Slumming it in Brisbane

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To say that Fortitude Valley is a bit rough is kind of like saying that it rains a bit in Plymouth. However, Fortitude Valley is not without its charms . . its just a little bit difficult finding them when you initially set foot in the place.
We stayed at the FV Apartments on Bismark St (I think thats what it was called) and once again luxuriated in the total R and R that it was having our own apartment again.
As soon as we got to Brisbane the weather was dire, with downpours not unlike dreary ole Plymouth, so it was off to the shops we trooped. Fortitude Valley has quite a nice selection of little vintage shops. It is also Brisbane's party central, with loads of bars and clubs, which was all reminiscent of Union Street during the day but had much more appeal at night when you couldn't see just how tacky it was.
We went into Brisbane city centre a few times which was quite good and a little bit like a downsized version of Melbourne city centre. Neil and I braved the Brisbane Eye which looks out over the city and the Southbank area, which is a bit more upmarket and has a man made beach, called Streets Beach, right in the centre of it.
Geen and Paul took the opportunity to meet up with a friend from home, Lee Kelman, and his wife and 2 children as they live nearby. They also reunited with Marcel, their cousin, and his family and took a trip out to the mountains, with Paul mightily impressed that they had stopped at a place called Black Butt along the way.
In a moment of madness (on my part), Neil and I took a train back to the Gold Coast and went along to the MovieWorld Theme Park, where I, swallowing my fear, actually managed to get on 2 of the rides - Scooby Doo and the Wild West Waterfall. Although causing Neil to suffer some temporary deafness by my screaming like a little girl throughout, he still managed to get on the Superman rollercoaster. Emerging with no hair left and a ghost of his former self, we caught the train back to Slumsville and with a still churning stomach, forced down a chinese meal at China Town.
And so, our final night out in Brisbane was spent desperately trying to get into chavtastic clubs, whose bouncers, rather than grateful for our patronage, seemed to actively discourage us from entering, applying all kinds of rules such as no surf clothes, not without ID and asking us how many drinks we'd had before reluctantly letting us in. We did manage to get our fave Men at Work song to be played though, so it wasn't all bad.
Anyway, it was with a heavy heart and more than a few tears that I said my goodbyes to Neil at Roma Street station and joined up with Geen and Paul, who had already booked into probably the worst hostel room yet in Noosa Heads. Great.

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