Three months in Melbourne
Landing in Melbourne after six months of daily blogs and vlogs felt like hitting a completely different kind of reset button. For the first time in half a year, the focus shifted from constant movement to building some sort of life on the other side of the world. My bank account loudly disagreed, but it didn’t matter. Here’s: Three Months in Melbourne.
Why Melbourne, Why Now
After 181 days of almost non-stop writing and editing, the silence on my website was no accident. I was tired—properly tired. Besides, I didn’t come to Melbourne to keep racing from country to country. I came to slow down, find work, and experience daily life in a new city. I had burned through nearly all my savings, so Melbourne quickly became less of a stopover and more of a base camp. Three months in, it finally felt like the right moment to sit down and share what those weeks actually looked like.
First Days: Cold Shock and United Backpackers
I arrived in Melbourne straight from hiking through the Malaysian rainforest with Sarah, a Belgian girl I met in the Cameron Highlands. I quietly fell in love with her, even though she had a boyfriend and I never said a word. Stepping out of Avalon Airport in shorts and a t-shirt, still in tropical mode, I was immediately slapped by Australian winter. Within minutes I was digging into my backpack on the pavement to change clothes. The next days I hunted down cheap shops for extra layers.
On the bus into the city, I still had no plan. Somewhere between the airport and the CBD, I booked a bed at United Backpackers, right in the heart of the city. When I checked in, they told me the dorms were overbooked and there was no bed for me. Perfect start. Then they re-booked me into a private room and even gave me an extra free night. The hostel had everything: big kitchen, bar downstairs, and cosy common areas. I felt at home straight away and spent almost my last money on a full week in a dorm.
As nice as that private room was, it felt lonely very quickly. In Asia, it was easy to make friends because every other sweaty, confused Western face was clearly a backpacker. In a Western city, everyone blends in. You can’t tell who’s travelling and who’s just on their lunch break. Sharing a dorm suddenly felt less like a budget choice and more like a survival strategy.
Week 1 & 2: Free Food Shelf Economy
The first week in Melbourne was brutal. I had almost no money left but was too stubborn to give up and fly home. Big hostels like United Backpackers, which can host around 400 people, have a magical place: the free food shelf. Half-used packets of pasta, rice, oats—the leftovers of people leaving the city. For that first week, I basically lived off that shelf, occasionally adding some fresh food when possible.
Accommodation was the next problem. I couldn’t afford another week, so I went to reception twice a day asking about work-for-accommodation. The deal was simple: work three hours in the morning making beds and cleaning rooms, and you get a full week of free accommodation. Win-win, at least in theory. At first, there was no space in the team, but they needed extra help with maintenance. I grabbed anything: deep-cleaning showers, painting hallways, even a last-minute night shift mopping the bar. It wasn’t sustainable, but it kept me off the street.
The job hunt didn’t go well either. You’d think a city this big has endless work, but it also has endless people looking. Everyone in the hostel seemed to be searching for a job. I was one of the few who couldn’t afford to relax at the bar while waiting for something to appear.
Week 3 & 4: Work for Accommodation and Local Connections
Around week three, things finally shifted. Someone quit the work-for-accommodation team to try their luck in Sydney, and a spot opened up. I jumped in immediately and even took extra shifts. The hostel refunded the nights I had already paid for in exchange for those hours. Suddenly, I was not only working for my bed but also earning a tiny bit of cash—enough for groceries and the occasional tram ride.
By then, I had moved into the staff room and made plenty of friends. The hostel transformed from “place to sleep” into “temporary home.” Outside the hostel, my world started to expand too. In Kuala Lumpur airport, before flying to Melbourne, I’d met an Aussie guy named Nick. He gave me his number “in case you ever need anything.” I never texted him at first, but once I felt more stable, I reached out. That message led to weekly hangouts at the White Rabbit Record Bar in Kensington with him and his friends—a small ritual that made the city feel even more like home.
Job-wise, I still had no real success. I had interviews, but honesty worked against me. When people asked how long I planned to stay, I didn’t have a clear answer. I only had one year in Australia and wanted to explore Sydney, Hobart, and Adelaide too. Understandable for a traveller, but not ideal for an employer.
Week 5 & 6: Saying Yes to “Any Job”
By early August, the money situation was getting shaky again. I stopped focusing on “ideal” jobs and said yes to anything I could at least tolerate. Being the next drummer in a Melbourne musical wasn’t on the table, so expectations had to adjust.
I updated my resume to look more “Australian,” printed a stack, and walked through the city handing them out everywhere. That scattergun approach finally worked. The first job was selling solar panels. We drove out of the city, knocked on doors, and recited our sales pitch. I gave it two full days, then halfway through the third I stepped onto a train back to the hostel and never returned. It just wasn’t what I came to Australia for.
Next, I worked at a travelling fair running a spooky house. My job was to make sure people went down the slide one by one and didn’t collide. Easy enough, but without a car I often ended up stranded outside Melbourne waiting for the first train. Again, three days and I was done.
