Melbourne

Arriving in Melbourne, I was immediately whisked away to the infamous Lane 2, or as I like to call it, the “Red Line of Doom,” where customs officers meticulously comb through every item in your bag. Australia, being an island, has a serious aversion to anything foreign—especially if it might be a virus, pest, or god forbid, a rogue banana. Honestly, I half-expected them to confiscate my hand sanitizer for harboring “nasty microbes.”

Now, here’s the thing: after flying halfway across the Pacific, I lose all sense of time. I turned to my driver and, in a state of utter confusion, asked, “Is tomorrow Wednesday?” Without missing a beat, he replied, “No sir, just Friday.” As if that wasn’t confusing enough, he pointed to the passenger side of the car and said, “That’s your door unless you fancy a bit of driving yourself!” Welcome to Australia, where even cars are upside down.

Then came the moment every traveler dreads—he wanted to talk American politics. Now, I have one golden rule: *I don’t.* So, in a classic deflection maneuver, I asked about Australian politics. “Ah, it’s pretty quiet here now,” he said. “We have the UK system, but we can boot the government whenever we feel like it. And trust me, we do! Happened about 3-4 times recently.” Just casually ousting governments? Talk about keeping things interesting.

Once we’d solved global political crises, we moved on to what really matters in Melbourne—**footie**. Apparently, footie is an Australian mashup of soccer and rugby, where players dash around a massive field, kicking, punching, and, I assume, inventing new ways to break bones. Melbourne is the *spiritual* home of this game, and its devotees are nothing short of fanatical. The Melbourne Cricket Ground (MCG) hosts the AFL Grand Final, and trust me, that place is more sacred than a church on Christmas. “Explain the rules to me,” I asked the driver, clearly still in post-flight brain fog. “Mate, I don’t get them myself, but it’s a cracker of a game! And you never know who’ll win,” he said. Apparently, the 16 best clubs in the country are currently battling it out for footie glory, and the city is buzzing. Melbourne’s sport obsession doesn’t stop at footie, though. They’ve got everything—tennis, rugby, cricket—and best of all, the Belmont! (Don’t ask me about horses, I’ll trod along like a local.)

As we zipped through the streets, the driver began a culinary tour of Melbourne. The city, he explained, is a multicultural melting pot, which means one thing: *food*. And lots of it. The coffee is legendary, the people are friendly, and life is good—unless you’re in Sydney, where people are apparently too busy to be bothered with pleasantries. “Melbourne is more laid-back,” he said, “while Sydney people are always on the go.” My driver, it turns out, moved to Melbourne from India in 2005 as a student and never looked back. His parents visit for a couple of months at a time, or he heads back to India. “Easy when you’re an Uber driver!” he chuckled. His parents love Melbourne but miss India, so they’re always happy to go home. At some point, our chat turned to food again—naturally. He’s from the north of India, where potatoes reign supreme. “The southerners eat rice,” he explained with a shake of the head, as if rice were a personal affront. Apparently, the divide between rice and potato eaters is a thing. As we wound through the city streets, he mentioned how easy it was to immigrate and buy property back in the early 2000s. But now? Forget it. “Everything’s expensive, mate. People from China and India want to come here, and property prices are through the roof.” Apparently, foreign buyers snatch up anything that hits the market, though the government’s trying to cool things down. “But, you never know,” he said, with the kind of resignation that comes from battling a housing market that’s more competitive than a footie final. And, of course, we couldn’t talk Melbourne without a mention of ‘that’ story—the Danish prince who walked into a bar and walked out with an Australian wife, turning her into a princess. Moral of the story? Anything’s possible in Melbourne.