coops: To Surfers Paradise <body><script type="text/javascript"> function setAttributeOnload(object, attribute, val) { if(window.addEventListener) { window.addEventListener('load', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }, false); } else { window.attachEvent('onload', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }); } } </script> <div id="navbar-iframe-container"></div> <script type="text/javascript" src="https://apis.google.com/js/platform.js"></script> <script type="text/javascript"> gapi.load("gapi.iframes:gapi.iframes.style.bubble", function() { if (gapi.iframes && gapi.iframes.getContext) { gapi.iframes.getContext().openChild({ url: 'https://www.blogger.com/navbar.g?targetBlogID\x3d8208936\x26blogName\x3dcoops\x26publishMode\x3dPUBLISH_MODE_BLOGSPOT\x26navbarType\x3dBLUE\x26layoutType\x3dCLASSIC\x26searchRoot\x3dhttps://ukcoops.blogspot.com/search\x26blogLocale\x3den_GB\x26v\x3d2\x26homepageUrl\x3dhttp://ukcoops.blogspot.com/\x26vt\x3d-9200431209424159412', where: document.getElementById("navbar-iframe-container"), id: "navbar-iframe" }); } }); </script><!-- --><div id="b-navbar"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/" id="b-logo" title="Go to Blogger.com"><img src="http://www.blogger.com/img/navbar/1/logobar.gif" alt="Blogger" width="80" height="24" /></a><form id="b-search" action="http://www.google.com/search"><div id="b-more"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/" id="b-getorpost"><img src="http://www.blogger.com/img/navbar/1/btn_getblog.gif" alt="Get your own blog" width="112" height="15" /></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/redirect/next_blog.pyra?navBar=true" id="b-next"><img src="http://www.blogger.com/img/navbar/1/btn_nextblog.gif" alt="Next blog" width="72" height="15" /></a></div><div id="b-this"><input type="text" id="b-query" name="q" /><input type="hidden" name="ie" value="UTF-8" /><input type="hidden" name="sitesearch" value="ordinary-cookies.blogspot.com" /><input type="image" src="http://www.blogger.com/img/navbar/1/btn_search.gif" alt="Search" value="Search" id="b-searchbtn" title="Search this blog with Google" /><a href="javascript:BlogThis();" id="b-blogthis">BlogThis!</a></div></form></div><script type="text/javascript"><!-- function BlogThis() {Q='';x=document;y=window;if(x.selection) {Q=x.selection.createRange().text;} else if (y.getSelection) { Q=y.getSelection();} else if (x.getSelection) { Q=x.getSelection();}popw = y.open('http://www.blogger.com/blog_this.pyra?t=' + escape(Q) + '&u=' + escape(location.href) + '&n=' + escape(document.title),'bloggerForm','scrollbars=no,width=475,height=300,top=175,left=75,status=yes,resizable=yes');void(0);} --></script><div id="space-for-ie"></div><!-- --><div id="b-navbar"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/" id="b-logo" title="Go to Blogger.com"><img src="http://www.blogger.com/img/navbar/1/logobar.gif" alt="Blogger" width="80" height="24" /></a><form id="b-search" action="http://www.google.com/search"><div id="b-more"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/" id="b-getorpost"><img src="http://www.blogger.com/img/navbar/1/btn_getblog.gif" alt="Get your own blog" width="112" height="15" /></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/redirect/next_blog.pyra?navBar=true" id="b-next"><img src="http://www.blogger.com/img/navbar/1/btn_nextblog.gif" alt="Next blog" width="72" height="15" /></a></div><div id="b-this"><input type="text" id="b-query" name="q" /><input type="hidden" name="ie" value="UTF-8" /><input type="hidden" name="sitesearch" value="lovelurve.blogspot.com" /><input type="image" src="http://www.blogger.com/img/navbar/1/btn_search.gif" alt="Search" value="Search" id="b-searchbtn" title="Search this blog with Google" /><a href="javascript:BlogThis();" id="b-blogthis">BlogThis!</a></div></form></div><script type="text/javascript"><!-- --></script><div id="space-for-ie"></div>

May 29, 2004

To Surfers Paradise

Surfers Paradise can best be described in one word. Incredible. I walked the whole length of the main high street and did not see one piece of chewing gum stuck to the floor. Incredible. I do not make a habit of looking at the floor but the '2 dollar world' and 'Buy a property in Surfers' shops were making me do it. You see that is the only remarkable thing about this Queensland resort. Americans say it's like Florida. I would say it has the class of Magaluf. Nothing can prepare you for the high rise assortment of pink and beige buildings that line the streets. But then again it still managed to pull of these cheese with a little class. In it's early days it used to be a sleepy seaside village for campers but today it demonstrates just how powerful tourism can be. If only James Beatie was still around today. He bought the first piece of land in 1869 and the area has never looked back. It was dubbed the Gold Coast due to the riches it can offer. In 1960 the first high rise would put called 'Kinkabool'. The rest is history. High rise resort on the beach.

