The next week we go to the Gold Coast.
Leave Hobart at 11a.m. Fly to Sydney and then wait in the
food court until we board a plane to the Gold Coast. In the food court we copy everybody else and eat some Mexican food
and Japanese food and drink a cup of coffee. Every family is waiting to move
on. Including that family. Why can’t they do something about their kids? They
don’t seem worried about them. Unlike us.
Arrive at Gold Coast airport. Now 40 minutes in the traffic
to our unit. We have instructions about how to find our key. In the lobby we
re-read our instructions. Lorna can sort this out. I’m going to lie on this
coach. Lorna spends her time on the phone and talking to people who pass through
the lobby. She will eventually find a key, our room, and get us in. Meanwhile I
close my eyes. It’s been a busy day.
Our unit is on the twelve floor of the apartment. The walls
are large glass windows and a balcony with chairs. Inside the air conditioner
in the bedroom is going flat out, the bathroom has a shower and the kitchen a
microwave. I visit the balcony and are horrified. This balcony frightens me. My
grandchildren could easily climb up and over the fence. I look around. It is
nine o’clock at night and very peaceful.
I look down on neighboring flats with their stucco cement walls and balconies,
a river with moored boats, silent houses, empty streets, and neat gardens full
of tropical plants. Very few people are walking, running or riding bikes around
the streets. The balconies are all very peaceful and empty.
The traffic is noiseless, ceaseless and irrelevant. We are detached and above
the noise and don’t care what the cars are doing. They look like toys. The
other resorts all have swimming pools, tennis courts and car parks. Just like ours.
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