Toss up title for this post was, “Smaller Cities are Sweet Cities” but in the end, I was so fascinated by my decision to leave the house with no pants on that I figured you might be too.
Let’s get the pants thing out of the way early. I am – after years of judging silently (and otherwise), women (and men) who left the house with no pants, I have joined the ranks of people too hot to care if they look rank. Which is why I have left the house today with no pants on. Oh, and perhaps I should clarify, also no skirt.
I am (thankfully) wearing underwear and a pair of leggings-esque things, so it’s not as if I’ve taken it to a whole new low. But the thing which I am wearing on my body was intended as a top, G*d gave it life so that it could covering ones body above ones waist and accompany another of her wonderful creatures – such as the short, the pant and/or the skirt. And I have defied her because I’ve finally reached tipping point.
I am so hot in Brisbane that if at all possible I am avoiding wearing clothes. I don’t care what my neighbours think and frankly they’re hardly wearing any clothes either. I planted a plant in the garden last night and – yep, you read it right – I didn’t put pants on to do it. It was dark, I was boiling, and the plant needed to be planted and I just wasn’t going to be able to stomach putting clothes on for this confluence of events.
I decided to move to Queensland in September, after visiting in July. People told me I would want to kill myself in February and they were right. Bye bye pants. On the upside, however, I went for a lovely ride this morning with a Brisbane local, doing the tourist thing out of West End, across to New Farm, down and up and down and up, past the Showgrounds and then to the Northey St Gardens. Lovely ride all round (and up and down and up). Sun wasn’t too hot when we left, though I still managed to sweat bucketloads and get rather P!nk. Arriving at the markets, we smashed a mint lime lemonade and gobbled a sausage. Bring on Brisbane.
Later in the day, however, I ran into my tour guide who – coincidentally makes excellent coffee, which can be obtained for reasonable price in friendly surrounds.
This got me to thinking that smaller cities are sweet cities, precisely because it is possible to befriend your barista (at least enough for friendly riding) and run into them on the way back from the shops without being a total stalker. When cities are so large that anonymity is a survival mechanisms and familiarity breeds contempt, it is so much harder to chip and feel a part of a city. You feel like you live there, but you’re not really a part of it all. I’m starting to feel a part of it all.
Slowly. I have a mechanic, and for the $5 he forked out to fix my door handle without asking, he is well on the way to a loyal and – thus far – very happy customer. I know where to get food and how to take the bus (major achievement). I’m aiming to stop coming back and forth to Melbourne so often in the coming months and, perhaps in committing to it, Brisbane might commit to me.
Oh, and there is a really lovely City Library in Brisbane. With a cute market out the front it would appear on Sundays. And meeting rooms that you can book out to play role-playing medieval board games, like these dudes.
eleanor j jackson 