The Number 96 from East Brunswick to Costa da Caparica

Yesterday I farewelled my Portuguese friend. She had come out to visit me, braving a 35 hour journey from Lisbon via Paris and Guangzhou to Sydney, then Melbourne. Intrepid Portuguese traveller, in the spirit of her forebears who explored the known and unknown worlds.
And so much was unknown to her about Australia, that it was a thrill to introduce her to the indigenous and European histories and artistries of the land. She was a wonderful visitor, totally and genuinely interested in everything I showed her.

Naturally she was amazed by the fauna, so wonderfully displayed and explained at the Healesville Sanctuary. The Opera House in Sydney with its striking sails and the Melbourne Concert Hall with its underground opulence were both admired. But most of all she loved the smells: of the trees and the seaside. And the birdsounds in the morning and evening.

Summer in December meant trips to the beach, and she instantly fell in love with St Kilda beach. We went there three times. She calls herself a “total apologist for public transport” so we took the Number 96 tram every time, travelling from northside across the city to southside. The beach reminded her a bit of Costa da Caparica, which is also on the south side of the Tagus, and she also has to travel across the bridge from her place.

On the tram and on the beach, we talked about our lives (so much to catch up on) and about the sights and sounds around us. It was as if we were young again. We could have been two students, like the many young people around us who were enjoying the end of the year break or who were travellers from other countries. I remembered the time, more than thirty five years ago, we had travelled by bus (from somewhere to Lisbon) and sat for hours at a transit stop, playing Uno or another card game.

As I finish writing this piece, she will be landing in Lisboa. May we see each other again soon.