Driven by what some may call an overzealous desire to see as much of the country as possible, Jeannie and I caught a domestic flight this week on Virgin Blue, Richard Branson’s offering to the Australian premium economy airline industry. We jetted to the middle of the eastern coastline, known here as the Gold Coast. (Our wintertime travels have prompted us to rename this popular beach destination the Cold Coast). But worry not, despite brisk weather and even a spit of rain, we managed to have a wonderful time in the fine state of Queensland.
We owe much of our good time to the hospitality of Stephanie and Jonas. A high school classmate of Jeannie’s, Steph has lived in Australia for ten years. She has an Australian education, an Australian passport, an Australian mortgage, and even a bit of an Australian accent—for all intensive purposes, she is Australian. And additionally, an outstanding tour guide. Her boyfriend, Jonas, is a Swede with an equal passion for all things Aussie. He is a hat designer for the Australian surf company, Billabong, and a very intelligent guy. Jeannie and I enjoyed their company a great deal.
We made a home for ourselves in the tourist epicenter of the Gold Coast, a three kilometer stretch of sand, surf and high-rise accommodation, called Surfer’s Paradise. (I have a positive predisposition for any town with an apostrophe in its name. Maybe my marketing side leads me to respect the tactics of the tourism board that named the town. How can you avoid a place called Surfer’s Paradise?) The general aesthetics of the place are of the same cut as Waikiki Beach. Dueling towers scrape the sky at forty stories and higher, restaurants and bars entice diners to overpriced meals and Mai Tai’s, souvenir shops beckon the weary with promises of goods at wholesale pricepoints. But behind the commercialism is a surf break that warrants the location’s namesake.
With Steph as our guide, we were able to explore much of what southern Queensland and the Gold Coast has to offer. Over the course of three days we became very acquainted with her two-door Land Rover. My favorite coastal stop was a surf break called Burleigh Heads. (The longer I resist the razor I think this might become Jeannie’s nickname for me.) We stopped there at sunset and I counted 88 surfers bobbing in the water. From Burleigh you can peer across the bay at Surfer’s Paradise. It is only from here that you can truly understand the expansiveness of the city skyline.
The next day we ventured into the rainforest highlands that form the interior of the coast. We spent the afternoon tramping along the Queensland Food and Wine Trail. My wallet made its first appearance at a small winery by the name of Thumm (pronounced like “tomb,” with the aid of a German umlach). As the proprietor’s first customers of the day, we were treated to an extremely comprehensive tasting, one that quickly became a sampling of every varietal offering from the winery. By the time we reached the desert wines my ability to taste critically had flown away with the Kookaburra in the vineyard. When the owner opened the door to his aging cellar, I was already the proud owner of a 25 year-old Port.
We followed our wine tasting odyssey in true Aussie fashion—with an hour long cheese and beer sampling. The Witch’s Chase Cheese Company, located at the top of Mt. Tamborine, makes their signature cheese on the premises, and even draws their principle ingredient from the cows and goats that reside on the mountain. Their product is remarkable. And for the record, I’ve never seen anyone power through a cheese tasting like Jeannie. She can muscle down a slice of Gouda faster than you can say Leicester.
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