There are no squeals or ghostly visitations tonight but Stephanie Osztreicker, our charming guide, is a knowledgeable and compelling story teller. Holy fuck Melbourne’s been blood thirsty in its time.
We convene at Fed Square and the crew’s pretty disparate – there’s a hipster birthday party, two genteel ladies, two rockabillies and one lady bravely flying solo. Thankfully, the weather holds and we set out at 8.30pm promptly on an evening that’s a tad more than crisp. Rug up and wear flats because the tour’s just over an hour and 45 in total.
Heading for our first port of call, St Paul’s Cathedral, we get a good vantage point from which to view the scene of apparently many a dirty deed. The tour winds its way from there through the city’s back lanes and terminates in Chinatown. Given that it’s early in the week, the town’s almost deserted tonight, which bodes well for atmosphere and logistics: we get around with few delays and it also lends a sense of how god damn creepy it would have been wandering about before the advent of gas-light.
There’s a few long bows drawn and sceptics would be best served giving this tour a swerve, unless they’re going for the purely historical aspects, but if you’re up for an adventure and a good yarn you’ll have a hoot. Not wanting to give anything away, highlights include tales about a ghostly diva and a psychopathic bigamist – it’s juicy stuff.
BY MEG CRAWFORD
