Aussiehalley - Halley Down Under

Department of Wandering Where We Probably Shouldn't

In South Africa, if you see a sketchy alleyway, you avoid it. There's probably nothing but trouble down it. And if there wasn't already trouble down the alley, seeing you there, trouble would follow you in. You certainly don't go down the alley. In Australia, this is where one would go to find cool bars.

Last night, our heroes found one of these bars thanks to a guest starring role by Kim, Eric's very-much-fun visiting friend. She heard of this place called the Croft Institute, one of Melbourne's infamous side-street, back-alley, hidden-away bars. We enter exit the main drag to a Chinatown side street. Good sign #1. We finally find our turn-off alley - it is called Payne Place. Good sign #2. It just looks like a short bit of street with a dumpster, but up on the left, there's a turn to another alley. The whole way is well-enough lit a covered in colorful street art. Some spray paint graffitti, some polynesian-style painted heads, some intricate stencil art, and the requisite band stickers. In the second alley are dumpsters and the open back door to a kitchen. Turn right at the end, and we're in a really long corridor which (blessedly) has a small plaque saying 'Croft Alley'* up on the corner of a building. We're all laughing by this point, thinking that they just tell people a bar is down here so idiots, much like ourselves, will wander here to be found by those with malicious intent. We keep going, seeing that the alley eventually dead-ends. Good sign #3. But we keep going. At the far end, there is a small, lit sign that says "Croft Institute" and we are happy.


The place is very cool, very chill, but I think part of our immediate love for the place was due to simply finding it in existence. It's made out to be a re-creation, of sorts, of a 1950s/1960s chem lab. There a lab tables with a sink, stools, and enough test tubes and beakers to keep a kid up to no good for a week. There are low couches and low lighting along with other bar necessities. The third floor is an old gym that has fresh growing grass and a dj (open only on weekends, so we didn't see it, though we did jiggle the door handle to try to poke our way in). The second floor has doors marked "Officeology," "Alchology," and the Departments of Female and Male Hygiene. The white tile of the women's bathroom was joined by a small, odd-looking fountain I was afraid to touch (an old eye wash station? a urinal for a giant with a tiny bladder?) and a gurney bed. Of course there was.

After a few hours of cocktails, remembering what we could of grade school science songs**, pop quizzes to Sarah of the contents of exotic drinks, and chemistry pick-up lines (Is that a pipette in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?...and some titration jokes that didn't work out as well) we left. We ended the night at an appropriately-named Greek place called Stalactites. Nothing goes better with drunk fools than some late-night spanikopita, saganaki, and "meat" pies of unknown origin.

Tomorrow we go to the Australian Open. We're debating which colors we should dress in - Green and yellow would be fine, but would blend in with all the other Aussies. Red, white, and blue would be different and more likely to get us on tv, but we would hate to be mistaken for Brits. Or even worse, French. We might just have to go in our best 'tennis whites', enjoy a bit of the bubbly and forget about colors altogether.

If you hear any announcements of, "Would the obnoxious Americans please be quiet?" keep an eye out. It's probably us.

posted by Halley @ 8:01 PM