Visiting the Dandenong Ranges

The Dandenong Ranges lie about thirty-five kilometres outside Melbourne proper. Filled with lush scenes of trickling waterfalls and secret gardens, these low mountain ranges were a beautiful spot to hike, climb, and take photos. We visited the iconic mountain range during autumn, which created a phenomenally vibrant seasonal colour palette of rich oranges, deep, warm-toned yellows, and fading greens, as we walked across a carpet of leaves.

We visited several gardens, including the Alfred Nicholas Memorial Gardens, which are known for the iconic bridges which criss-cross the central lake. Unfortunately, these bridges were being serviced when we visited, which we were assured was a rare occurrence. Still, the surrounding gardens were beautiful to traipse around it, as we discovered low-hanging branches shedding leaves, turning rust for autumn, and ornamental lakes peppered with lazy ducks meandering through the water.

The RJ Hamer Arboretum is a must-see for any trip up to the Dandenong Ranges. Set seemingly apart from the otherwise overgrown mountains, this arboretum is stunningly vast, empty and peaceful, with charming gazebos to gaze upon the flat, sloping planes. As someone who thrives off of adventure and activity, I particularly enjoyed kicking off my shoes and frolicking amongst the rows of neatly manicured and enormously tall trees.

Our last stop was a secret lookout, known to few but loved by those who have been there. Rather than paying a fee at the official SkyHigh lookout spot, there is a private outcrop on the mountain ridge that was once used by paragliders to take off across Melbourne. To get to this location, we parked our car after turning off at Ridge Road, and took the Kyeema walking track until we reached the paragliding platform, only a few hundred metres away. After walking through winding ridges upwards through the mountain, the paragliding site suddenly opens up into a large expanse with an unbelievable view of greater Melbourne, and far in the horizon, the washed out silhouette of the CBD. We arrived just before sunset, and the cloud cover made for an impressive view of shadows on the landscape below, and slats of sun filtering through the sky. A must-see during sunrise or sunset, this lookout capped off a peaceful and serene day in the Dandenongs.

On Identity & Place

I am an immigrant. My sense of self has always been intrinsically tied to the places I inhabit, so I have never felt a solid connection to one particular place. I was born in South Africa, but can only remember my experience there though the lens of a child. I arrived in Australia when I was seven: foreign, new, and desperately teaching myself to say yeah instead of ja. But I wasn't even connected to South Africa, really. My whole family is Greek, and I spoke fluent Greek before I could even speak a word in English. So after migrating, my patriotism fluctuated between a strong connection to my birthland, and a loyalty to the new Australian culture I was trying to assimilate into. Amongst all that I still felt a deep pride for the passion and vibrancy of my Greek culture.

However, after my recent visit to Greece only a few years ago, I felt oddly 'outside' the culture - my accent was that of a slangy Australian, forced to relearn old customs and languages. More importantly, I began to realise that the two countries I had lived in for most of my life came with a dark history of racism, segregaton, and the colonisation of Indigenous communities. I therefore had to reconsider my loyalty to any singular place. Suddenly, I was in limbo - untethered to any singular place, I simply existed.

Growing up, I became more interested in this connection between people and place. By nature, people form groups, whether they are as small as social groups in schools, sports teams, or neighbourhoods; or as large as governing bodies of states. We form groups to make some sense of our surroundings. These are my Australian friends. Those are my Greek cousins. That's a picture of my South African classmates.  Each one neatly classified and tucked away. I always seem to emphasise one culture more when I am around people of the like. I do it unconsciously, without really knowing why. Is it an attempt to fit in? Or an attempt to reclaim some sense of community and culture, given that I have three (or none)? It makes me wonder who I really am.

I've been exploring these thoughts recently, particularly in relation to my upcoming residency in Iceland later this year. The basis for my proposal centred on people and place, and how we try to comprehend the unforgiving nature of the environment around us by tethering people to the land. I have coordinates of my birthplace and a compass tattooed on me, a permanent reminder of this concept of people and place. I always remember places most vividly through the interactions of the people that were there.

The vastness of our planet and the grandiosity of nature are overwhelming to the human race. It reminds us that our place on earth is insignificant and temporary. And that may be why we try so hard to attach ourselves to places, because it gives them meaning. Being unattached to a singular place can therefore be a vulnerable and unsteady position. In reality, it actually allows you the freedom to explore boundlessly. Lately I've had this sensation of being adrift. But maybe that just means I have whole oceans open to me.