Or: This building was constructed so that you could jump off it in the pool from various spots with increasing difficulty
The flight from Sydney to the Gold Coast was so short, I don’t think I’ve realized yet that I am almost 1000 km away. As soon as the plane was up in the air, the pilot announced that he was about to begin the descend.
I had no idea what to expect when coming here. We arrived in the evening – it wasn’t even that late – but all the shops were closed and the streets deserted. Way to make an impression, Queensland! It was like one of those low-budget zombie movies. Only that the zombies wore shorts.
Ok, the Gold Coast is slooooooow. It is like one huge retirement home. Like Florida. Hanging out by the pool all day doing nothing gets actually quite exhausting; maybe that’s why everybody sleeps so much.
When people here talk about full-time jobs, they mean 9 – 14. If you haven’t done your shopping by 5 PM, there is a good chance you’re gonna go hungry. And finally, the library, where people just hang out and read, is something like the busiest spot, as far as you can call it ‘busy’.
And with this here key, I shall breach the gates of wisdom and power, for no longer I have to remain in uneducated darkness
I’ve made it my new home. That’s where I come to hang out pretty much every day (until it closes at 5PM). At first it was for the free wifi. Then it was for my writing job, for which I need the internet for (doing research makes me feel all fancy-schmancy. I’m their little writer bunny and loving it). But then, I finally got a library card (completely free of charge) and made it my mission to educate myself on all those damn mangas that they have in here. So far, I have managed some Sailor Moon and one Warcraft (Cobbler, stick to your last!)
Everyone has a pool here. This isn’t luxury, it’s standard. And it’s highly needed, since it does not cool down at all. Even at night it’s still 30 degrees. Wait, night? Which night? The sun comes up around 4 AM. Or something like that. Anyway, by the time I wake up (usually around 7, because after that it’s impossible to sleep) it feels like it’s midday. The sun is a harsh, merciless son of a bitch.
Coming from Germany, where we get like 5 minutes of summer each year between July and Ausgust, this truly sounded like paradise. No thick winter coats, no yellow snow, no running nose. But there is a point when the heat just gets too much, unbearable. I have reached that point when I am trying to scratch my ass just to find a dark-grey mixture of old sweat and dead skin cells underneath my fingernails. Yes, Gold-Coastians have a pretty tough life.
If I thought Sydney was bad with sunburns, then I had no idea what I was getting myself into here. One hour of sunbathing in the afternoon has made my skin practically burn off. Hard tan reset – have to start over!
Can you correctly guess which part of my body that is? That’s right – all over!
The Gold Coast is mainly only fun if you’re a surfer or know how to operate any other kind of crazy board. Nah, I am not hating. And if I wanted to hate something, it would be the one-layered, way too thin toilet-paper. But otherwise, there is nothing much to do around here.
Southport is small (apparently not so small, but that’s what it feels like to me). It feels like a real community. After being in the hostel for just one week, and quickly finding an apartment to move into, we still keep going back to hang out there. Most people who have ever stayed there do. I don’t know what it is. Maybe it’s one of those fantasy soul sucking dark magic spells. Maybe that’s why everyone here is getting too lethargic to move their asses… Maybe I am on to something here.
5:30 in the morning
„My“ room in my new apartment, that I am sharing with one other guy, doesn’t even have a door. But, that’s Australia, right? Gotta compromise. The people here are awesome, though. It’s probably the weather. No one really cares. High on sunlight.
My flatmates are Filipino, Portuguese and Brazilian. All guys. Which gets increasingly interesting when the wind has once again blown my panties from where I had hung them up on the balcony to dry onto the roof below, and the Brazilian guy has the glorious idea to vacuum them back up (I trusted him, he’s an engineer..) And he hands them back to me with a charming smirk.. could this situation get any more awkward if I asked you to marry me right here, right now.. oh the long-haired, dark-eyed adonis..
Where was I? (I hope he isn’t reading this)
I’ve met a rockstar. Or the closest thing to it. The type of guy that remembers people by what kind of drugs he did with them.
„See“, he says, handing me his phone with his facebook profile open, „here’s Eddie“. I die a little inside. He calls Edward Furlong ‘Eddie’. The kid that I am still jealous of to this day because he got to play what must surely be the second-coolest part in action movie history to this day.
„See how blurry his hand is there next to my lap? That’s because he’s jerking me off“, he goes on casually, as if telling me about Coles’ special deal on $1 extra soft loaf of white bread.
I suppose that’s rock’n’roll lifestyle. These people don’t have a light chicken breast roquette salad for dinner because they’re watching their carbs, no, they have three bottles of cheap merlot by the pool. And that’s only the entree.