Ye Olde Gold Coast

I’ve been to the Gold Coast on three or four separate occasions over the years. It’s never really grabbed me as a particularly wonderful place to be, live or visit. In general terms, I get the appeal. Beaches upon beaches and a laid-back attitude towards life, gung-ho attitude towards partying.

This time it was a little different. Only a little, though.

Australians have all seen the advertisements showcasing Queensland, “beautiful one day, perfect the next” and all other sorts of mantras that capture some form of beauty and/or allusion to an untouched and pristine northern coastline.

This is what we were greeted with when we arrived on the Gold Coast.

Admittedly, it was a shame that the Crazy Canadian didn’t get to see the Gold Coast showcasing its good weather and nice beaches.

We attempted on both days to go and take advantage of the beach being five minutes away from our hostel, however we ended up being attacked by the wind, sand and sea. We even tried body-boarding. I failed gloriously, of course. The Crazy Canadian got swept 30 metres outside of the safety flags from her starting point on a bodyboard, prompting the lifeguard on duty to request she return to shore immediately. Naturally, I decided to stick to slushing about in the low depths.

Mind you, water and I have never really gotten along. I’ve never been a particularly strong swimmer, nor have ever really enjoyed the sensation of splashing about in the water.

The best way I can explain it is as follows. Whenever I get into the water, I don’t feel comfortable. Especially out at sea. There was a time back in 2006 where I got caught in a rip and almost drowned. Oddly enough, that happened during my last visit to the Gold Coast.

But the reason I feel uncomfortable isn’t because of the near-drowning, a small part of it is, but whenever I feel that I am surrounded by water and nothing else I get quite anxious.

Indoor pools? Fine. It’s a controlled and restricted environment.

Getting higher than waist deep at an open beach? Not fucking likely.

I’ve never liked the feeling of my feet not touching the ground while in the water. When I say ‘never’ I mean as far back as primary school, when even pool excursions were a hassle because I couldn’t handle the idea of the ‘deep end’.

The hostel we were staying at was a converted hotel with two or three bedroom apartments that now had shared living areas.
The hostel very much banked on the fact that the Gold Coast is a party town to get people to stay there, attracting young tourists looking for a good time.

The Crazy Canadian was keen to check out the nightlife, and our hostel organised some form of night where free entry, a free drink and half-price drinks at a club called Sin City.

That’s probably the most uninspiring name for a nightclub I’ve ever heard of. They might as well have called it Night/Club (the forward slash makes it edgy, y’see) or Loud Music and Dancing Room.

What they (not surprisingly, in retrospect) didn’t mention was the fact that the person responsible for driving us to the nightclub was a complete loon behind the wheel and acting like a tool the entire time. If I’m being completely honest, I wasn’t that happy about going along to a nightclub on the Gold Coast for the third time in my life, but I wasn’t going to let my companion go it alone. That said, the drive there wasn’t making me any more comfortable, just more irritable.

Anyhow, the club. Dark room. Colourful lights. Terrible music. Scantily-clad bartenders.

I tried my best to relax, but the Crazy Canadian could tell I wasn’t enjoying myself. I made up for this, though, by dancing like an idiot to a few tracks – namely Usher  feat. Lil Jon, ‘Yeah!’ and Fatman Scoop feat. Crooklyn Clan, ‘Be Faithful’.

I think that’s just about enough of what made the Gold Coast exactly the same as previous visits.

The more I explored of the Gold Coast, the more I liked. Broadbeach actually has a really nice restaurant district. Slightly overpriced, but this is Australia after all. After some walking around, we settled on a vegetarian restaurant called The Cardamom Pod.

Pictures!

And where we sat…

Including what could very well be one of the first photos I’ve posted of me on here (but not the last, as you’ll see in future entries!).

Most of the tables there actually had fresh herbs and spices you could pick off and use to add flavour to your meal, which I thought was a really awesome idea.

What I found odd, of course, was the fact that we were the only people there. The food was amazing (and affordable!), the people were really nice and the design aesthetic was off-the-wall – from silver vintage lounge chairs with flower-print cushions, to the birdcages hanging toward the back of the room and the giant mural of a Venetian mask covering the back wall.

I told the owner/operators that if they opened this exact same place in Melbourne they would be very successful.

Stupid Queenslanders, shame on them for not taking advantage of such an awesome place! I reserve the right to call patrons of this particular area stupid because around the corner from Cardamom Pod, a Starbucks was packed and thriving.

Another attack on their collective intelligence – whoever came up with the term “Absolute Beachfront” as a selling point for accommodation needs to be hit with something. If I wake up in a room listed as “Absolute Beachfront”, and the tide isn’t surrounding my bed, I’m going to be asking for my money back.

Also, if you happen to walk around areas of Surfers Paradise that isn’t just Orchid Avenue and Cavill Avenue, you’ll find plenty of nice cafes and shopping districts too.

Next time – the most overwhelming and underwhelming portion of the trip: Fraser Island!