhist mantra. The mantra I heard walking into the shop was the soundtrack to the month I had spent in Nepal in November, and hearing it in the shop transported me back to my time there, and to the wonderful simplicity and beauty I’d experienced in that amazing country.

I arrived in Australia just over two weeks ago and quickly became reaccustomed to life back in the suburbs where I grew up. While there were a few moments of marvelling at the wide streets with ample sidewalks, the large houses with the front and backyards, and the ordered streets with the clearly marked recycle bins, the forgotten familiarity returned all too soon, and all seemed just as it had been seven years ago when I was last in Melbourne, with the last few months travelling through Asia being relegated to almost dream-like quality in my mind. It was easy to forget about the experiences, the life-changing lessons, and the overall freedom of traveling alone through Asia and to fall back into the role I had always played during my years living in Melbourne.

Coming back to Melbourne was simultaneously wonderful, fun, interesting and confronting. It was great to see friends, those who took the time out of their hectic Pesach (Passover) and/or school holidays schedules to meet up, even for half an hour or an hour, and to catch up with family friends, people who have known me since I was a child, and who were a huge part of my life growing up. Spending time with my aunt and uncle and cousins was amazing, and their availability during my time in Melbourne to make sure I was well fed, to chauffeur me around to various places, and to make sure I had a good time, was incredibly appreciated. It was a huge change to suddenly be surrounded by people who knew me from before my travels, and who I had a history with, especially after spending five months mostly either traveling alone or joining up with people that I met on the way. I must admit though, to have been disappointed and even hurt by some people who I expected that I would see or at least speak to while I was there, and I struggle to justify their silence.

I wasn’t entirely sure what to expect from my time in Melbourne, both from myself and from the city that I had called home for so many years. So much has changed for me since I moved to Israel almost fourteen years ago, and especially over the last few years, that I knew that my experience would be entirely different from previous visits, especially after traveling for the five months previous to my arrival. I wasn’t wrong.

The last time I was in Melbourne I was the good orthodox Jewish girl that I had always been, the ex-Bnei Akiva youth movement leader, still trying to set the proper example to those I believed looked up to me for guidance, a role that I had taken upon myself for much longer than was necessary, to the detriment of myself and my own need for self-exploration and understanding. Over the past few years I had finally given myself the time to question and to develop, and to move out of the shadows of expectation that I had grown up in, in an effort to determine exactly what I wanted out of my life and the religion that I was born into. During this time, while exploring my boundaries and ultimately becoming more comfortable in my skin as a more secular Jew, I had found myself wanting to come back to Melbourne with the desire to see and experience the city as the person I was now, as opposed to the person I had been the last time I was there.

With this desire in mind, when I decided to take a break and head off on my travels, Australia, Melbourne specifically, became an integral part of my travel plan, the final stop on what to me was more than just a journey of exploration of sights and places. I wanted use my time in Asia to develop myself as a person, away from people’s expectations or pre-conceived ideas of who I had always been, and away from the questions about the turn my life had taken. I relished the idea of discovering new countries and meeting new people as just me, in the moment. I hoped that somehow, being away from everything that I had always known, that I would manage to find a more secure bearing, and to really discover how I wanted to live my life. Australia was to be the last stop in my literal and figurative journey, allowing me to return to a previous life and reconcile the changes I had made in myself and my life since I was there last. I left Siem Reap after five months of travelling alone in Asia, fiercely independent, used to doing whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted, with no need to give an accounting of my actions or movements to anyone, and arrived in Melbourne, back into the world I had left behind so long ago, a world of questions, comments and expectations.

Once I arrived in Melbourne though, my journey of self-discovery was put to the side for a while as I focussed on the first major event I was to attend in Melbourne, only a few hours after my plane touched down at the end of the seemingly endless journey from Siem Reap in Cambodia to Melbourne. That event was, of course, the first game of the first round of Aussie Rules Footy for the season, my team playing (and losing really badly) at the MCG in front of over eighty three thousand fans. While I obviously would have preferred a different outcome, there’s nothing like being at the MCG for a blockbuster game, and hearing the roar of the crowd at the first bounce. Rugged up in my fleece and boots, happily watching the game and listening to the crowd’s typically Australian commentary, the sweltering days in Siem Reap, only a day before, seemed so far away. It was good to be back!

I arrived the day before Pesach and spent the first few days catching up with people, mainly over huge meals, not really venturing out of the bagel-belt of Caulfield and East St Kilda, with the exception of the compulsory trip to St Kilda beach for coffee on my first day. The dresses I’d had made in Hoi An in Vietnam came in incredibly useful on those first few days of Pesach, and turned out to be wonderfully appropriate, even for the ever-changing, unpredictable Melbourne weather.

Pesach, for those who have never experienced it, runs for seven days in Israel, and eight days outside of Israel. It is comprised of a day at the beginning and a day at the end which have the same restrictions as the Jewish Sabbath, with the interim days being similar to regular weekdays. Outside of Israel the first and last two days are Sabbath-like, with the Pesach Seder, where the story of the exodus from Egypt is told along with numerous other rituals, being repeated over two nights, unlike in Israel where the Seder is performed only on the first night. During Pesach there are incredibly strict dietary requirements, even stricter than the kosher rules year-round, including the prohibition of eating leavened items (cooked for more than eighteen minutes) made from the five grains, wheat, rice, barley, oats and rye. As an Israeli visiting Australia during Pesach after so many years in Israel, it was strange to participate in two Pesach Seders, but the crazy, boisterous Seder of first night followed by the more intimate one of the second night somehow balanced each other out, and made both nights all the more enjoyable. There wasn’t much time to do anything between meals, and my body received some well needed rest during those first few days.

