Gold Coast... Gold Sandals, Golden Gaytimes and Golden Oldies.

This week of "Round Australia in 75 days" sees us in Brissy, going Wet 'n' Wild, getting with the dudes in Surfer's Paradise and reminiscing about Brighton with the winos and weirdos of Byron Bay. We've now left the tropics of Queensland and now find ourselves in the state of New South Wales. In honor of all things golden, Andy has been drawn to trying a ice lolly called a "Golden Gaytime" and I keep telling him he's not allowed.
So this is where old people come on holiday to work on their handbags...



Brisbane is the home of our lovely Cameron, so we were expecting it to be pretty ripper. It was a gorgeous day when we arrived in the city and whiled away a few hours in bookshops, looking at the odd selection of clothing in the high street shops. Now, nobody really looks that bad walking down the streets of Australia, so where do they buy their clothes? I know what you're thinking! Those heinous blue fishing trousers and a black vest have all but become part of my connective tissues holding me together, but it's like my uniform now and it feels wrong to look any smarter or (heaven forbid) any different. Horrifically, they are finally starting to come apart at the seams. I feel a purchase coming on!

So we bought a lot of nice books with lovely front covers, had some sushi at a place with a fondness for avocado in every roll (magnificent) and then had a cup of coffee OUTSIDE. By this I mean not concocted on a gas ring in the camper and swerved in our Rhino mugs. Now that I'm a "Wildlife Warrior" I need to buy animal-related items only. Wandering about the city - quite pleasant really - revealed the usual finds of a big city. Hoards of Japanese students drinking a funny thing called "Bubble Tea" which I don't think contains any tea, but is like a milkshake with balls of psychedelic tapioca in the bottom. You couldn't make it up, eh? To our dismay, the art gallery was closed, so we left the bright sunshine for the dankness of an underground internet place. Andy felt most at home - lots of pasty grown up men playing computer games. We happened upon an Aboriginal man doing his didgeridoo thing and we stopped to listen for a while. He was creating this amazing sound with a dancey beat - it was really good and the most indigenous experience we've had as yet! I suppose you have to venture into the middle of this enormous landmass rather than skirt around the edges for more didgeridoodling and rock art.

That evening, we thought it was high time we caught a film. Anyhoo, it was as brilliant as it was confusing, with the genious himself Jack Nichoson playing a wonderful part. By the end of it I had a cracking headache from all the concentration and adrenaline. Due to time constraints, we headed off again bright and early to the Gold Coast. En route, we did a spontaneous thing which wasn't actually in the schedule until the following day, and stopped off at Wet 'n' Wild. Lured from the motorway by the vision of massive twirly waterslides was sufficient to get us in our bikinis.

Five hours worth of aquatic anctics, began with a couple of gentle slides and then some kind of race with strangers where you lie on a mat on your stomach and launch yourself off the top. Supposedly quite a safe option, I managed to somehow punch myself in the face which was quite painful. Enough of this girly rides, it was time to enter the 'Extreme Section!' My favourite ride of the whole day was where you sat on this huge clover-leaf style inflatable (one bottom per hole) and you get thrown down a very-steep slide and then the stored-up velocity forces you to hurtle up the side of an enormous funnel. Apparently it's better if there's more of you on the clover leaf, so we paired up with a very friendly couple. There was a lot of screaming (from Andy) and we repeated the process three times. Another winner was the kamikaze-style sheer-drop water slide, which actually causes you to loose conact with the slide's surface for a couple of seconds. I could almost taste my bikini upon becoming stationary. Not attractive.

