Melbourne Hotels
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I arrived, late afternoon to a sunny Melbourne without a map and only an address to tell me where to drop off the car. I imagined the place would be right in the city centre, leaving me with that usual bewildering feeling you get from having to orienteer around the road system of a new city. The streets flowing into the CBD were attractive. Wide, lined with trees and the cars share this with old-fashioned trams that add to the character of this city, famed for it's more European appeal. With no map I had to rely on pulling up to suitable candidates to ask exactly where I was going. This was no problem, as it turned out my hunch was correct, it was the main street in the city centre. This didn't turn out to be as problematic as anticipated as the grid mapped streets in modern cities make getting around fairly easy. In England when you ask for directions you are sent left, then right, then round through the Mason's Arm's car park, beyond the grassy knoll, left at the trade entrance for Tescos then round the back of where you just came from. I usually get lost off be the time I have accomplished the second instruction and mostly rely on finding another person to ask.
So here I was, in the middle of Melbourne with my bags and not a clue where to go. I had heard a lot of good reports about a suburb called St Kilda so I hailed a taxi and set off. Never have I had a problem with getting accommodation until now. I paid the $20 to get there as I had too much to carry on public transport. The hostel looked perfect but I was to be disappointed as it was full until after the impending Grand Prix. The guy behind reception told me I would be lucky to find anywhere in St Kilda and as I rang each hostel, it would turn out that he was right. I decided to go back to the City. I found a hostel advertised on the front desk of reception and made the booking. I was just relieved to find somewhere and willingly paid another $20 to be taken back to the city. However I was lived that the hostel I had just booked was literally two doors away from where I had just dropped the car off. For weeks, wasting that $40 would pain me every time I walked past the car hire place.
I checked into Melbourne International Backpackers and the signs were not good. It was the most unattractive building in the whole of the city, like the kind of building you imagine people in insurance work in, where they spend forty hours a week sat in one of those cubicles with minimal interaction with any human being. It was a far cry from any hostel I had stayed in prior. It was too big, you joined the cue, gave you name, were distributed your bedclothes and sent to your cell, I mean room. Now most hostels are the same, the building is never the best and the lack of cleanliness can be forgiven if the people there can create a friendly and fun atmosphere. Unfortunately this lacked any inkling of this feeling maybe due to either the sterile feel of the canteen like communal area and cell like dormitories or the fact that all these backpackers were infect in insurance. The most fun place to be was outside standing with the smokers, although I always feel a bit of a weirdo hanging outside with smokers when I don't actually smoke myself.
I was there for two nights and met nobody. I never spoke to anyone in my room, I even left without saying a "see ya". I moved to Nomads Industry Backpackers, just a block up the street, which was fine but a tad expensive partly due to the Grand Prix. It was a nice hostel although the Nomads are a chain, and it felt too much of a business too busy trying to make money than make people feel at home, for example there was a nice bar but nowhere where you felt comfortable eating a bowl of Rice Krispies. In contrast to the last hostel the people in there were very friendly, instantly the people in my room introduced themselves and I found myself in a little clique on the first night.
I had to start looking for a job straight away, but found it difficult and in terms of cash in hand work, there is nothing compared to Sydney. I signed up with the appropriate recruitment agencies and was given menial office work here and there. Still not enough to pay for general living and saving for my trip further on. I was that desperate I nearly considered the F word. Yes, I even rang up about Fruit-picking, but luckily something else came up. I rang up about a job selling artwork obviously based on commission. I questioned whether I could do this, as I hate the idea of working without the guarantee of not getting paid. I decided, 'what the hell', just do it and see what happens, which is a philosophy that backpackers should stick to. The job involved walking around a suburb of the city knocking on doors with a selection of 15 or so A3 oil paintings trying to talk the public into parting with their hard earned cash for them. There was around ten of us, all backpackers from Europe, probably adding to the authenticity of these unauthentic acrylic prints. It must have worked because I managed to sell a few and the buzz from earning up to $300 for four hours work was exhilarating. However I never lasted long because the nights you sold nothing were too annoying and my morals about telling people a load of crap about the beautiful Mediterranean scene or what the abstract shapes represented was getting to me. It was good fun at times, mainly because I got out and met a load of real Australian people and the people I worked with. I met a couple of French girls, a jolly cockney and a nice Spaniard. We had a couple of good nights out too, once in the bohemian suburb Brunswick Street, where I bumped into Libby, Steff and Carmella off Neighbours.
The nightlife was really good here. Much cooler than Sydney, in that there was loads to choose from and a lot of it was free. I found some trendy bars down the back alleys, St Jerome's and Section 8 being my favorites, which played loads of different styles of music, which was refreshing. St Kilda was a good place to go too, where I met Liz, Kev and Rachel. Kev was from Blyth and had become posh but when we got together, Rachel his southern girlfriend wouldn't know what the hell he was talking aboot.
The reason I had come to Melbourne was mainly to do with the Grand Prix. The City was buzzing in anticipation of it and the event itself didn't let Melbourne down. I met up with China, my good friend from Brazil who I had met in Manly and we enjoyed the motor spectacle nearly dying in the 45-degree heat with no shade. After the race I went to see Kiss, not a fan as such, but based on the fact that if they are this old and still huge they must be good. A theory I learnt after seeing Elton John ha-ha. They didn't disappoint either and the pyro-theatrics were worth the $50 alone.
