In My Shoes: Thrills and spills

This is going to be the mother of all posts, but we jammed so much into our Easter long weekend...what's a girl to do? I'm going to save the pics till last. Y'all probably know by now that Jo and I went to the Gold Coast with Dave and Mel...so here we go.

We left bright and early on Friday morning, and arrived just in time for brunch. Since there was a little rain overhead, we started our holiday in what only seemed the proper way - via a bowling tournament. I'm going to say from the start that I, most un-co of all people, beat David. Yep. You just read that. And even though he blamed everything from the disco lights to the fan in his face, the truth is simply this - I played better than him.

In the end, Jo won the match, but Mel was the real surprise - her methods may be strange (I don't know - does dropping the ball in front of your feet and watching it spin slowly down the alley at less than 9kph count as actual bowling?), but they paid off, cause she came in second. A rematch was quickly demanded by David - but we saved that for another day. The afternoon was warm and sunny, so we spend it by the pool, before David and Mel headed off to a friend's party, leaving Jo and I to our own devices - after a quiet dinner at a little Italian joint (what else?), we went to play mini-golf.

On Saturday we headed to Dreamworld. They've opened a water park there, so we thought we'd kill two birds with one stone - thrill rides and water slides. But David's day started going downhill before we'd even made it to the bus. Folks - the humble mushroom. As far as varieties go, he's very clear about what he likes (button mushrooms) and what he doesn't like (everything else.) He is particularly offended by the field mushroom - too big and too slimy. And though he ordered his usual eggs and mushrooms that fateful morning, he forgot to ask what type of mushroom they served. Alas, when the plate came laden with field mushrooms, he believed he had been cheated. Well, who wouldn't? He dumped them unceremoniously on Mel's plate and huffed his way through the rest of his breakfast.

His day didn't improve when we actually got to the park. Dreamworld has two particularly scary rides - the Giant Drop and the Tower of Terror. We tackled the Giant Drop first. It's 39 stories high - you sit in your chair and are lifted slowly to the top, then dropped back down to the bottom again without warning. "My name is David Argiro", he said as we rose higher and higher, "and i am not happy. Let the record state that i wanted to go to the WATER PAAAAAAAAAAAARK!" Those were his last words - then we plummeted.

And the Tower of Terror? Its the 4th fastest rollercoaster in the world, reaching 160 kph in 3 seconds. It shoots up 39 stories and then falls back down again. When it takes off, it sounds like a rocket ship. Therefore, David was not amused when we told him that's where we were headed next. Actually, he flatly refused to get on - but we bullied him into it. "Why. Why?" is all he could say as the queue moved steadily onwards until we were almost at the front. I actually thought he was going to be sick at one point. But once we took off, his terror turned to exhilaration, and by the time we were back down again he was punching the air in excitement, nearly taking off Mel's head in the process. We figured we'd better let him relax a bit after all that, so we spent the rest of the afternoon in the water park (by the way, the slides there are awesome - we had a great time! I felt like a kid again.) Oh, dinner that night was Italian. So what's your point?

On Easter Sunday, we had a lovely brunch down at the surf club, which overlooks the ocean. It was a sunny morning, but by the time we made our way back, it has started to rain. Perfect time for a bowling re-match. Unfortunately, Jo won again, and David didn't get the glory he'd hoped for. Later that afternoon, when the sun had come out again, we hired some jet ski's and went out on the river for a spin. Jo felt it necessary to throttle the thing to 95kph, while I sat on the back and clung to him in terror - especially since the woman who owned the rental place helpfully informed us that late afternoon is when the bull sharks came out. And I quote: "I wouldn't want to have to swim across the river at this time!" Gee thanks lady. P.S - guess what we had for dinner...

On our last day, we hired a car and drove to Byron Bay. Well, Mel drove. I sat in the backseat and read Vogue. "Why do you read that crap Nelsie?", David asked in disgust. "At least I read NW." NW as in, New Weekly, that quality publication that offers articles of substance with headlines such as 'Stars Without Make-up! See What they Really Look Like!' or 'Celebrity Cellulite! Who's Fighting Fat?' or 'Inside Boytox! Now the Boys Are at it Too!' But hey. I'm not judging. Byron Bay is known for having a bit of a hippie culture, proven over brunch when we overheard Mel have a conversation with a waitress that involved the words 'dandelion', 'soy' and 'cows milk' (she's into natural stuff.)

All we had to decide was what to do with our day. Shop? Swim? Visit a day spa? No siree. Not us. Nope, we went ahead and took a trapeze lesson. What's that you say? We're crazy, you say? Yeah, pretty much. As David said - "Trapeze school. It's one for the ages." Followed by the astute observation that "Byron girls aren't up to Gold Coast standard, are they?"

On the topic of trapezing, I can honestly say that i have never been so terrified in my whole life. And i have done some scary stuff. I've stood three feet from a real rhinoceros in the middle of a jungle, for godsake. But seriously? This make me poo my pants. (What? I mean metaphorically.) I was literally sweating in fear, which is really not what you want happening when you have to grip a bar and hang on for dear life as you're pushed over the edge of a ten metre high platform. And I'm not exaggerating. I never exaggerate.

David gave up after two attempts. When told he'd regret it if he didn't give it another ago, he swiftly assured us not to worry - "I'll sleep tonight." And that was that. I don't blame him really. It took the poor guy twenty minutes just to climb the ladder to the top. (Admittedly, i was doubled over in laughter - i mean no offence, but it really was freaken hilarious to watch him crawl up at snails pace, holding on like grim death, face down, eyes closed, breathing ragged...oh wait, maybe that was me.) Mel tried to convince him one last time to give it another try - "Come ooooonnnnn! Everyone else is doing it!" To which he responded, "Everyone else doesn't have a Porsche, Darling. They don't understand." Elitist, and sadly true.

Once you got used to it, it was actually immensely satisfying to get it right. I was pretty damn proud of myself - we hooked our knees over the top of the bar and hung down backwards, did back flips, and let another dude catch us off a swing all in the space of an hour or two. (Yes, alright, there were five year olds doing the same thing. But. They haven't developed any sense yet.) (Also, we were in a harness the whole time, and there was a net underneath ready to catch us if we fell. But it still felt totally death-defying.)

I began to have visions of myself in a red, sequined number, performing tricks for an adoring crowd under the big top. But rope burn brought me back to reality, along with my inability to actually jump into the air myself - the lady at the top had to push me off the platform every time, despite my protests to "wait! just wai-..."

We rewarded our bravery with a swim in the ocean before a late lunch and cocktails at the pub. And a nutella doughnut, but i earned that one. Right? Then it was off to the airport, and home again, after what felt like a whirlwind (but really fun) trip.

Pictures...