Living in Melbourne

Centre Place, right in the heart of the CBD is where Lian spends a lot of time, not on street level, but two floors above this little alleyway, in Matt's apartment in the historic Majorca building.  This scene is quintessentially Melbourne. We love the atmosphere, the street art, the tiny eateries and the general chaos, it's endlessly fascinating.

Inside the Majorca building - the foyer is marble and copper, with a seemingly ancient lift that does actually work.

At the other end of the time spectrum, Wim now lives in Brunswick in a completely up-to-date, bright and very new apartment.

Wim and partner Akinyi in their lounge room.

The space is very airy and full of light, totally unlike our apartment in Southbank, which is overshadowed by the massive Eureka Tower (88 stories of swanky - it's wanky- apartments) On the other hand, Southbank is walking distance to Flinders Street, and the MCG and the NGV.

Eating out a lot seems to be what you have to do in Melbourne.  This is breakfast at the Bondstore Cafe that is part of our apartment complex in Southbank.

Melbourne coffee from Brown's in Lygon Street Carlton.


But in case you think our time in Melbourne was only about eating, drinking and hanging around trendy little backstreets, allow me to describe our experiences with VicRoads in the pursuit of registering our car in Victoria. First, you find the place, in Lygon Street, not easy with the crazy street numbering system they have here. Then you take a number and join the bewildered throng who are milling about playing un-musical chairs in the waiting (and waiting) area.  In our case, quite a few hours spread over two days later, and we had the new plates to screw on. You know you've been there too long when the staff begin to recognise you, and treat you with sympathy and smiles. Part of this byzantine procedure involved going to a Landrover dealer and having the Service Manager, not just anyone, it had to be The Man himself, verify our Vin and chassis numbers, in writing! Having done this, he hands us the all-important document and says, deadpan: Hundred fifty dollars, mate.  We mentally reach for the wallet, then he says, Nah, just joking..Then off he goes, grinning. It was a stressful process, but you will be amused to know our new plates proclaim us former inhabitants of the British Isles: XUK 433.  We now expect no mercy on the roads, looking as we do, not like forgiveable interstaters, but like idiot locals.