“Swag on down to the commo jawn for some trip planning!” A rallying cry in the group chat gathered the troops in the common room. The long weekend coming up was begging to be filled with an adventure. With a diverse group of students committed, we rented a suite at a hostel and flew to the famous Gold Coast. It was our Aussie friends’ turn to be tourists in their own country.
One budget airline trip later (I was hesitant, then overjoyed when they gave out free sweets) we rendezvoused at the hostel. It was a bit chilly, so a quick jog on the sand was required to warm up before a night swim. The water felt warmer than the air, making us reluctant to get out.
On day two, the waves greeted us overzealously. They were much too strong for our mediocre surfing skills. Ignoring the original plan of renting surfboards at Surfers’ Paradise, we instead stuck with body surfing. My Canadian friend Ryan taught me how to front flip into the waves!
Dinner was a group effort pasta dish made in our little ensuite kitchen, supplemented by several hostel-provided sausages. Now what is the Gold Coast known for? Surfing, amusement parks, and clubs. Well the waves were not cooperating, and our student wallets did not feel strong enough to pay for roller coasters, so naturally we ended up at a club. We felt fancy when the photographers took our photo at the entrance before we wove our way through the shiny establishment to claim a spot on the dance floor.
The next morning faired even worse for our surfing dreams: the water was closed due to dangerous conditions. Instead, we played ball on the beach, or at least attempted; more often than not we ended up sprinting after the ball after it was snatched by the aggressive wind. Our resident Aussie, Jake, insisted that we watch the big rugby game on Anzac day, so we claimed some seats in a pub in front of the game playing on a large projector screen and let him narrate what was going on.
Tuesday morning we rose early to catch our flight back to Sydney. I pushed my friends to leave before seven so we could catch the earliest bus to the airport and have a calm, stress-free trip back home. However, I was outvoted by people who wanted to eat brekkie at the hostel before we left. What a mistake.
First we had trouble finding the correct bus stop. I should have scouted it out the day before. When the bus finally opened its doors at the tiny airport, we tumbled out and sprinted in towards the check in. The sign said, “CLOSED”. We were two minutes late. Two minutes past the mandatory 15 minute before flight check-in time. TWO. MINUTES. I asked the lady for an exception. That was a no. I asked her what I could do, and she said she had another flight available departing tomorrow evening. Well that was not going to work for me because I had an exam in Sydney to take! My friends settled with a 12 hour bus ride back to Sydney. I went around the little airport, asking every single airline if they had a seat open. They were all booked on this popular travel weekend except for a more expensive airline, way over budget, even if we ignored the money lost on the missed flight. Well, desperate times call for desperate measures. I pulled out my emergency credit card, mentally appologised to my dad, and charged it. School comes first. I studied on that overpriced plane ride, slept in my room, woke up, and took that exam.
Packing Light 
