A couple hours’ drive north of idyllic Byron Bay—a region of pristine, thinly populated beaches—we came to this.

Bit of a shock. I mistook the skyline for Australia’s third-largest city, Brisbane. We were in fact looking at a beach resort town—Surfer’s Paradise.

Not long ago this was a sleepy stretch of sand with some nice waves. In the ’60s, a small hotel provided accommodations for young people with surfboards. The hotel was called Surfer’s Paradise.

Local boosters saw that the name was more attractive than, say, Akron, so they adopted it for the town itself. A little promotion, a little construction, and voila! Instant Miami.

The boom started maybe forty years ago, and continues today without pause. Blocks of old two-story motels are being razed and thirty-story high rises sprout in their places. All new buildings are condominiums, not hotels. Looks like they sell for something like $450,000 AUD ($300,000 US). That’s the price for a small flat.

Realtors’ pitches emphasize returns: 4%, 5%, 6%. I guess people buy these places for investment purposes, rather than as places to live. We rented a one-bedroom place in the suburb of Broad Beach for the price of a hotel room. There were plenty of vacancies, so I think potential investors shouldn’t count too heavily on that 5%.

This image, looking down one of the main streets of Broad Beach, could have been shot in Cleveland. Except for the palm tree. For a beach resort town, it is decidedly urban.

Small businesses cater more to visitors than to residents. One offers “genuine massage.”

I always prefer genuine massages. Much more satisfying than the fake kind.

You can get your bikini at a factory outlet. Buy with confidence: you’ll get both parts for your $25.

I arrived in Surfer’s Paradise not knowing how to surf; an oversight. Providentially, local instructors stand at the ready to provide instruction.

Oh. Right. I almost forgot. This is a beach town. I made a thorough search and discovered one. A miles-long, wide stretch of sand with a nice break—no wonder surfers come here.

Along Australia’s East Coast, the surf can be dangerous. Rip tides and undertows are the norm. Surfers, who are at home in rough water, have been followed by vacationing families. Children, old guys like me, and unskilled swimmers are at risk.

Australia counters with the finest, most professional lifesaving teams in the world. They are stationed at intervals along the beaches in kiosks. To receive their protection you have to swim between the yellow and red flags, an ocean frontage of maybe fifty feet. Outside the flags, you’re on your own.

So looking out along Broad Beach, we are faced with the prospect of scores of swimmers all jammed together in one spot, while on either side stretch miles of deserted sand.

People who like South Florida cities will love Surfer’s Paradise. Plenty of high rise accommodations with splendid views, a vibrant street scene chockablock with restaurants and cafés, pristine sand, and warm (if rough) water. There’s even a casino.