St. Kilda

After the beaches of Sydney, it would be easy to dismiss St. Kilda, the beach a 20-minute tram ride for central Melbourne, as something of a let down. I get the impression a lot of Australians do; they look at the tourists there and scoff a bit in the but-why-would-you-go-there-when-there's-other-beaches-only-an-hour's-car-ride-away kind of way. If I were Australian with a plethora of beaches at my fingertips, perhaps I too would feel the same.

 

But any way you slice it, St. Kilda's got charm. It's Brighton, England with finer sand, a smaller high street area and an equally bohemian vibe. Pierced, hairy armpitted ukulele players busking tunes dot the main street; artists selling paintings and lost dreams coerce you into twenty-five minute conversations on their craft. 

As the day waxed on, friends started to gather, picnic-style, on the beach before making their way to the palm-tree lined Acland Street. Options to dine, shop and lounge abounded: 

What St. Kilda might lack in other things, it makes up in cake. Shop after shop boasted baked delights served alongside iced coffee, ice cold beer, any tipple of your choice:

And train car dining:

Not that Melbourne is a frenetic place that demands escape but if city life gets to be just that little too much, St. Kilda is the answer.