We got off the coach and walked around looking for the hostel. It was right next to the bus station. Surprisingly we were staying in a high rise hostel. The room was good, a bathroom included and even a television. Things were getting better. There was even a balcony. When you stay in lots of hostels your sense of first instincts become amazing. Within 2 minutes I had realised that there were one (or maybe two could not tell) girls staying here who had been here for a reasonable length of time. The give away was lines of shoes and shampoo products in the bathroom. People who don't stay long don't leave their products in the bathroom. We finally met them in the evening. Louise (or Mel) looked like a younger version of Melinda Messenger and Charlotte was lovely as well. Both had lovely smiles and were really friendly. They were girls girls.

When we checked in we were given a flyer 'free meals if you show your keys'. Free meals? Nobody gives away free meals. Like every other person in the hostel I was intrigued. Part of the deal was that you had to buy a drink. Hey good deal. When you looked at the beer on tap you really had to choose long and hard. Was it to be 'Lifesaver' or 'Blonde or even 'Honey' beer. You see it was a difficult choice. They brewed their own beer here and described the blonde as 'A pale golden larger brewed from 100% pale malt and imported sanz hops ti bring out the full flavour. I went for the blonde. It was creative marketing speak. It was awful. I was also tempted to sign up as a member and of the 'Brew Pub'. You know what on your birthday you can come here for a free meal! No. I got two stamps on my arm (the extra one was chips for an extra dollar) and walked over to the 'chief'. I have never seen someone dish out food so quickly and aimlessly in my life. My school dinner ladies were like Nigella Lawson in comparison. My plate included 'chicken' and some random 'vegetables'. I tried to smell the 'chicken' but it did not smell like 'chicken'. Believe me, when all you do is eat 'chicken' you know what 'chicken' smells like. It was slightly stringy in places and the chips were more like uncooked potatoes. I managed to eat a token piece of food and left the rest - choosing to consume my 'blonde' beer. According to the leaflet it tasted of Germany. What exactly Germany is meant to taste like I will never know. The girls had been here before and it did not take them long to work their magic on beer inflated, stained shirted 'chef'. He made them roses out of napkins. He would slide across the room and give them free 'desert'. Unfortunately the desert was just as bad as the main meal. They would leave it untouched and the 'chef' would come back and collect the far from empty plates.

Women can be very powerful when they want. Charlotte and Louise had the ability to use their charms to unlock doors. Most of the time the locks were those on the guys wallets, showering them with free drinks without needing to say a word. Their fantastic personality and melting smiles were proving to be a good aid when flat broke. I have never met anyone who could go on for so long with so little. "No we are sisters" she replied. We had two new American girls in the room. I have to say they were rather nice. They were staying just the one night. Before they left they warned me that Kate had a tendancy to fall out of bed. Very funny I thought. Bang. There was a large thud. Three o' clock in the morning. All heads rose in the darkness. "Are you ok" came the voices. I just thought she was being lazy - use the ladder to get down and stop making so much noise - some people. I felt slightly guilty when it turned out that she had rolled off the top bunk and fell a considerably distance, missing my head by a few centimetres. She stumbles off to the toilet without a care in the world. In the morning we told her what she had done. She did'nt remember. No bruises. No cuts. Is she human? She must have been still dazed in the morning because she asked me to come to Byron Bay with her. Right question, wrong direction.

We were joined by two new recruits that week. A guy from Yorkshire with incredible wit and humour and a well seasoned traveller who knew how to play the travelling game. The other guy was a kiwi. Appearances can be deceptive. It looked like he had just come out of the army (well actually he had) but had such a pleasant nature and quirkiness about him. After another 'free' meal together we all went for a dip in the spa. Hot and very pleasant. "Hi guys, where ya from". Enter CJ. He was a tanned surfer type dude from California who was not shy at making an entrance. "Yeah I'm kinda tired, you see I got a lift with these circus people........." and then "Oh my god you see, I was like in this restaurant and we just like started having egg fights, of course I had a white t-shirt on and........" followed by "my kid brother like, he's like a surfer dude and gives me this free stuff right". Now we all have a tendency to exaggerate when we meet people for the first time but this was strangely interesting. Everyone was just sitting back and listening. "What you girls doing tonight?". He had placed himself next to Louise and Charlotte and was on a roll. After a non committal response they returned to the room. He started calling the room on the phone. Nobody would answer.

Clark Johnson had grabbed our attention. We started building this guy up, exaggerating any of his stories and putting on stupid American accents. In the end I called him and asked him to come out with us. Unfortunately Clark Johnson did not emulate his spa stories but for the next day all we could talk about was CJ. He became a mythical legend and provided no shortage of conversation.

0 Comments:

Post a Comment

<< Home








-->




<> Listed on BlogShares