Ahhh. Balaclava. I used to love getting on and off the train at Balaclava station. OKay, not the walk down or up those long ramps, that could be a bit painful. But getting off at Balaclava always felt a bit like being in a rock video. First a couple of orthodox jews would get off, all dressed in black and wearing those awesome hats they wear. Then a tough old lesbian couple. Then maybe a backpacker or two, and then finally me.
And I'd maybe stop for a coffee, listening to the relaxing thunder of the trains passing overhead, and I'd be happy. read more