TIME OUT
Mad Melbourne
VINAY ARORA AND ASHA CHAUDHRY
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If you find yourself in Melbourne in the first week of November, be prepared to rough it out.
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City of four seasons a day: Melbourne has something for everyone. Photo: AFP
TAKE a shuttle from the airport. Get off and your hotel is across the road. The problem, we realised, was we couldn't see across the road — this was seven p.m., two days before the Melbourne Cup. Taxi, yelled the never-trusting wife. No taxi for you, mate, yelled an inebriated group of youngsters. Sure enough, the taxi sped off, with a peacock-like ensemble (headgear) and high heels visible through the back window. Clearly, this was not the sedate, sophisticated Melbourne the guidebooks had prepared us for. And that's where the whole charm and chaos of visiting Melbourne in the first week of November lies. Aussies love a good flutter, and tradition demands that the Spring Racing Carnival be earmarked in your diary well in advance.
Magic of strange names
Horses always have strange names. But the name on everyone's lips was Makybe Diva. The owner, Mr. Santic, picked up this mare from a sale and couldn't settle on a name, so chose the letters from his women deputies' names (MA KY BE DI VA from Maureen, Kylie, Belinda, Diana and Vanessa) — and created a racing sensation. The front page of the newspaper was occupied by the gleaming mug shot of the Diva! She had won the Melbourne Cup twice in successive years... could she complete a hat trick? Over the next couple of days that was the only question you asked the barman, the hotel receptionist or even the Italian Mama who wouldn't stop feeding you!
What exactly were we here for, we asked ourselves, trying to get away from the Diva fever. After all, Tuesday was still a long way off. We set off exploring Melbourne — by tram! We disembarked at the Art Centre's Sunday Crafts Market. Soon paintings, lavender soaps, shell necklaces replaced the Diva magic. We even walked into Melbourne's most talked about restaurant — Taxi. We took in the dιcor, the Sunday crowd, and not finding a suitable corner for two, forged ahead.
By evening we had discovered another hard truth: Melbourne is the "four seasons a day" city — it gets hot, then rains, a chilly breeze wafts in and leaves you groping for a jacket. Taking the weather in our stride, we took a tram to the Crown Casino. There's only one thing great about casinos: the drinks are cheap. Save the money for the horses... the hysterical wife implored, but her voice was drowned by the clinking of coins. It wasn't long before we trudged back to the hotel, penniless, with the music of the slot machines haunting us.
A national debate
The next day was sunny, as predicted. The hotel lobby was full of animated discussions. A big controversy was brewing, and two helpless officials were caught in it: the chief weatherman and the racetrack manager. Diva liked the tracks softened and it had rained the previous two years. However this time rain seemed a remote possibility. The weather became a raging national debate, and Diva a national cause; eventually, the track manager got the track watered (on technical grounds!).
Oblivious to all this, we found ourselves visiting "tourist spots". Outside the Parliament House we were greeted by horse carriages ambling past alongside tramcars. But something more momentous was happening. It's pre-Cup day, it's high noon, shrieked all of Melbourne. We followed everyone to the centre of town. The big draw turned out to be the famous Melbourne Cup Parade — a glamorous procession of the participating teams with the horse's names emblazoned on the car. To cheer your favourite team, gawk at the beauties (both human and equine); this was the biggest pre-race treat one could expect!
The following morning the bright sun woke us up. This was The Day. You got up. You dressed. You had to wear a hat. You had to have a hat! You had to have a necktie. A tux. A stylish dress. Look for a taxi, correction, steer yourself in your high heels towards Spencer Station. After that, don't do anything! All trains go to one destination — Flemington Race Course. And the crowd did the rest ... pushed us inside, pushed us outside, displaced the wife's hat, angled it back, crushed my suit, ironed it back...
At Flemington, it was like a rock concert at eleven in the morning. Turned out to be wild — a five girl band, performing. A few blokes were already on the grass, breathing in... breathing out. Some girls had fainted, some sprawled about, heels kicked off. The First Aid bay was full. This called for serious remedial action. A visit to the bar! The queues were awfully long. That's where team work comes in: the wife went on a food rampage while I managed to grab some champagne, beer, vodka... everything my $100 bill could buy me. The races had started. Diva's jockey, Glen Boss, was in top form. The bookies were a picture of civility and Australian wit. Everyone was backing Diva.
Bottles were crashing. You couldn't sit. Barely stand. You had to strain your neck to see. The commentator announced the start of the biggest race in Australia — $ 5.1 million were at stake and so were a million dreams. To a deafening roar the horses were off. The Diva was where she liked to be, a backmarker. When you run 3,200 metres, you got to know what you are doing, and this is where the Diva stood out: she knew she was going to make history. All 1,00,000 of us were on our feet, as the horses came into view for the final run in. It's hard to describe 1,00,000 ecstatic people chanting Diva, Diva... Just 200 metres to go ... Glen Boss nudges her ... she, a picture of grace, gives it all she has and surges ahead to win by half a length! To say everyone went mad would be an understatement. The press went ballistic. The owners lift the jockey. They would have lifted the horse too, but 500 kg is still tough. Instead they announce her retirement. What a glorious exit!
Witness to history
History was created that day at Flemington and we were there to witness it. Flushed with champagne, thousands of cash-rich Aussies went home chanting Diva, Diva. Thus ended our Diva holiday. We did many more things: a Yarra Valley "wine binge" session at Federation Square, a food-expedition around the immigrant "ethnic" side of the district, a visit to the Immigration Museum, Old Treasury Building, Arts Gallery, Queen Victoria Market... but this holiday shall be dedicated to the Diva. It's a story of human triumph and dedication, and it's the story of how a horse can stop a nation. Every year! vinay.fiji@gmail.com
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