Monsoons Darwin — Restaurant in Northern Territory

There’s something about Darwin that gets under your skin. Maybe it’s the humidity. Maybe it’s the way time softens around the edges when you’ve been living out of a van too long. Maybe it’s the goon.

We found a box for sixteen bucks at Liquorland, a small miracle compared to the twenty-eight the local bottle-o was asking. Chucked it in the eski, let it chill like a fine wine, and drank it like we were twenty years younger.

Dinner was at a mate’s place. Backyard BBQ, proper wine, easy conversation. Friends from our winery days, the kind of people who don’t care how long it’s been or what job you’re doing now. Just laughs, stories and the kind of red wine that makes you forget what state you’re in. We could’ve called it a night right there. Mature. Responsible. Sensible.

But then the itch started.

You know the one. The urge to dance. To really dance. Not a polite bop, not a little shuffle. We’re talking full-body, hips-loose, eyes-closed dancing. The kind that ruins your lower back but saves your soul.

Monsoons was the destination. Darwin’s temple of sweat, noise and unbridled chaos. We called an Uber, joined the queue, felt the buzz. The place was heaving. Backpackers, uni kids, dirtbag travellers, and us. Ready to absolutely ruin that dancefloor.

At the door, I passed the drunk test with the poise of a man who’s been lying to bouncers since the 90s. Will wasn’t so lucky. “No steel caps after nine” the bouncer said, pointing to Will’s boots. It was one in the morning. That sinking feeling hit. The night, moments from liftoff, was about to crash.

Then Darwin did what Darwin does.

The bouncer leaned in like he was offering a sacred truth. “Kebab shop on the corner. They sell shoes.”

Right. Sure they do.

We walked down, fully expecting to find a locked door and a few pigeons. But there it was. A glowing, greasy beacon of late-night salvation. And behind the counter, along with the garlic sauce and the spinning meat, was a stack of shoes. For twenty-five bucks, Will became the proud owner of a pair of grey slip ons that screamed “I make poor decisions and I’m here to dance.”

He handed over his boots. The guy behind the counter tagged them like luggage and tucked them under the bench.

Back to Monsoons. No queue this time. The bouncer saw the shoes, grinned like we were part of some secret society. “In you come, boys.”

We hit the floor like it owed us money. Bodies moving with pure intent. I danced like it was 1999. Will danced like someone who still had cartilage in his knees. The crowd was a sea of youth, and in the middle of it all, two blokes — one flirting with 50, the other in his thirties — giving zero damns and going full throttle.

Nobody cared. Not about our age, not about who we were. We were just part of the madness. Fuelled by bourbon and bad decisions. The music was loud, the lights were wild, and for a few hours we were unstoppable.

We didn’t leave. We closed the place at 4am.

Now, the sun is up. I’m horizontal. Will is snoring softly in a pair of borrowed boardshorts. My hips feel like they’ve been through a turf war. But I’d do it all again in a heartbeat.

Because in Darwin, a kebab shop sells shoes at 1am so your night doesn’t have to end. And if that’s not magic, I don’t...

Hi guys, visiting Darwin for the night so I thought for dinner I’d slide away from the hotel to experience some of the much talked about Darwin nightlife on Mitchell Street.

Little did I know the treat I was in for, So I just wanted to pass on my appreciation.

Looking across the beer taps I was worried the tapheads hadn’t changed since 1994, but then upon seeing that faithful Furphy’s logo, I realised you just hadn’t updated what was actually on tap since Paul Keating was prime minister. The Furphy’s did what it said on the tin, in that it was cold, in a glass and tasted like beer.

The real MVP tho is whoever the legend in the kitchen was who somehow made a frozen cajun chicken pizza look and feel like it had been made on-site.

It’s a real effort, I know this personally. Although I might look like I’m a big deal in the kitchen, the truth is that I’m a little limp in the oven department. So when friends come around for dinner and I tell them I’m making pizza, all I want to do is get a Coles frozen pizza and make that bland piece of pastry and cheese look like it’s my own doing.

Alas, my friends always call me out on my slight of hand.

It’s only from this deep knowledge of the subject can I tell that the Cajun Chicken disaster I was served on a pizza board was a frozen supermarket pizza. It had that same cardboard and vomit taste and feel synonymous with Australia’s worst pizzas.

If I had one complaint however, it’s not with the pizza, but with one young girl at the front of the venue who was wearing camo pants.

I almost tripped right over her, she was so camouflaged. In this safety adverse season where we’re all doing our best to social distance ourselves could I ask that all patrons wear medium to high visibility...

Very disappointed and honestly frightened with the bouncers aproach and his inability to communicate. A friend and someone got into a fight (very dumb of them, i know) and we called the bouncers over to help, and the men inside were great and helped seperate them after i and some other pulled them apart. But after i went out to calm my friend from trying to further escalate the situation, i tried to re-enter to gather my things to sort a lift home and the bouncer pushed me back and wouldnt even look me in the eye, i tried to tell him that i just need to grab my bag and another bouncer could take me in but he kept looking passed me and said the words "blah blah, whatever, cut off".

I understand dealing with drunk people is anything but pleasant, but the refusal to let me get to my money, phone, and all my personal belongings with no attempt at treating me like a person or attempt to have any communication in general was beyond frustrating. I couldn't ask to get it brought out, i couldnt ask to get a friend to retrieve anything.

I luckily had a friend realise what was happening and gather our stuff but if i was alone i would have been contactless, moneyless, and stranded an hour from home. All because the bouncer refused to have any sort of conversation, i was unimpaired and calm. Talk to people like people. I just wanted to go home.

I never want to re-enter that establishment if im risking that, for doing nothing more than...