Melbourne and 'The race that stops a nation'

7.30am is no time to get on a 12 hour coach ride. 7.30pm on a Saturday, on the other hand, is a very pleasant time to get into a new city. I had foolishly left my passport and driving license in Sydney, and so was turned away by the hostel I had booked. "What's your passport doing in Sydney if you're in Melbourne?" asks the self satisfied hostel receptionist. Not much, I think, but instead make weak references to having merely forgotten it, as I hadn't planed to cross any national borders or work during my time in Melbourne. "Is this authentic photo ID enough?" No. "Can I pay some sort of additional deposit?" I asked, feeling like I was offering a bribe. No. "I mean, the alternative for me is sleeping on the streets". Silence. "Is there anything I can do?" No. I leave, and nearly thank her, but stop myself realising it would be inappropriate - I didn't mean it, and it would probably come across as sarcastic, which hindsight says she didn't deserve. They weren't her rules, and I could have beena bit more thorough when packing.

After a pretty shaky introduction to Melbourne, things can only get better. I phone Minka, who is planning to meet me after she's had dinner with her friends. I explain my situation. She says her spare room is mine to use until Tuesday. We meet, drink far too much in three different and excellent bars, and then head back to her mum's place in Richmond. I mention that I'm kind of glad I forgot my passport - it's a lovely house.

Even with a hangover, the MCG tour is very enjoyable, and a wander through the information centre tells me about museums, galleries, parks and so on. That evening is spent watching dreadful DVDs, as Minka is feeling worse than I am, and the following day, aside from buying my Melbourne Cup ticket, I visit the Victoria State Art Gallery (bringing the count to 4 - NSW, VIC, WA and the combined NT Gallery and Museum), and the botanical gardens. The weather clears just in time, and I spend an hour or so surrounded by native and imported plants, and pretty laked, jam-packed with eels. Minka and I head to an Italian restaurant for dinner, which Minka occasionally works at, and so we receive lots of attention, additional wine, and a reduction on the bill. And a general assumption by all the staff that we're dating, which Minka quickly corrects. I say something insulting about Monty Python's Live at the Hollywood Bowl DVD, a foolish move. Minka quickly leaps to its defence and I try to remember some of the best bits, so as not to insult my extremely generous and gracious host.

Tuesday is cup day, and time to move out of Minka's mum's house. Bags are dragged down to South Yarra, and locked in the dorm room of the Hotel Claremont. I jump on a train and head to Flemington, with no idea what to expect. The sun is out again, it's a glorious day. I'm told this is unusual on Cup day. On entering, I'm queueing for an "I'm over 18" wristband that no one checks all day, when race 3 takes a turn for the worse. Two horses stumble, and while one gets up, the other is very badly injured. The gasp from the crowd is justified, and while I didn't see it for myself, I'm told by Wednesday's papers that the horse was put down where it lay on the track.

I've been set two challenges for the day; a photo of me with a horse, and a photo of me with a pretty girl. The latter seems pretty straightforward - on a big race day, Flemington is clearly bulging at the seams with beautiful women in beautiful hats and dresses. The former will be more of a challenge, as the recent outbreak of horse flu in New South Wales and Queensland means all measures are being taken to keep the public at arm's length from the racing stock. I check in with Elissa. A photo of me with a statue or other representation of a horse will do. I manage both challenges later in the day, beer being a wonderful social lubricant, and no racecourse being complete without some sort of horse themeing, beyond the live ones.

The few punters I talked to were betting with the green $100 notes (worth about 40GBP) and had lost a few of them. My grandfather's advice to me, when betting on horses, was "keep your money", and he should know. It seems rude not to bet on the big races though, when you're there in person. I would definitely throw a few pounds at the Grand National, for example. I bet $10. Predictably, I lost $10, although Purple Moon was a whisker away from winning the cup, which would have put me $15 up!

By the time the Cup arrives at 3pm, incidentally, I am sick of hearing the phrase "The race that stops a nation". Having seen Australians gamble serious money on everything from electronic poker machines to the flip of a coin, and having seen statistics on how much of a problem this can be, I would go as far as to suggest that the nation stopping for a horse race might be a poor reflection on the nation, not a good one on the race. That said, I have an excellent time, and the cheer from the crowd when race 7 starts is worth the $50 entry alone. All the people gambling around me have fun too, no matter how much they lose, so maybe it's unfair to try to take the moral high ground. I gambled too, after all. And the betting shops back home are all full on National day

After race 9 or so, I'm ready to head back into town, and out of the sun, so I check in with a few people. Minka is going home, having had plenty of fun already. Bianca is in a pub somewhere north of the city so I head that way. A couple of hours of catching up, and conversation about validating Metro tickets in your own slot, and an incident involving a feminine hygiene product (unused) and someone's pint of beer later, and it's time to go home. I sleep very well, as I usually do after 9 hours' drinking...

Wednesday was museum day, namely the Melbourne Museum in Carlton Gardens and the Scienceworks Museum in Spotswood. I recommend the Scienceworks museumheartily to anyone under 13 years old. That's all I'll say. Melbourne Museum was good though.

Thursday began with meeting Bianca again, for coffee as originally planned. I explored Prahran a bit first, stumbling upon the market and a couple of book shops, and killed half an hour waiting (my fault, I was ages early), reading The Wah Wah Diaries by Richard E Grant. We had coffee and fruit toast, chatted a lot about Abel & Cole and people we met there, and then went our seperate ways. During coffee, Reiko (from the Kakadu tour) had phoned, as she was in Melbourne for a few days. As I had planned to leave at 7pm that night, I phoned right back, and rushed into town to Victoria Markets. They closed at 2pm, so arriving at 1.45pm I thought I'd better take something in. Once everything began to shut down I called Reiko and we went for more coffee. I opted for a hot chocolate for my own well-being on the night bus to Sydney.

I spent an hour in the immigration museum, which is also worth a visit. It's another reminder of racial tension in Australia's history - and of course, where it was imported from. Informative and entertaining too, aside from those (rightly) more solemn exhibits. I chuckle slightly at the references to a senior figure in Melbourne's history with the surname Batman.

Then a quick circuit of the city on the free tram, and it's time to go home. Sydney I mean. Which is feeling more like home these days.