Off to the Women In Media 2019 conference - from Adelaide with love

Virgin has made everything easy for our departure to Coolongatta.

Smiling assistants at the Adelaide Airport electronic checkins mean that there are no queues of touchscreen fumblers; a good omen for the trip to the 2019 Women In Media Conference on the Gold Coast.

I am one of the world’s worst flyers, so these things are significant. Like valium.

For some technical reason upon which the pilot does not expand, our flight is lower than usual, skimming the top of clouds and according a good view, especially when we

come to the Queensland bushfires.

They have been headline news for more than a week now. Wicked raging fires, deliberately lit but fuelled by drought and climate change.

Oh, my.

And there they are. Lots of them. The scale of the tragedy and the number of small fires as well as huffing huge ones is most distressing and one’s heart bleeds for the hapless wildlife, already stressed by drought.

We pick up a grey Mitsubishi Outlander from Budget, turn on Google Maps and drive what is a surprisingly long distance along busy broad roads lined by interesting tropical vegetation among modern suburbs and townships to Broadbeach where, with help from Expedia, I’ve booked us into the Ultiqa Air hotel apartments. Gorgeous, sleek

little self-contained and fully-equipped digs with the Pacific Ocean stretching to blue infinity outside our 17th floor windows. Yes. Happiness.

The hotel carpark is above the Oasis shopping centre next door and the receptionist warns us that it was a high level and a very curvy drive up. She understated. Curvy? It is one of the most

convoluted and challenging claustrophobic carparks of our experience with impatient locals tooting and speeding heedessly around the narrow hairpins. It seems to take forever as we gingerly find our way to the hotel's allocated places in a cement loft way up the top behind an electronic gate. But how to open it? We have swipe passes but there is no sign of a connector. We get out and explore the gate and the surrounding walls. Confounding. Do we turn around and go back? Ring the hotel? Then I spot it some distance behind us on a pillar. Grief! At last we’re in. We have to find spots marked with a yellow dot. Phew. Here’s one. Once the car is parked, we take a deep breath and swear never to take it out again. And down the ramp we toddle to the lift. It is shared with the Oasis shopping centre and has signs prohibiting taking shopping trolleys. The swipe passes access the lift momentum. Now which way? Do we go up to go down or is it down to go up? We go up and arrive at a long gleaming lobby on the hotel’s 4th floor. Then we have to find our way along passages to the actual hotel lifts and use the swipe passes to go up to our floor.

“Fffnthffnn” says the lift as it stops at 17. This is the first lift with a speech impediment we have encountered. Much hilarity. One is almost tempted to keep travelling just to hear her speak. Instead, we sort out our luggage, purr at our quarters, swoon some more at the view and head out for food.

Beside the hotel the Oasis Shopping Centre holds not only a large Woolworths and BWS booze shop but lots of classy boutiques, a post office, a medical centre, newsagent, souvenir shop, travel bureau, ice cream stand, etc. Um. Woolworths has some novel signage.

An exit arcade leads one to a mall outside which is a solid row of verandahed restaurants. Take your pick. Any nationality you like. They’re fairly empty. It is late for lunch. We choose Nanh Thai and sit down to a long overdue meal. We’re eating Keto, no sugar/no carbs, so we order beef salad and green chicken curry, no rice. It is wildly spicy and lovely and charges us up to go shopping for provisions - gin and wine top of the list. And thus, stocked, I message my valued fellow Women In Media SA (WIMSA) committee member, Arna Eyers-White, who has also invested in attending this historic conference. We liaise an evening get-together before I head out to look at the beach.

Oh, the beach. Golden sand and firm for walking near the water. We shuck off the cobwebs of travel and stride it out. Lots of interesting things for newcomers. Not just lifesaver stations but jellyfish. Lots. Never seen their like.

We plan early G&Ts and, traumatised by the carpark adventures, I don't offer to pick Arna up in the car. Mistake. She is staying at an Air B&B at Burleigh Waters and it later eventuates that she has a devil of a time finding transport.

When she does arrive by bus and after hours of frustration, I don’t know when I’ve ever seen anyone in more need of a G&T. A few drinks later, we meander down to that paradise of handy restaurants below. They are busy now.

We pick Mario’s Italian and are seated deep inside where we are fussed over by a sweet young Kiwi waitress and have a pleasant, unhurried meal and lots more wine. Bruce has a mountain of tiny octopi in red sauce. I have a delicate veal masala dish with prawns over almost raw green beans. Arna has a veal variation. We totter back to the apartment for a final wine and I put Arna into a homegoing Uber since she has not yet organised the joy of Uber for herself. We go to sleep with the door open, lulled by the magnificent roar of the sea.

With its miles of open length and constant rolling layers of waves, it is a mighty resonant presence.

Thanks, WIM.