Summer here's different to how people expect it.
There are no kangaroos trampling around in a Bindi Irwin picturesque landscape. The nearest beach is full of sewage and you have to wear flip flops in case you step on a syringe. There are no Miranda Kerr clones clad in bikinis basking on the sand. The solarium orange bleached blondes are turning pink now, not recognising the sun is not always their friend. The air is HOT and sticky. You feel like you need a shower five minutes after getting out of one, sweat encrusting your features. You feel the salty water dripping down your face.
I look around at all the tourists littering the busy street, wondering if they got what they expected. You want wilderness, then go up north. You want beaches, then try the coast. You want crazy, then get to Sydney. But this is Melbourne. My Melbourne. A smile reached my mouth.