Maybe it’s that Sydney reminded me of great cities I’ve never dared to dream of living in. Roughly in order: London (arriving on a dark wet day by train from the airport at St. James), San Francisco (later that day climbing steep streets lined with cute little terraces as evening fell), Los Angeles (next day, admiring the surf at Manly, and again this morning walking the cliffs above Bondi — Sydney and LA are on the same ocean after all!), 
Boston & Philadelphia (yesterday, admiring the colonial era buildings). I haven’t even mentioned the spectacular harbor, and the ever delightful Opera House, which charms from every angle and in every kind of light… (The pics/film are in chronological order, from the plane [it's top center, bottom right the next beach from Bondi], from Mrs. Maquarie's Chair at a rainy sunset, from the Rocks on a grey morning, from the ferry returning 
from Manly, from the ferry on its way to Pyrmont, where many of the immigrant liners berthed.) In fact my first impression was just: city! Not in the resplendent Emerald City sense but something quite different: old, grand, sophisticated, used, a bit jaded, a bit louche, full of secrets, with more going on (including things from an undying past) than you could ever know or perhaps would want to - and not particularly interested in you. Maybe I should say: 20th century city. The colors on my first drizzly afternoon were the colors of mid-20th century paintings of cities, and then, as night fell and I walked from Wooloomooloo up to Oxford Street toward Paddington, the electic lights reflected in wet city streets conjured up mid-20th century photos of city. In short, I arrived in Sydney wide-eyed like someone from the provinces, who knew cities only from 
art and literature and movies. How could this happen?! Not to say that Melbourne is provincial, though I guess I’ve always wondered whether it isn’t just too clean and pleasant and well-organized to be a real city…I wrote the above at the Starbucks at Southern Cross Station, but the trams up Bourke and Swanston to get to my old friend the SLV have confused me. How could I doubt Melbourne's urbanity? The streetscapes are grand, and the sidewalks teeming with people, and trams suddenly seemed the most civilized thing in the world (Sydney’s tramless). Sparkling Sydney was a dream, this was real life - and home.
I was reminded of a saying from the town where my mother grew up. Appetit holt man sich draussen, gegessen wird zuhaus (your appetite grows outside but you eat at home). Not that Melbourne's my home for much longer... but I guess I hadn't realized it was in the first place!I wonder: when I get back to New York in two weeks (gulp!) will it be "city, city, city!" all over again, or "home sweet home"? New York's tramless, too.
