Leaving Sydney

Simon and I spent nearly all day Thursday driving to Byron Bay, a quaint seaside town that both his people and my people suggested as a must see place located north of Sydney up the East coast of Australia. Putting the GPS in charge proved entertaining as she, we dubbed her Muriel, was full of Australian slang and impossible directions at times. After some pretty amusing turns that developed into circles throughout Sydney, we finally got Muriel to get us onto the Pacific Coast Highway (a familiar name from back home). Once we got going on the freeway, things improved and the drive became quite beautiful and stress-free for the most part. Simon cracked me up with his driving, hitting the windshield wipers instead of the turn signal and spending too much time hugging the left side of the road, over-compensating to avoid on-coming traffic. I did the same thing in Melbourne when I rented my car, so it was funny to watch someone else do it. It’s a hard thing reversing instinctive driving habits. We stopped around 11:30 for lunch in a cute little town just off the freeway – I tried a lamb burger and Simon a regular one. We realized very quickly that we were no longer in Sydney – the people and places were becoming a lot more country the further we traveled from Sydney.

Further along on our journey, we passed a sign for farm fresh veggies and eggs, similar to the street stands one would find along roads in central and northern California (as well as many other states back home in America). Since both Simon and I were experiencing some difficulties with our bodies keeping things cycling, if you get my drift, I got the idea that we should buy a bunch of veggies and I could prepare a major fresh salad once we got to Byron Bay. Since I was driving at this point, I pulled the car over into the dusty parking lot and we stretched and made our way into the veggie stand. Farm fresh veggies are such a delight. Everything was colorful and fragrant. The differences in available vegetables delighted me – they had eggplant that I had never seen, some onions that were odd to me, and some very odd looking fruits. I opted to stay away from fruits, except a few oranges and apples, and instead focused on gathering some lettuce as well as fresh zucchini, carrots, tomatoes, beets, onions, broccoli, pears, squash, and eggplant. Simon wanted fresh eggs, so we grabbed those too. As I approached the check-out, I inquired about a men’s room. The lady said they did not have one, but that I was more than welcome to use the tree. I looked through the opening behind her and spotted a few large fruit trees. “Really?” I asked. “Yeah, sure” she insisted. So, off I went through the back and into the yard. Outside, I realized I was standing right next to the freeway under a tree, next to a house, adjacent to small plots of dirt where food was sprouting from the ground. Oh hell, I thought, when you gotta go, you gotta go. I unzipped and took care of business under that tree. I can’t remember the last time I relieved myself out in the wild. When I returned, I found that Simon had added some chocolate covered licorice to our basket of healthy veggies. He loves his sweets.

Just after 6 pm, we pulled into Byron Bay and it took us another half an hour to find our accommodations. Muriel, bless her heart, did her best, but dumped us a block away, and we wandered about trying to find the right address on the right street – unfortunately, we keep walking toward the beach. I called the place after we decided to give up and seek assistance. Luckily, we were very close. The hotel was an apartment rental in a new building complex – very sleek and modern, with rustic furnishings. Straight away, I liked it quite a bit. The kitchen, modern and clean, greeted us when we entered. The next room, the living room had a large flat screen TV, and it sat next to the kitchen and lead into the bedroom and bath area. We even had a balcony with a nice dining table that overlooked the pool. I had to admit, the accommodations certainly beat a foam mattress in the back of a camper van.

I began slicing and dicing immediately and send Simon to the store for vinegar and oil since that was the only item for the veggie salad that our little veggie stand did not carry. The beets needed to be cooked, so they were the first thing to be prepared. It took me some time to figure out how to turn the stove on – everything here is plugged into an outlet that has an off/on switch (which I think is a very good idea to reduce energy consumption when appliances are not being used), but that wasn’t the problem this time. I couldn’t figure out which switch to turn on since obviously the stove was not a small appliance and is semi-permanently plugged in behind the counter somewhere. I supposed had I been filmed messing about this kitchen, it would have been comical to watch. I poured myself a rum and diet ginger beer (a favorite thing Simon turned me onto back in Sydney). As minutes passed, it turned from amusing to irritating even with the drink. How could I not figure it this out? Eventually, one of the switches worked and the red light went on and the stove top started heating up the beets. I was careful not to switch anything off for fear of losing power again.