Continuing the drive, we went to Surfer's Paradise... and promptly went back out the other side! It was totally not what we were expecting! All high-rise buildings and hotels, it was more Miami meets Blackpool than a laid-back beach full of dudes. Toying with the notion of perhaps having a surfing lession the following day, we camped out at Burleigh Heads, where the surf is supposed to be superior. Neglecting the concept of the surf lession, we found ourselves in Byron Bay, hopeful of somewhere more chilled-out. And in Byron Bay we found it! It instantly transported us to our home-town, with it's aged hippies (the REAL hippies), laid-back ambience and old salty dogs drinking neat bottles of Bundaberg on the street. Imagine our delight when a thoroughly unpleasant speciment entered the post office all boozed-up demanding to be served. A top Whitehawk moment, fazing the staff into a frenzy and (after he'd left) precipitating "Brenda, can I have that Mogadon milkshake now!?" from a lady with a flushed neck who'd handled the situation quite admirably.

Julian Rocks is rated as one of Australia's Top 10 dive sites. There are two dive companies in Byron take trips out to the rocks. We chose the wrong one. To anyone who might be coming this way "Byron Bay Dive Centre" is the one with the unenthusiastic staff, the unfriendly staff and the falling-to-bits equipment. Lady Luck seems to be on holiday at the moment, so the day of our dive was a dismal rainly one. Peering out to the rocks revealed a not-too choppy looking sea, but the rocks, looked manacing enough. An elderly lady who seemed to be affiliated to the dive school (never a good sign) kitted us out in older-than-she-was gear, whilst clutching a cup of tea. Andy asked our dive 'guide' (no, not a Dive Master or even an Instructor, but a guide?) what we could expect to see under the sea. He replied "Fish" in a monotone and gave us a bit of a scary-stare. What a freak. A little more coaxing brought him to the conclusion that we might see some sharks, but the visibility wouldn't be great.

Well, we set out in a little inflatable boat, with 12 of us filling it to capacity. There was barely enough room to stand with fins on, let alone manoevre into BCD. It was at this point I realised that my ancient BCD was so worn, the velcro no longer functioned. The bloke didn't seem to think this was a problem and that whilst I was swimming, it would stay put. A shaky backwards-roll into the sea found me (surprise surprise) unable to descend. A freezing 19 degrees meant that we neede a 5 mm wetsuit - providing the ease of movment that wearing a roll of carpet around each limb might. It also makes you float like a cow carcass. The bloke on the boat shouted at me that "Well, of course you're not going to descend when you're on the surface!" 'Scuse me? Have I been getting it wrong all this time - what's he on about? "You have to swim down!!"

After much hauling myself down on the boat's mooring line, I reached the others. After not very long, we met a Wobbegong shark, looking quite cool just sitting on the seabed. They are also called carpet sharks due to their '70's interior design pattern and get pretty big. A saunter along introduced us to several more Wobbegongs, but little in the way of fish that I can remember. My main recollection of the dive was the bit where we lost Andy. You could only see a few metres in front of you (10 at best) and suddenly he was gone. The panic began to rise as I twanged my wanger - still no sign. Worse still, the disappearance had gone unnoticed by Mr. Personality of the year dive-guide. I eventually managed to communicate my distress to him and we slowly retraced our fins. After what seemed like ages, we found him - he'd been taking a picture of the shark and lost sight of us pretty quickly. He'd been having a panic aswell, but had done the sensible thng and gone back to the Wobby. You might imagine the telling off he received from me when we surfaced!

I opted out of the second dive (largely to recover!) as I hadn't been too impressed with any of it - the kit, the team, the visibility. They didn't even ask me why I wasn't diving again they just replied "Well, you won't get a refund." Nice, thanks very much. Andy continued, unabashed. Though he saw nothing more spectacular and the visibility was further reduced. My saunter round the second-hand bookshops sounded much more pleasant. A wander up to the lighthouse on Cape Byron the following morning, revealed all that you want to find in a lighthouse. A source of light to warn ships of the deadly rocks below and plenty of Fraggles. This marks the most Easterly point in mainland Australia and is beautifully rugged and picturesque. So Byron Bay - lovely, Julian Rocks - bad. My advice - wait until you get to The Solitary Islands...




Currently Reading: On Beauty by the wonderful Zadie Smith.










Film of the Week: The Departed - Absolutely brilliant!







Listening to: The Wedding Present - Bizarro