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After a tiring and stressful pre-trip (organising storage, moving stuff out, cancelling utilities, redirecting mail etc etc etc) I embarked on my journey back to Europe. At the crack of dawn on the 16th of May I kiss goodbye to my flat in the city. Farewell my neighbour who rises at the ungodly hour of 5:30 AM and trudge off to the Skybus several blocks down the street. I pass by a number of early morning comatose commuters and approach the Skybus ticket counter. Will I or won’t I buy a return bus ticket valid for one year. This is the first of thousands of questions I will have to ask myself as I meander across the globe.
I’m the last person on the bus which resembles one of Melbourne’s overcrowded suburban trains. It’s amazing how many people are up and about at a shade over 06:00. I wait at the end of the Jetstar check in queue at Melbourne airport. There are a lot of family groups amongst my fellow travellers to the Gold Coast. A much different mix of people than travel the budget airlines in Asia. A little girl insists on standing on the strap of my back pack as I attempt to shuffle several millimeters forward as the queue moves. Another kid runs between travellers as if he’s playing chasey. This could be a long plane trip.
The pilot says it’s raining in Coolangatta but when we land it’s clear and balmy weather. Nice change from Melbourne which is on the cusp of winter. The jet lands and we shuffle across the sun drenched tarmac toward the quaint Gold Coast terminal. I begin to believe the propaganda about beautiful one day, perfect the next. I pick up my bags and head to where I think the local HYA (youth hostel Australia) is. I ask an airport worker where the hostel is and he gives me directions in a friendly matey Queensland manner. There really is a difference in the way they speak.
I headed off in what I thought was the right direction and was stunned to see the YHA a mere five minutes later. It really is close to the airport. So close in fact you can hear the scraping as air traffic controllers push tin. The staff there are nice although a bit disorganised. There was some confusion in regards to which room I was to bunk in. The last guest had done a runner with the room key so I was billeted in a twin room. However it was already occupied unbeknownst to the guy behind the reception desk. So I was bounced back to the original single room that was only accessible via their master key. So every time I wanted to return to my room I had to go back to reception to retrieve the M key. I soon pissed off the woman doing the morning shift going back and forth.
At 14:00 I took advantage of the free shuttle service the YHA runs from the hostel to the surf beaches and Kirra beach shopping centre. It’s great that they offer their guests this facility at no cost. Got a free tour along the beach road in their mini bus. The girl driving showed me and the four surfers in the behind me the sights. Then the lads disembarked with surf boards in tow. Five minutes later I’m walking down the main shopping strip. This place has grown big time since I was last here eons ago with skyscraper apartments dotting the surrounds. I had to make my own way back by bus as the YHA shuttle was already fully booked for the return journey.
When I got back I finally had my own room key. I was ultra stuffed and headed straight for the showers before getting a very early night. I found it hard to sleep as my mind was racing. On top of that there was the constant din of traffic from the Gold Coast highway which was a stone’s throw away. I love the sound of semi trailers breaking heavily in the early hours interspersed with planes taking off and landing. And when I did relax enough to slip into slumber land a tiny winged Queenslander paid me a courtesy call. Just love the sound of blood sucking mosquitoes buzzing their pray. I got up at 5:30 after a millisecond of sleep. I looked at myself in the mirror and it was an even less pretty sight than usual. Looked like I’d been punched in the eyes I was so blood shot. I had an elongated shave to make myself feel better and then hauled my arse over to the airport terminal around the corner. Hardly any passengers were at check in so I didn’t have to wait in a queue. Sat around twiddling my thumbs until they opened the doors to the international passenger area. Loved my boarding pass. Gave my seat number followed by the word GATE with no corresponding number. This is a small airport indeed.
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Coolangatta
Hi LLoyd! Great blogging as usual. Ha! Now that's a funny line right there! :) Good to see you've started your travel blog. Of course, you know that barely no-one reads these things but at least you can count on me. I will read every single word you write. Why? Because I'm a masochist. Seriously, I enjoy reading about the weird and the bizarre. And I know from experience that try as you might you simply cannot avoid the weird and the bizarre. I was in Coolangatta myself two years ago. I know that airport and the surrounds quite well. So you have described it very accurately to my mind's eye. I'll be waiting for the next installment. By the way, Martin has bought himself a brand new (factory new) car.