All those years in Melbourne and I never got around to visiting this place. So with the temperature climbing up above 40 degrees and a couple of hours spare, off I went. The Immigration Museum is basically a look at our history and culture with stories of many of the people who shape who and what Australia is today.
The Immigration Museum in Melbourne is the only museum where you walk in expecting history and walk out wondering if people back then were just really bad at packing or desperate. I suspect the 2nd theory. Every exhibit is like, “They bravely crossed the seas,” and you’re thinking, “I can’t even cross the Yarra without checking Google Maps twice.” It’s like a giant, beautifully curated reminder that everyone’s grandparents arrived here with one suitcase, a dream, and absolutely no idea what Vegemite was.
You’ll see old passports the size of dinner plates, suitcases that look like they were built out of leftover fence panels, and photos of people who somehow survived a three‑month voyage powered exclusively by hope and potatoes. Meanwhile, I got seasick on the Docklands to Portarlington Ferry (more on that another time).
The museum lives in the Old Customs House, which means you’re learning about immigration in the exact building where someone once had to explain why they were carrying 14 wheels of cheese and a suspiciously lively chicken. Honestly, it’s a miracle anyone got into the country at all.
And the best part? You leave feeling deeply connected to the human story of migration… and also slightly guilty for complaining about the tram not having air‑con.
One sobering fact, more than nine million people have migrated to Australia since 1788. Countless others have tried and failed. As a migrant, I'm truly grateful for what this country has given me. And although I currently call the UK home, Australia will always be home. Caught between two worlds, it's a strange feeling.
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