Southport > Adelaide
The attempt to fool Hughesy’s body clock was, however, unsuccessful and despite efforts to roll over and resume slumber by six I was out of bed and starting work on the first instalment of the current narrative.
Those efforts were interrupted by Madam’s arrival in the living room and subsequent instructions that sent me off on various errands which filled in the waiting time in a manner which mere slumber would never have been able to match.
Having scanned the transit options between Southport and Coolangatta Airport we ended up choosing to take the standard 700 bus service to Tweed Heads, alighting at the airport turnoff and, after a few minutes’ confusion, catching the handy shuttle that operates between the highway and the airport terminal.
The confusion can be attributed to the fact that the last time we flew out of Coolangatta (to Melbourne at the end of December 2006) check in closed before the shuttle started, forcing us to hoof it through sporadic drizzle over the 715 metres from bus stop to terminal.
The trauma associated with that particular incident can be judged by the fact that I had blotted the whole affair out of my memory, completely forgetting both the existence of the shuttle bus and the extreme ordinariness of the interior of Coolangatta Airport’s domestic terminal.
I’m not pretending to be a connoisseur of airport terminals, although I have seen a few of them.
For a start, given the nature of the beast, I think it’s reasonable to anticipate that an airport terminal will, more than likely, be somewhat crowded.
But even in Whitsunday Coast, which is arguably the smallest and most cramped domestic terminal in Australia (and if there’s a worse one I hope I never come across it) you can at least stand in the sunshine and see the world that surrounds you. Sitting inside the terminal at Coolangatta it’s almost as crowded and you can see walls.
Hughesy’s appraisal of the place: On the extremely ordinary side of very ordinary.
The sight that greeted us when we emerged from the air bridge some two hours after leaving Queensland airspace was a complete contrast.
The two-year-old Adelaide Airport might not be the best airport in the world, but if it isn’t I would hope in the future our somewhat random travel arrangements fluke us into some of the ones that are better.
Spacious with high ceilings and huge picture windows looking towards the Adelaide Hills, this one is everything that Coolangatta isn’t.
Hughesy’s rating: On the stellar side of out of this world.
Once the baggage had been claimed and the hire car negotiations completed, finding our way to the night’s accommodation couldn’t have been more straightforward. Turn left into Sir Donald Bradman Drive, follow that almost as far as you can go and then turn right into Seaview Road.
It was well after dark when we set out and I was about to suggest that we pull over and try to find a street number when I noticed the illuminated Meleden Villa sign.
Our upstairs room promised the prospect of water views in the morning and some advice about eating options from the proprietress saw us striding purposefully towards the traffic lights which signalled the location of the restaurant precinct.
Eight-thirty on a Monday night isn’t the optimum time for an extensive appraisal of restaurant options so we opted for Asian at Red Rock, one of a number of noodle-oriented establishments scattered around the city and, from information received later on, across the nation.
But we didn’t know that at the time, did we?
And the hour was latish.
Madam’s pad thai was a bit spicier than she would have preferred but my red beef curry was fine, as was the $4.90 glass of the house Riesling (from a bottle, not a cardboard box). With those affairs dealt with it was time to head back southwards to the cot in the attic at Meleden Villa for a good night’s sleep before the real adventures began