The salad was brilliant – just what we needed since both of us had been eating like shit since we landed. I told myself I could spend the first week or so eating whatever, whenever the mood moved me. Simon, I think, just does what he wants. We refreshed a bit, and then ventured out to check out the town. I could tell when we checked into our place and was able to do a quick people-watch perusal that the town appeared to be an eclectic mix of surfer dues, couples and families on holiday, and some artsy types. This, of course, gave us hope that we might find some viable nightlife for us. As it turned out, we were wrong. We walked up and down the main few streets of the town and realized this was not exactly the place we’d speed a lot of time. I think coming off the dynamism that is Sydney, spoiled our perspective. We strolled to the beach and watched and listened to the waves; Simon spotted the lighthouse light circling in the night sky. It was beautiful, the night breeze a perfect blend of humidity and chill.

About the only nightspot we could find was a very large outdoor/indoor bar. At the door, the doorman gave us all sorts of grief before letting us inside the place. He insisted, and asked several times, that we were drunk, or had been drinking heavily. Now, Simon had not had anything, and I just the one rum and ginger, which had this point had been at least two hours and a big meal ago, so his repeated attempts to get us to fess up to being drunk, annoyed us deeply. The guy’s accent was so heavy that I could not understand him and out of irritation, told Simon to deal with him. Finally, he relented, realizing that we must be okay to enter? Like I mentioned before, we should have taken the sign to go elsewhere. The joint offered live music, but the crowd’s energy was a tad bit on the dead side, although some couples were dancing. I bought us two vodka tonics, and then we made our way to the outside section to sit just away from the band and dancers. As we had discovered in Sydney, this is not the country to get a good drink (or pour). The barkeeps are very rigid in their measure – one drink gets one small shot. We sat at our bar table drinking our drinks and laughing that it tasted like pure tonic. Back home, at the Abbey for example, when you order a drink, you get a drink.

Tired and over the scene, both of us left and we talked back to our little apartment by the sea. We crashed after watching a little TV and doing some on-line upkeep – emails and the like. I also did my best to convince Simon to skydive with me in the morning. Much to my surprise, Simon agreed to consider it – a far cry from his initial reaction of “Hell No!”

The weather in the morning turned cloudy and overcast. The gal at the activities center at the hostel I found informed me that the planes were not flying today or tomorrow due to the overcast conditions. Simon was off the hook, pleasing him immensely. She recommended a bike hike, but we just missed the tour. Then, she thought of doing circus activities – trapeze, trampoline, and the like, but I had little hope that Simon would be up for that with his back problems and fear of heights. The last option she suggested was a drive out to the small hippie town of Nimbin. She gushed about how interesting it would be for us and said it can only be experienced to understand. And, at only a twenty minutes drive away, would be a nice detour to our time in Byron Bay.

Keen to the idea, Simon and I got in the car and began our journey to Nimbin, Muriel turned on and ready. Well, Muriel decided that she was smarter than the map we had and began sending up down very small, very local roads. We followed her guidance and ended up at a dead end (due to road construction or flooding repair, not sure which?). We U-turned out of their and Muriel repeatedly insisted that we U-turn back to take the dead-end road. Simon, now driving and irritated, plowed along back to Byron Bay so that Muriel would re-route us a different way. She finally agreed to do so and we soon found ourselves on the road the map suggested.

An hour and change later, we pulled our rental into town. It was everything that young girl had said – and somehow interesting as an adjective did not quite cover our reactions and opinions. She had warned me that not only was it a hippie town, but that it was a very liberal place with regards to marijuana. That became obvious immediately as the iconic marijuana leaf seemed to be plastered everywhere in this town – billboards, signs, shop windows, bus stops, and graffiti, announced that the folks here enjoyed God’s wonder weed. I loved it, but Simon seemed a little hesitant. The first shop we entered was a combination head shop (drug paraphernalia), clothing store (hemp clothing), and spiritual resource store. Simon began taking pictures and I laughed internally, thinking how bizarre the place was. Connected to the shop was a coffee store and I realized they sold hemp brownies. The young woman informed me that the THC has been removed in accordance with Australian drug laws. When I jokingly asked where to get the real thing, a man behind me was more than willing to chime in and asked me what I wanted. He looked somewhat aboriginal and was un-mistakenly high himself. I quickly brushed him aside, saying that I was just teasing and Simon and I left that place.

