Postcard from Melbourne I

Melburnians are a smug lot. After all, we’re more progressive and sophisticated than our fellow Aussies, with better coffee, culture and wardrobes. What we hadn’t banked on was also becoming the nation’s pandemic capital. Yet, while other Australian cities rejoice in their sustained low (or zero) Covid-19 infection rates, Victoria’s capital finds itself staring down a second, spirit-crushing lockdown. After successfully flattening the curve, a sudden spike in locally acquired infections has had the city on edge for the last three weeks. In response, 10 Melbourne postcodes – declared coronavirus hotspots – were placed back in lockdown on 1 July. This was soon followed by a swift, hard lockdown of nine council-housing towers in the city’s inner northwest. On 7 July, Victorian state premier Daniel Andrews dropped a further bombshell: the state had recorded 191 new infections, the highest daily increase in the state since the pandemic began. By late afternoon on Tuesday, the news we had all expected was merely confirmed: Greater Melbourne would enter a second lockdown from 11:59pm the following night. Most of regional Victoria would be spared the same fate.

Faced with another six weeks of restricted movement, Melburnians are swinging between philosophical resignation and sheer resentment. While many have accepted the news with deep sighs, online anger is rife. Much of it is aimed at the city’s quarantine-hotel security guards, some of whom allegedly socialised, and even slept, with returned travellers holed up at the properties. Among those unimpressed is prolific ABC journalist Virginia Trioli, who tweeted ‘Well I sure hope those security guards had their fun, because they utterly f***ed us too’. The post was accompanied by a photograph of Trioli’s glass of red, no doubt a bitter-tasting drop. Opponents of Victoria’s generally popular (though increasingly beleaguered) premier point the finger directly at him, blaming government incompetency for the quarantine fiasco. It’s all the more ironic given that the Labor leader had taken a highly cautious approach in managing the pandemic, imposing some of the toughest and longest restrictions of all Australian states and territories.

Cautious optimism has been replaced by déjà vu and dread. Crippled by the first lockdown, Melbourne’s celebrated cafes, bars and restaurants must now endure another trickle of take-away-only revenue. Freshly sanitised gyms have unplugged the treadmills once more, while the city’s plethora of galleries, museums, theatres and live-music venues will continue tempting fate by gathering dust. It’s estimated that Victoria – home to 6.5 million people – could lose more than a quarter of a million jobs due to the pandemic. Only hours after the lockdown announcement, a friend sombrely called me to say that his restaurant would most likely fold. There is a palpable sense of unease as many feel that whatever luck they may have had may snap soon.

When restrictions lifted in late May, I jubilantly broke free from suburbia for a longed-for dose of inner Melbourne’s delicate Victorian architecture and cosmopolitan air. While the city’s usual buzz had fizzled, droves of locals gathered in stately parks and by the tea-hued Yarra River to chat, sizzle sausages, read and reconnect. In different ways, we were all seeking the same thing: a semblance of normality in highly abnormal times. Alas, this simulacrum of freedom would prove brief and bittersweet. Today, dystopia greets us again with its closed state borders, rationed toilet paper and monotonous walks down the same sets of streets. My mail-order resistance bands are back out for half-hearted workouts and my Zoom is on standby. There are loved ones to miss once more, recipes to try, and a mullet to nurture. There are also memes to repost. The latest proclaims: ‘Even Covid thinks that Melbourne is Australia’s most liveable city’.

Originally published by The Telegraph