I moved to Melbourne, Australia, in 2017 — the same year that it was ranked the world’s “most liveable city” for the 7th consecutive year. Since then, it’s been up and down in the rankings a few times, only once leaving the top 10.

And while the city has a lot going for it — and I still think LGBTQ+ nomads should consider moving to Australia — my experience of it is a little less superlative.

Here’s where I spill the tea — or coffee, rather — on what I really think about life in Melbourne after living here on-and-off for 8+ years.


First, a few caveats. I’m a U.S. citizen living abroad and a part-time digital nomad. I’ve lived in Melbourne in at least four different contexts, interspersed with return visits to the U.S. and extended trips overseas. I’ve been here:

  • On a working holiday
  • As a part-time student
  • During COVID-19 lockdowns
  • As a permanent resident

Each time, I’d been more or less hoping that progressing to the next stage — of life, of residency, of stability — would make Melbourne feel more like home.

And by “home,” I mean having a rewarding social network, a fulfilling routine, and a path toward stable housing/homeownership.

(I should clarify that my partner was born and raised in Melbourne, which is what made it possible to live here in the first place, and to maintain a home base here even when I travel abroad.)

But each year, I look forward to my return visits to Portland, OR, to get my dose of its superior weather, bike infrastructure, and coffee. 😉

Here are three things I wish I knew before moving to Melbourne:

Public transit is great for commuting — not connecting.

Melbourne has one of the most extensive public transit systems in the world, with a robust light rail system and dense tram network. From my apartment, I can get to the city center by train in around 15 minutes.

It’s also incredibly safe and clean. I love knowing that I can go out late at night and take a tram, train, or bus home without ever feeling in danger.

But Melbourne’s transit network is great for commuting, not connecting. It’s easy to get from most suburbs (i.e., neighborhoods) to the city center, but not to travel across town to meet up with a friend for coffee or coworking.

This has turned out to be a real obstacle for socializing. In Portland, I’ll frequently pass by a friend’s house or place of work while I’m out biking around; even when I don’t, it’s easy to find a middle ground where we can meet up casually.

In Melbourne, meeting up with someone has to be a Thing™. You have to make a plan in advance and budget time to get there and back — which makes it hard to meet new people on a whim or to maintain casual friendships.

Melbourne’s cultural scene is impressive — but expensive.

Melbourne has some of the best food and drink in the world: sushi rolls in every train station, woodfired pizza on every streetcorner. You’ll find major shows and musical productions, and annual events like the Melbourne Fringe Festival.

But the very things that make Melbourne appealing are so unaffordable that most people can only afford to do them once a week or less: A pub meal costs $30+ AUD. A pint of craft beer $12-15 AUD. A movie ticket $25 AUD. And let’s not even bring up rent.

Portland’s prices have increased too, but there are plenty of third spaces to hang out with friends and experience the local culture for free, especially in summer. There’s Shakespeare in the Park, Pedalpalooza (a summer bike festival), and a variety of public beaches for swimming and picnicking.

In Melbourne, everything feels like a ticketed event or a private venue. The one exception might be its public parks, which have free restrooms, plenty of water fountains, and electric BBQ grills. Even Portland doesn’t have those!

Coffeeshops are for eating — not networking.

Melbourne is known for its high-end coffee, and I don’t really have any complaints there — even if I prefer filtered coffee over long blacks. But Melbourne coffeeshops tend to be fancy affairs with full brunch menus, and in many cases, table service. It’s hard to find a place where you can plug in and work for the day.

In Portland, everyone goes to coffeeshops to cowork and collaborate. I’ll often hop between two or more coffeeshops in a single afternoon. Cafes are filled with remote workers, lively conversations, and cheap drinks and sandwiches so you can refuel without breaking the bank. That’s just not how things work in Melbourne — where many of them close at 3 or 4pm.

I thought that joining a local coworking space might be a good way to get out of the house and meet other creative professionals, but the ones I found were incredibly corporate and couldn’t even get my preferred name right.

Instead, I’ve found myself having to leave Melbourne and join remote work and travel trips to find the kinds of connections I’m looking for.

My partner frequently laments the fact that I haven’t made more friends here — but it’s not for lack of trying. Online conversations fizzle out before we overcome the inertia to meet up in person; conference friends are only in town for a week before they go back to Brisbane or Sydney.

I crave nights out on the town, hiking buddies, and dinner parties.

Whenever I go back to Portland, I meet people easily: a casual date at a bouldering gym; a spontaneous bike ride with a mutual on Bluesky; a last-minute invite to an open mic night or coworking session.

So it’s not like I don’t know how to make friends. I think that these obstacles — the imperfect public transit network, the lack of third spaces, and the cost of activities — present a real barrier to connection here.

What do you think of Melbourne? How does it compare to other places you’ve lived or traveled? Reply to this post on social media or leave your comments below!