In a city of trams, there’s one kind that’s really hard to ignore. They make a phenomenal racket as they rattle along down the street. You feel the shrieking brakes in your teeth every time they grind to a stop. And, unlike the sleek-spaceship-modern trams, they look exactly like how you would have drawn a tram when you were six years old.
I moved to Melbourne about three years ago and, until recently, I hadn’t ever taken route 35 – a free vintage tram that circles the CBD. Few of the Melbourne-lifers I’ve asked had either. It’s for tourists. It’s even got a voiceover that tells you about the sites.
I’ve been sketching for about seven years and I take my gear everywhere. I sketch the office fruit bowl before work, other passengers on the train, and on postcards when I’m on holiday. It’s how I explore and remember – it forces me to slow down and notice all the tiny details of what’s around me. Sketching is why I can still feel that hot day at the Temple of Literature in Hanoi, picture the boats in Hobart’s harbour, or the view from Prague Castle.
But when you’re in a city every day, you start to form habits and take things for granted. I found myself walking the same Melbourne streets, visiting the same places. Drawing the same scenes. I must have hundreds of sketches of Flinders station alone. So I decided to be a tourist. I’d sketch route 35. And I’d do it on postcards.
It takes about an hour to do a lap of the CBD on route 35. The trams only travel clockwise, trundling past Victoria’s Parliament House in the east, Flinders station in the south, Marvel Stadium in the west and the State Library to the north.
The yellow and green trams were built in the 1950s, and refurbished in the 2010s. I finally catch one on a warm Saturday morning, a couple of stops before the state parliament. I hear it coming before it even crests the hill.
I’m a bit apprehensive as I board. I usually avoid drawing trams because it’s a pain in the ass – they don’t stop moving for long enough. But its also fun sketching in public. There’s something about drawing that removes a barrier between strangers. People want to see, even when I’m nowhere near done. Kids sit next to me, trying to figure out what I’m drawing. Adults ask me questions and tell me about when they drew.
The rush hasn’t started and I snag a place in a four-seater at the back, across from an older couple with strong British accents.
The man quickly assures his female companion – and then me – that the trams appear to be well taken care of. “They’re using lots of varnish,” he tells us, peering around at the wood panelling and fixtures.
It does feel a bit like going down the street in a faux ye olde pub. There’s wood and leather accents everywhere. The seats are a dark green I associate with re-coloured photos. The tiny windows have fiddly latches and don’t open all the way. There’s also no air conditioning – rather noticeable on a 30C day.
I spend hours on the tram doing loops of the city, gazing out the window and listening to the voice-over as the landmarks drift by. Much of the time the trams are so packed that you can’t really hear much, and my drawings just turn into masses of arms and legs.
It turns out sketching on these trams is even harder than I imagined. I’m juggling and dropping my pens and watercolours in the tight confines. The ride isn’t smooth like the newer trams, and the other passengers bump into me. A lot of drawings are lost to errant lines and dabs of paint.
All the chaos brings something out in the drawings. They aren’t very polished and I can see flaws in all of them. But the scramble to capture people and places before they vanish comes out in the lines. I think I caught some of the energy.
Then there are quieter periods. And the tram becomes this lovely, liminal space for tiny interactions.
As I sit and sketch, a French-speaking family are dismayed that they aren’t my subject – I’m focused on the couple behind them. I point out to a few groups that the MCG – the real heart of the city – is out the window on the other side. A woman and her elderly mother strategise with me about the best stop to get off so that they won’t have to walk uphill.
I hear Americans. So many Americans.
Unfortunately I can’t catch the tram during the week – it only runs while I’m at work. But the route still exists even if the trams aren’t there, so I start to follow it on foot. I try and visit a new place each day. The chaos of the trams gives way to something a lot slower.
The State Library is one of my usual haunts. But I’ve never drawn the building – one of the oldest libraries in Australia. I usually sit with my back against it and focus on the people, especially those playing the games of giant chess on weekends. This morning I take in the facade. There’s few people around. Two balloons rise up from the east (I’ve drawn them way too big).
On another day I’m eating breakfast across from the state parliament, as the sun slowly rises behind it. The parliament has been covered in scaffolding most of the time I’ve been in Melbourne, so I had never really noticed how the light bounces off the stones and between the columns.
“This is Docklands!” exclaims a loud American voice on one of my first times round the loop. “Our son works here. It’s meant to be fabulous. But it’s not much of anything.”
I’d shared a similar impression. I was wrong. Docklands used to be a busy port – hence the name. It’s now full of gigantic office buildings and looming apartment towers. Apart from a few events at Marvel Stadium I hadn’t been around here much.
As I followed route 35 I ended up spending more and more time in Docklands, sitting by the water and having a coffee before work. I try drawing the boats a few times, but not very successfully.
Sketching the stadium one morning, I begin noticing how many trees there are. The place slowly starts coming to life, with joggers and people walking dogs or carrying things to boats. There’s very little separating us from the bustle of the CBD, yet it feels so tranquil.
I finish my journey sitting in front of the Melbourne Star on a sunny morning. The Star is a gigantic observation wheel that closed before I even moved to the city. It’s one of the most recognisable parts of the skyline, even if its stillness makes it a bit of a sad figure.
Route 35 isn’t very long, and there’s so much of Melbourne that it doesn’t go near. But there’s also a lot of different Melbournes crammed into even this small journey – Melbournes I probably wouldn’t have ever thought to visit.
On this morning, the Star is glinting gloriously in the sun. I’d never been here before.
