Melbourne

I will start this entry with a short rant: Having come from a superb hostel in Apollo Bay, the Cooee on St Kilda felt like an open prison for backpackers. Everywhere there are signs saying that stealing is a crime – if you actually need to be told this, then something is very wrong. There's no crockery or cutlery in the kitchen, but for a $10 deposit the surly staff on reception will hand you a cup, bowl, plate, knife, folk and spoon. Meanwhile, outside the hostel, crack-whores plied their trade (it made me homesick for Whitechapel). I could go on, but you get the picture.














For our first evening out, we met up with our friend Jade (who we met in Borneo), in Fitzroy. Now Melbourners like to boast about their tram system, but going from St Kilda in the south to Fitzroy in the north, took over an hour – a similar journey on the much derided London Underground would take 15 minutes.

Fitzroy is basically Shoreditch transported to the southern hemisphere. Our meeting pub, Bimbo's Bar, was a dark affair, with the obligatory lack of a name sign, old comfy leather sofas, and a music selection that could have been ripped straight off my iPod. On Monday's they do $5 pizza. Yummm.




















The next day, after getting medicals for our Madagascar expedition, we wandered around the city taking in Melbourne's famed cafe culture, before flopping down on the water's edge in front of Federation Square to watch the boat crews train.














Not wanting to cook with the other inmates at our hostel, we ventured into the heart of St Kildas for some well earned posh food. We somehow found ourselves in what is supposedly Melbourne's best Italian restaurant for Kirsten's belated birthday dinner.