The Case for the Coast of Gold

On this particular trip to Australia, things did not got off to the best of starts. Firstly, I found that my change to a Vodafone plan meant that I was no longer “automatically” set up to send and receive calls and texts in Australia, meaning that I had to call Vodafone NZ from a payphone (which claimed to give 3 minutes to the dollar, but which on use proved to be a blatant fabrication) in order to get one very lovely lady to switch the feature on in a conversation that involved “please” and “thank you” and not much else. My Vodafone nightmare continued when a very zealous bus driver’s braking action threw my hip against the pillar, and the resulting inertial weight of my own bulk cracked my phone’s screen, rendering the handset useless and banishing some recently acquired phone numbers, texts and images into an electronic abyss. I was therefore required to obtain another, but local telecommunicable competition meant that handsets with SIM cards here are tuned to their “owner” network, meaning that not even a Vodafone Australia phone would serve me were I to take it back to NZ. Only the friendly advice of a local Vodafone rep pointed me in the direction of J B Hifi where an “unchained” Nokia handset was on offer. I am therefore now once more in a cellphonic state, though my phone is now much bulkier and less “pimped” than my previous beloved was.

I have been to Australia a few times now, and on each occasion have found it a fascinatingly familiar yet foreign experience. Things appear bigger, brighter and bolder: the cities more spread out and developed, the skies more expansive, the air (generally) warmer and more inviting, yet it is all couched in terms and reference points that don’t make them feel exotic, but more an extended version of what we have back home. These differences can sneak up on you, and then suddenly jump up and flash themselves. And being Australia, I think that kind of metaphor is fairly appropriate.

The Lucky Country is vast, explaining both the abundance of easily exploitable natural resources and the material wealth that flows enviously from that, and also the wide, open spaces in some of its cities. The Gold Coast in particular, my “home” for this particular trip, is a sprawling settlement along miles of glorious sandy beach, blending from New South Wales into Queensland in an unending, sun seeking development. It’s odd then that the new buildings and atmosphere of outdoor pursuit should feel so old. It may just be me, but the ostentatious desperation of the towering accommodation blocks (all of them ugly, though some manage to be uglier than others) and the tasteful homogeneity of the exclusive villas in the Gold Coast all contribute to an image of dignified aging, retirement money and a comfortable retreat while waiting for death. The state of the shopping backs up this idea: Pacific Fair, one of the more celebrated shopping complexes in the region, is startlingly limited in the wares on offer (perhaps not that surprising considering that K-Mart, Target and Coles are all owned by the same company), and while there are a few locally-owned shops run with love and enthusiasm (one second hand book store in Broadbeach comes to mind), in general, most either are large chains or cater to tourists in (again, in my opinion) the most unappealing way.

Don’t get me wrong: the coast is extremely beautiful, the weather a jealousy-generating marketing dream and the facilities are extraordinarily good. But taking a step back from admiring what is on offer, and it all feels like a place for transients, to enjoy then to move on rather than to experience and participate in. My own travelling bias is probably coming through here, as I am happiest when on the move, experiencing new things and people, discovering the new, odd and quirky, a need that the Gold Coast, with all its attractions and features, just doesn’t really “do”. One comes here to relax, be comfortable for a little while, and then to leave – and the whole place seems to be set up to encourage one to do so.

There is a languid blandness here that unfortunately is enhanced through Australian television, even if the networks themselves are not based on the Coast. While New Zealand television showcases a broad spectrum of local opinion and energy (e.g., Paul Henry), Australian presenters tend to be banally beautiful, empty vessels of unceasing smiles and well modulated voices of authority. [I will note that SBS is an exception to this rule, with (from a non-Australian standpoint) an exceptional evening bulletin presented by unplastic presenters and which has incredible programming, such as the wonderful Flight of the Conchords.]


While most places in Australia act as a loud, brash, energetic and “real” counterpoint to the broadcast impression, the Gold Coast seems to buy into that reality, which leaves someone like me enjoying the warmth and the beach, but disengaged from the human world around me. Have I been too harsh? It is a beautiful, warm and sunny part of the world, and the places I have stayed have been comfortable and spacious in ways New Zealand just cannot and will not offer.

But as much as I find the Gold Coast a lovely place to visit, I doubt I could live here while I want variety and energy in my life. The image of the Coast is that of young blond surfers and skimpy swimsuits, but from what I have seen, those people are mainly visitors to this retired and wealthy land. There is an exclusive feel to a lot of the place, a begrudging acceptance of your presence but not really a welcoming embrace of (temporary) belonging. Everything smiles, is polite and friendly, and looks stunning, but remains a surface-level experience – one I could admittedly experience again and again, but only for short periods of time.

Verdict: It’s hard to find the perfect place, but. And while this place does an amazing job, it falls short a small yet important way: heart and soul. 6 Gold Coast Life Guards out of 10.