Melbourne Laneway Bars: Small Group Night Tour & Stories

4.90

(541 reviews)

What’s the experience like?

Ever wondered what actually makes a Melbourne bar feel like, well, Melbourne? I didn’t think much about it until we ducked down a narrow laneway just off Flinders Lane—graffiti half-faded, the kind of place you’d walk past if you weren’t looking for it. Our guide (Ash—everyone seemed to know him) waved us inside this basement bar where the air smelled like old wood and something herbal. The bartender slid over a Negroni, heavy on the Campari, and started telling us how this spot used to be a tailor’s workshop in the gold rush days. I kept staring at the ceiling beams, trying to picture that. It was loud but not in an annoying way—just people talking over each other, laughing too hard at nothing.

The next stop was a whisky bar that didn’t bother with any fancy signs out front. You just had to know which door to push (I picked the wrong one first—Ash grinned and let me flounder). Inside felt like someone’s living room if their living room had 200 bottles of whisky and zero pretension. The owner poured something peaty and told us about his dad sneaking sips back in Scotland; I tried to taste “the sea” like he said but mostly got smoke and warmth. Walking between bars, rain started up—classic Melbourne—but nobody cared much. We ducked under awnings and Ash pointed out some weird little tile mosaics on the pavement I’d never noticed before.

I think my favorite was this rooftop place near Chinatown—the kind where you can see all those blinking city lights but still hear your own conversation. There were locals celebrating birthdays, couples tucked into corners, everyone sort of melting together in that easy way people do after dark here. Someone ordered spicy popcorn for the table (unexpectedly good with gin), and I ended up swapping stories with a couple from Brunswick who’d somehow never been up here either. Funny how you can live somewhere forever and still miss so much of it.

The whole night felt more like being shown around by a friend than any kind of official tour—no two groups get exactly the same bars since Ash picks them based on his mood or who’s working that night. We finished at a tiny spot marked only by an old bicycle sign; apparently it’s tradition to try whatever weird cocktail they’re experimenting with that week (mine tasted like burnt orange peel and something floral—I liked it?). Anyway, I left with new favorite places scribbled on a map Ash handed out at the end—and honestly, I still think about that first bar every time I smell rosemary now.