Waving away the end of holiday blues

Back to Queensland for the last destination of the OZ tour, to towns with fancy names such as Noosa and Surfers Paradise. A bit posh the former, very laid back the latter. Small summer houses versus sky high hotel buildings. Roasted butternut pumpkin tortellini with sage butter at Gaston's there, fish and chips on the beach here. One thing in common: waves. Big ones, both places a surfer's dreamland.

If you did not take your board along, no worries, you can still go in the water to perform the local beach ritual: confined in 50 metre stretches delimited by flags, it is allowed to jump against the coming waves, in sync with the rest of the crowd, under the supervision of lifeguards and helicopters (safety first).

Sure, a long relaxing walk is always an option, the city will provide spotlights to make your sandy steps safe at night ('safety first' must be the unofficial title of the OZ anthem). Or just take the car, for an unforgettable ride between waves on one side and forest on the other. Speed limit on the beach is 80 km/h, 50 in "urban" areas (oh well, camps) and police is very strict. Whilst driving with high tide is not really recommendable, the beach is the best road to get to Fraser Island, where in fact, the beach is the only road available - as well as the only runway and unofficial cemetery of those hundreds blue jellyfishes.

With traces of sun on my skin, of sand in my shoes and Flathead fish&chips in my stomach, it is a little hard to pack up dirty clothes and good memories. Besides, the suitcase is almost exploding. A koala bear or a bottle of Shiraz too many?