Wednesday, April 21, 2004

Surfer's Paradise, Lost

Actually, I'm not lost. Not in the physical sense, at least. But after coming from previously described serene and wholesome Blackfellows Gully, all the coral pink concrete edifices attesting to the powers and glory of capitalism and tourism have made me a bit disoriented. The town of Surfer's Paradise is a lot like Florida, actually: hot young things boozing it up and making it with each other, lots of bars, and of course the beach, a stretched-out-wide sand bar with creamy waves crashing on the shore. Then there are the retired, the older part of the population, with coiffed white hair and pastel track suits. These two sets mix on the streets amid neon lights and screaming shopfronts, music and always the admonition to indulge. Come on, you deserve a break, don't you? You know you do.

Jennie is lovely amid all of this, it's good to see her. Her apartment is on the 5th level of a tower, right next to the pool. View that I was taking in of the other towers, and cranes alive on the tops of not-quite-done apartment blocks. One lone balloon in yellow floated across this white and steel wasteland, and then an ibis flew unsteadily through on his way to the water.

On Sunday I continue up the coast to Townsville. Tomorrow I turn twenty! And always, I try to see the lovely side of things.

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