Over the next few days I somehow I found myself at the footy a second time for another less-than-exciting game, and, probably my biggest accomplishment that week, went into the city and replenished my traveling wardrobe, buying new underwear and other essentials, and throwing out all the falling-apart items I’d been wearing for the past few months that didn’t quite survive the harsh laundry conditions in Asia. In the last month or so in Vietnam and Cambodia it had become quite an embarrassment to give my laundry in to be washed and it was with much excitement that I roamed the aisles of Target, revelling in the abundance of options on display. Shopping taken care of, I spent the next few days venturing out of the city to places I’d never visited before, spending one day with my family high up in the treetops of the Otway Nature Reserve, and another day wandering along the beaches of Inverloch with friends. I spent my evenings catching up with friends, and headed to the comedy festival one night to see the awesome Adam Hills in an unfortunately slightly less than awesome performance.

Melbourne was overwhelming at first. I was intimidated by the city which seemed so huge and so busy, and, after the anonymity of the rest of my travels, it was strange being back in an area where I would walk out of the house and run into people I knew every few metres (only a slight exaggeration, as those who have lived in the Jewish area of Melbourne would attest to). This was particularly problematic over the last two days of Pesach, where I was once again invited to meal after meal, with the expectation that, as the orthodox Jew that I had always been and most people still knew me to be, I would gladly accept the invitations. Unlike the first two days which I was happy to spend relaxing and catching up with people, this time around I was happy to accept the dinner invitations, but preferred to use the days for other purposes, and not be tied down to lunch invitations in the middle of the days. Not wanting to rock the boat too much, I tried to politely decline the invitations without revealing my true reason for refusing the invitation, a task that proved harder than it sounds as no one could understand what I could possibly have on that would prevent me from accepting the invitation. I suppose I could have just been honest and told the truth but, while not ashamed of or hiding my religious choices, I was only in Melbourne for a short time and really didn’t feel like I needed to make any statements during that time, or to cause myself to become the topic of anyone’s lunch or dinner conversations, as would most certainly have happened if I’d been honest, as anyone who has grown up in a tight-knit community could testify to. If the topic of my religious choices came up, as it did on numerous occasions during my visit, I had no problem answer any and all questions that were put to me, I just preferred not to invite the questions.

I’m glad I chose to do my own thing on those few days instead of giving into my first response of just going along with everybody else’s plans for me. I made it to the dentist to get a filling replaced, and headed back to the city to meet a friend for lunch and to wander through the Queen Victoria Market for a few blissful hours. On Saturday I made the 10+-hour return trip to the town of Wodonga to meet up with some fellow 52Framers, and had a really enjoyable day exploring Yackandandah and Beechworth, small towns on the border of Victoria and New South Wales. We sampled wines, fudge and the famous Beechworth honey, and witnessed the beauty of autumn in the gorgeous colours of the shedding trees. It was during the visit to Yackandandah that we came across the Buddha shop I mentioned earlier. The sudden, and most unexpected propelling of my mind into memories of Nepal and India, in that most random of places in the Victorian countryside, comforted me, as I struggled to resolve the many conflicts my mind had been dealing with ever since I arrived in Melbourne. It was as if I had been sent a sign, to remind me of who I was and to give me some perspective, and I was so grateful for it.

While in Melbourne I was lucky enough to stay at the home of family friends who were out of the country during that time, leaving me an empty house and a lot of privacy. Although it would have been nice to actually have seen them, having my own space and privacy was such a huge bonus. I’d spent a lot of time in their home growing up, and I revelled in the space and familiarity of being there, especially after so many nights spent in non-descript, impersonal guesthouses and hotel rooms. After ten days of calm and quiet in my little oasis, it was with some reluctance that I returned from Wodonga and, with only two days left in Melbourne, started preparing to head back onto the road again, although I must admit that the anticipation of the next month traveling around Australia far outweighed the reluctance at moving my life back into my backpack.

My last two days in Melbourne were days full of emotion and nostalgia as I caught up with old friends, and visited old haunts. I dropped in on elderly relatives who I hadn’t seen in many years, went to the cemetery to visit my grandparents’ graves, and finally made it over to see my old house, something that I had avoided until the last minute. While I had planned on doing a tour of the city on my last day, in keeping with my (failed) attempt to experience Melbourne as a tourist, I changed my plans in the last minute and opted instead to spend the day down at St Kilda beach, a place I had spent many hours growing up.

Apart from the bizarre incident of the now-known-to-be-animal remains washing up on the beach right in front of the café I was sitting in, as well as the stress of my flight to Sydney that evening being cancelled in the last minute, and needing to have it rescheduled, it was a good last day. I wandered up the pier and along the beach and reminisced about days gone by; of ice creams and Strawberry Freddos, of coffees at Soul Mamas, and walks down Beaconsfield Parade. I remembered walks along the beach and idyllic drives along the waterfront, conversations with old flames and crazy nights out. I watched the sun sink lower over the ever-changing city skyline and thought about friends from the past, those who are still in my life and those who are long gone. I thought about where I had been and what I had done until now, and found myself wondering where my life might be taking me. And, as I boarded the tram to take me back to where I was staying, I said goodbye to my city one more time, this time perhaps for the last time.