Adelaide to Melbourne

And here I am at the end of an eventful week that began in Adelaide and has ended in Melbourne. You find me stealing free internet (if that’s possible?...) in Federation Square in central Melbourne.

On Sunday, I ignored several people’s warnings and jumped on a plane to Adelaide to look for a job. I should have listened – there’s nothing there. Well, that’s not strictly true I suppose. Let’s see – there’s the Adelaide Oval (but there was no cricket on so that doesn’t count), a couple of mildly diverting Australiana museums to do with the history of South Australia, a pleasant riverbank upon which to stroll and, if you’re a wine geek like me, there is the National Wine Centre.

Now let’s make this perfectly clear - The National Wine Centre in Adelaide is very well done, but even I only managed to spend two hours there and if you’re not quite as into Vinis Vitifera as I am, you’d probably struggle to fill an hour - Hardly worth getting on a plane for. They have one of the original (now 150 year old) vines to be brought to Australia, interactive face-to-face exchanges with winemakers such as the legendary Wolf Blass of the eponymous winery, regular tasting sessions, a huge collection of wine labels from all over the country, and finally, their own vineyard (although it seemed that you had to be Julia Gillard to get outside and see it, and I just didn’t cut the mustard with officious receptionist). After a token ‘I’m not going to buy anything because it’s all over-priced and you know it’ browse through the shop, I made my exit and headed back to the city.

Walking now through the main shopping district, I have to say that Adelaide city centre reminded me a bit of an over-sized Stockport – full of pedestrianised streets and indoor shopping centres with shops like Starbucks and Lush (complete with its signature organic soap stench – yes, it’s the same the world over). Now it’s bad enough that there’s one Stockport, never mind a bigger version on the other side of the world.

On returning to the YHA, I found I had gained two roommates.

EXHIBIT A – English man in his fifties, talking to himself/at anyone who came within earshot. Had spread the entire contents of his suitcase out on his bed and was in possession of a quite frankly world-class collection of used carrier bags.

EXHIBIT B – ‘Dave’, a 28 year-old Aussie chef, whom I instantly group into the category of ‘drifter’ rather than ‘backpacker’. I cook dinner with him but make sure he tastes the food before I do.

During the night Exhibit A returns to the room and switches the light on. It’s 2am. Exhibit B immediately leaps of the top bunk, narrowly missing my head and starts effing and blinding at Exhibit B. Cue much shouting and fighting over the light switch. I remain under my sheets and pretend to be asleep. I would be more likely to get some sleep during a napalm strike.

Feeling refreshed from my four and a half hours sleep, I return to the city the next morning and find more of the same. There aren’t any jobs and the place is beginning to depress me. I finally heed several pieces of advice given to me earlier in the week, book a flight to Melbourne for first thing in the morning and return to the YHA to spend the rest of the day watching movies and counting the hours until my flight.

As the sun rises over Adelaide on Tuesday morning I’m already at the airport. A plate of scrambled eggs, one Cappuccino, two espressos and a one hour flight later, I arrive in Melbourne and the state of Victoria.

Dumping my bags at the YHA, I waste no time and head straight out into the city, armed with several CVs and an air of determination. Result – the Southbank on the Yarra River is full to bursting with chic bars and trendy eateries – this is more like it. I hand out CVs to every single one and by the end of the day have five possible jobs lined up.

The following three days are spent working trial shifts at different establishments along the Southbank. First up is Pure South. They offer me the job and I tell them I’ll think about it - they’re a decent bunch of guys who know what they’re doing and it’s a nice restaurant. The owner Peter, however, could charitably be described as ‘a prick’ (sorry, Gran…) and I tell him I’ll get back to him. Next is The Meat and Wine Co. This one was a waste of time. Specialising in ridiculously-sized cuts of meat with your choice of chips, french-fries or thin-cut potato wedges, they’re really just an over-priced McDonalds with a highly un-original wine list and staffed entirely by kids.

Friday night is to be spent on trial at The Waiting Room, a bar for high-rollers at the Crown Casino. With a wine list of over 3,000 bottles topping out with the 1947 Domaine La Romanee Conti (yours for $70,000) and their head sommelier having recently been awarded the much-coveted title of National Sommelier of the Year, this seems like a pretty exciting option and I turn up half an hour early.

Then the phone rings. It’s a job offer with Cradle Mountain Chateau in Tasmania. It’s a good offer and I reason that I’ll probably never get the chance to go to Tasmania again so I accept, thank Will at The Waiting Room for the consideration and as it’s only four o’clock I head back into the city for a proper look around.

Melbourne is a very agreeable place and I’m glad to be spending the weekend here before Tasmania. Similar in size to Sydney, it has that exciting ‘big city’ feel to it. To me at least, the place feels European, with its chicly attired Victorians, bustling café culture and eclectic artsy crowd. The bars and restaurants spill out on to the pavements just as they do in Paris and Rome, there are several squares and sets of imposing steps where tourists and office-workers alike take their lunch, and several of the bridges put me in mind of the Thames – think Putney and London bridge. The city also has trams upon which there are plenty of languages spoken other than English, and I can’t remember the last time I saw a cloud. Put all of this together and the city has a very cosmopolitan ambience.

And this morning I was hoping to spend a productive day watching cricket at the MCG, but ironically enough, it’s raining.

So I wrote this instead.