I managed to find a flat on Elizabeth Street at $90 per week. Half the price I was paying at Nomads. This was something of a relief as the hostel was getting to me. Towards the end of my stay at Nomads I had been left bewildered by the mentality of some British Backpackers that come to Australia. Namely, three 18-year-old girls beauty therapists from the Isle of Wight. They laughed hysterically and wailed throughout the whole two hours it took them to get ready for a night on the town as they slagged off girls from their home that had 'skanky' boyfriends. They got me involved and even asked me why there were so many chinkies in Melbourne. I was a bit shocked that these girls had asked me this and told them "you can't say that", to which they replied, "Why not? That's what they are isn't they?" I acted indifferent as not to offend and made some comment I hoped would end the conversation like "at least Melbourne has good sushi", but this only lead to further discussion about how 'skanky' Asian food is.
The flat itself I could dedicate a whole Blog too. It was based above an Indian Restaurant that would either wake you up with beautiful Banghra harmonies or the most horrific Hindi Pop. I had the nicest room that I shared with Drew, an Essex Boy who I really got on with. He was your typical Essex lad, the type that might go into McDonalds, walk to the front of the queue with a swagger and shout at the poor server "Oi! Keith, I wanna facking Quarter Pounder and some Chicken facking Nuggets you cant!" There was also, Irish Dave and Kieran, Swedish Nicholas who lived in a room built of mattresses, an Aussie Bum and I can't emphasize enough how much of a bum he was called Lee, our prostitute land-lady Susan and her two sons, Harvey and Matt who were cool and had their heads screwed on surprisingly enough. Lee lived in darkness and never moved from the couch in the sitting room apart from giro day, where he would buy some rolling papers, a box of wine and several new VHS. Then he would be set for another week. He never stopped smoking and pretty much made the lounge redundant to the rest of us. He would seldom move from the couch where he also slept let alone venture out of the flat, and we wondered where he got all the smokes. Drew was adamant he picked up the ends of cigarettes outside on the street and Nicholas swore he had seen him smoking with newspaper instead of rolling papers. The cardboard box full of cigarette ends he kept next to his couch would lead us to conclude that this was in fact the case.
As for Susan, well she was okay but a bit mental. She spoke to herself and continuously cleaned the house. She also left loads of notes around the place, such as "turn off microwave at plug else 20 cent fine" or "dry body and legs in shower and dry feet outside the shower". You weren't a real housemate if you didn't wake up to find a new note directed at something you had done. I was responsible for "do not use too much cheese in toasty machine". I stated earlier that she was employed in the oldest known profession, something I did not believe until Drew had got hold of her phone and read out all the texts. Anyway, it wasn't as bad as it sounds, we did have access to a huge VHS collection and the rooms were always clean. We had a good laugh in the flat and the fact that it was only $90 a week for one of the best locations in Melbourne made it a very enjoyable time.
I really enjoyed living in the middle of the City, there was always something to do and I could eat any kind of food with just a short walk. Luckily I was offered a job at Foxtel (Australia's Sky TV) and with this I met an awesome group of people. Mostly backpackers, we were all thrust into the world of modern call centre at the same time. This helped an otherwise boring job to be a lot of fun. It was good money too, and I was very grateful to get it as I was becoming worried I would never find work with only a few weeks left on my visa.
I met up with Surtees, my mate from home and Stoney a lad form Durham I did my degree with. We mostly hung around together and went to couple of Aussie Rules games. I couldn't get into it but they loved it. It was great being able to not hold back with the Geordie accent with these two and all this Geordieness was topped off when we went to see Ross Noble headline the Melbourne Comedy Festival. One of my favorite nights was when Aimee and Ben had made the long journey from Perth to Sydney with a stop in Melbourne to see me. We all went out to the unofficial Neighbours night and saw Toady, Carmella and Ned. Toady set up the unofficial Neighbours night as he was banned from the official one due to shagging all of the British female backpackers. I also got to see Paul Robinson and the beautiful girl that plays his daughter.
In terms of touristy things to do, I didn't do too much. However I did visit the 12 Apostles. These are 6 (the other six fell over) rocky stacks of cliff set out along the southern coastline, making for a spectacular view especially at sunset. Drew, Surtees, Dave and I made the road trip to these fascinating examples of coastal erosion and had a good time in the process.
We decided to make a weekend of it and stop at a small town called Worimbol. It certainly had that small town atmosphere going on and things looked and felt like they could get nasty if we bumped into the wrong person or chatted up the wrong girl. It was kind of like when us Durhamers have a night out in Consett or Bishop Auckland. We ended up having a good night though and met an English couple. He was working as a Bin man and the missus was a butcher. They were from Grimsby, and the lad told us that when he was 16 he used to sell burglar alarms in Pennywell, Sunderland. I couldn't believe it, until he told me he had knocked on one door and the bloke that answered to him said, "What the fuck do you think your doing? I am the fucking burglar."
Apart from how trendy and cool the fashions and nightlife scene is in Melbourne, it lacks one thing for me that Sydney has in abundance. The beaches. It has some beaches but no real surf culture, which I find typically Australian, and one of my favourite things about this country. I love how you might be given an extended lunch because the wave is good. I missed this about Sydney but the actual City of Melbourne itself is much more vibrant. The perfect Australian city would be Melbourne CBD surrounded by Sydney's beach suburbs situated in south Queensland for the perfect weather. So I am torn when it comes to answering that age old question, Sydney or Melbourne? but I guess the only people that answer that one are people who have not spent time in both.
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