I was picky, yes, but those five and a half days of random work earned me more than the previous weeks combined. It wasn’t the dream, but it gave me breathing room. I still had my spot in an amazing hostel with great people. Life wasn’t what I’d imagined, but it was far from terrible.
Week 7 & 8: Coffee, Kitchens and Constant Noise
Around week seven, a more stable opportunity showed up. In the Docklands, about ten minutes from the hostel, a café needed someone to make coffee. I’d worked in hospitality before, so it felt manageable. After a trial shift, they said yes, and suddenly I had an actual job—the kind I thought I’d have much earlier.
Since I had never properly worked as a barista, they offered a couple of training days, and I even did a short course for my alcohol license. The vibe was great, the people were kind, and it felt like things were finally lining up.
At the same time, my hostel role changed from making beds to working evenings in the kitchen. That suited me better—cleaning up before and after the dinner rush. My hours were usually 4:30–6:00 pm and again 9:30–11:00 pm. The kitchen was the social heart of the hostel, so I spent those hours chatting, meeting new people, and hearing stories from everywhere.
The combination of work and hostel life was fun but exhausting. Some days I started at 5 am after finishing at 11 pm the night before. I shared a small staff room with five others, all with chaotic schedules. Roommates stumbling in drunk at 3 am while I tried to sleep became normal.
To catch up, I sometimes crashed in the cinema room—a dark, quiet space with a TV where no one partied above my head. Even on nights off, the bar downstairs had quizzes, games, and karaoke. Perfect for social life, terrible for rest.
Week 9: Missing a Wedding, Gaining a Visit
By week nine, it hit me. I had already lived two months in Melbourne’s hostel. In my original plan, I’d have been home by then. My mum’s wedding was that weekend—a reminder of what I missed. Flying home was too expensive, and staying was my choice, but it still felt bittersweet.
Luckily, when my mum and Gert planned their honeymoon, they already knew I might still be here and decided to visit. I hadn’t seen them in eight months. That week became special: we visited the Melbourne Museum, zoo, and MCG for an Aussie football game. They met my hostel friends and saw the chaotic little world I’d built.
It felt strange to have my family step into the life I’d created so far from home. Yet it was comforting—for me and for them—to see that despite the messy job situation and hostel chaos, I was genuinely happy.
Week 10 & 11: Café Problems and Burnout
When they left, reality returned. I was still working at the Docklands café, now four weeks in, but the cracks showed.
The owners were difficult. They refused to pay overtime, yet I wasn’t allowed to ask customers to leave at closing time. If the café closed at 3 pm but people lingered until 4, and I cleaned until 5, I still got paid only until 3. No tips, no overtime. Paychecks were often wrong too.
During the week my mum visited, things got tense when I asked for more time off. It was only my third week there, so they refused, and frustration built on both sides. By week ten, it stopped being fun. The long hours, noise, and constant fatigue caught up with me. I got properly sick for the first time in ten months of travel.
In week eleven, I missed shifts, and the owners didn’t believe me. In the end, it was mutual—they didn’t want me there, and I didn’t want to stay. I spent that week mostly in bed, resting and thinking about the choices I’d made during my time in Melbourne.
Week 12: Decisions, Farm Work and the Great Ocean Walk
Staying in bed feeling sorry for myself isn’t my style, so after that week, something had to change. With proper thinking time, a few big decisions emerged.
First, I decided to stay longer in Australia. The three months hadn’t gone as planned, but they’d been incredible in their own chaotic way. I barely had money, yet working for accommodation was something I genuinely enjoyed. There were still other cities I wanted to experience. Even with a full year, I wouldn’t see everything.
To stay for a second year, I needed farm work—88 days in the regions for a visa extension. I had once sworn not to do it, but now it made sense. Many travellers leave it too late and panic at the end. Doing it sooner felt smarter. My café savings were fading, so I might as well work on a farm and buy myself another year.
Second, I realised I’d barely seen anything outside Melbourne. I was so focused on survival and short-term money that I forgot why I started travelling. If I only wanted to work and stress about bills, I could have stayed in Belgium.
So I took extra hostel shifts to secure my accommodation, then requested two weeks off. It sounds ridiculous—taking a “holiday” from nine months of travel—but mentally, it was necessary. I needed to escape hostel noise and city chaos.
One of Melbourne’s classic adventures is the Great Ocean Road. My mum and Gert had done it already, which stung a bit. But my roommate Jesse and I decided to do it differently. Instead of driving the Great Ocean Road, we’d walk it—the 110-kilometre Great Ocean Walk along the coast.
By then, October was near. Winter faded, summer crept in, and the walk felt like the perfect reset. Cheap, beautiful, and totally different from city life.
The plan was clear: two weeks of hiking and fresh air in weeks thirteen and fourteen, then farm job hunting in week fifteen. Three months in Melbourne had been messy, exhausting, hilarious, and deeply meaningful. Somewhere in all that chaos, they set the direction for everything that came next.
Thank you for reading—and for still being here after this long, wild chapter of three months in Melbourne.
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