Nayuka Gorrie

Melbourne-based writer Nayuka Gorrie finally admits that this city ain’t all bad – in fact, she’s willing to leave her hotel room next time she visits. “I love Melbourne” – a famous Melburnian proverb about MelbourneI’m about to leave Melbourne for the progressive booming metropolis I came from: Brisbane. I live in Fitzroy. I love the post-apocalyptic Sunday morning feel on Brunswick Street when it’s just me, the anxious pigeons, four-hour-old vomit and two dudes looking for kick ons. I love our collective increase of serotonin when the sun emerges from a grey haze just when we had forgotten what heat and light is. I love the screaming men on a Saturday night when their team hasn’t won. I love the turmeric lattes. I love the cat cafés. The toast cafés. I love complaining about south of the river, a place I had forgotten about; a place I know nothing about because I haven’t been there in two years (Rev’s doesn’t count). I love the accessible bikeways that I have used exactly three and a half times in the last six years. I know they will tell you AFL is the sport of choice down here but there is another – sledging Sydney. And for six years I was the best at it. If I was driven there for work I would make a big scene about how much I hated it; I wouldn’t leave my hotel room just to tell everyone I’d stayed in my hotel because THAT’s how much I hate Sydney. I’d talk about how shit the coffee is. How pretentious the people are. How shit the traffic is. How Sydney is to Melbourne

Melbourne-based writer Nayuka Gorrie finally admits that Sydney isn't all bad after all – in fact, she’s willing to leave her hotel room next time she visits. “I love Melbourne” – a famous Melburnian proverb about MelbourneI’m about to leave Melbourne for the progressive booming metropolis I came from: Brisbane. I live in Fitzroy. I love the post-apocalyptic Sunday morning feel on Brunswick Street when it’s just me, the anxious pigeons, four-hour-old vomit and two dudes looking for kick ons. I love our collective increase of serotonin when the sun emerges from a grey haze just when we had forgotten what heat and light is. I love the screaming men on a Saturday night when their team hasn’t won. I love the turmeric lattes. I love the cat cafés. The toast cafés. I love complaining about south of the river, a place I had forgotten about; a place I know nothing about because I haven’t been there in two years (Rev’s doesn’t count). I love the accessible bikeways that I have used exactly three and a half times in the last six years. AFL is the sport of choice down here but there is another – sledging Sydney. And for six years I was the best at it. If I was driven there for work I would make a big scene about how much I hated it; I wouldn’t leave my hotel room just to tell everyone I’d stayed in my hotel because THAT’s how much I hate Sydney. I’d talk about how shit the coffee is. How pretentious the people are. How shit the traffic is. How Sydney is to Melbourne what LA is to New Y