We continued our tour through the town, which was essentially one street with shops on either side – maybe twenty storefronts in total. More than half of these shops were drug-related, the others a mix of coffee houses, bakeries, or restaurants. Down a little walkway, Simon and I wandered into a small shop, another odd mix of this and that. Just as Simon pulled his camera out and snapped a picture of something that caught his fancy, the shop owner busted him and made quite a scene about this. Her tone surprised me and she pointed us to the front door where she clearly had a no pictures/photos sign hanging for customers to read. I tried to have a little fun banter with her about it and said that we were silly tourists. She asked Simon to delete the photo. In the back, I spotted a bunch of hemp clothing and I encouraged Simon to try some on. I had purchased a hemp t-shirt in Montana years ago and to this day it is one of my favorites. Hemp beats cotton hands-down on comfort and performance (it never really shrinks), yet the moralistic majority in the US Congress (who have drafted and passed the most insane drug laws in the world) combined with the members in Congress being paid off by the US cotton industry, will never allow hemp clothing (one cannot get high from hemp fabric or clothing) into the marketplace. This too is another diatribe that I will ignore for now in deference to my story.

Once the shop owner realized she had a live one shopping, her mood changed and she became quite helpful and accommodating to us. Simon loved the hemp clothing and purchased a number of things for him and for his boyfriend. I found myself sucked into the buying frenzy Simon was creating, and purchased a purple t-shirt made from bamboo. I can honestly say I don’t have anything made from bamboo, so it seemed an unusual souvenir for me to give myself. The deal I made myself when I began traveling is that I have to toss or donate a piece for every new piece I buy myself. This time, I made a painful decision to toss a red tank that I love in hopes that it convinces me to stop buying additional things that I really don’t need. I tossed it out at the hotel in the Gold Coast where I sit now (but that’s getting ahead of the story).

Walking around this town with bags of shopping items felt a little like we were betraying the spirit of the place. Yet, like the shop owner told us, years ago she opted out of the hippie mentality and embraced capitalism with her own little twist. Good on her. Regardless, we tossed the stuff into the trunk and went off to find Simon since he was starving. Still stuffed from the breakfast I prepared, I chose to wait until the hunger hit me. Simon bought another meat pie (he loves those things) as well as a large cake roll (for later) and a peanut butter chocolate bar.

The shop owner at the previous store where we bought our clothes told us where the drug action happens – behind the Nimbin museum – so off we went. I was curious to observe how this process worked and I think Simon was too. Drug sales are illegal here in Australia, but somehow they are relaxed in Nimbin? As we meandered down the trail on the side of the museum, it was obvious what was happening. Dealers were selling their stuff to mostly young backpackers. I waited for someone to ask me, but we got through the path and nothing. This bothered me (I don’t like to be ignored). As I had just watched several deals go down, I wondered what the heck. Simon got nervous and wandered back to the car. I was annoyed that no one wanted to sell me anything, not that I really wanted it, but I wanted to at least be asked so I could have a story to tell, so I walked back up the path toward the street side of the museum. Again, no one came up to me. One more try, I thought, as I walked down the path toward the parking lot behind the street shops. This time, I walked over to someone. He looked at me – giving me the once-over and grimacing. “You’re a fucking cop; get out of here, nothing for you.” Finally, my Ah-ha moment. They thought I was an undercover Aussie cop. Really, me? Well, this development cracked me up. I stood there in the middle of drug dealers and all of them ignored me. They pretended to causally hang out, enjoy the sun or park, or whatever they intended to present to me. After a moment, I wandered away, laughing inside. “Work on your American accent your fucker,” he screamed after me as I exited his work place. Back at the car, I told Simon about it and he nearly wet his pants laughing so hard. I am still not certain why I look like an Aussie narc, but I chocked this one up to another great Australian story.

We left this odd little place in search of Protester’s Falls – supposedly an amazing water fall area inside a natural palm rain forest just a 15 minute drive from Nimbin. Back in the early 70s I believe a group of hippie protesters (thus, the name) rescued this place from loggers/developers and the whole area was turned into a national park. We found it after I talked to a nice old hippie at the gas station and got directions Aussie style (turn at the big tree at the bend kind of directions). We parked and made our way into the hike easily. I learned that Simon had never hiked up any falls before, so this excited me to share the experience with a virgin. I can think of nothing more perfect than nature, and I was hopeful that Simon would appreciate the hike up through the rain forest. Turns out, Simon was a quick study. I pointed out natural beauty – the inspiration for some of my sculptures – like the moss growing on the fallen tree trucks, the way the baby palms struggle to make it under the canopy of the larger trees, the way rocks have naturally dotted the landscape, the palm leaves scattered magically into forms and shapes on the forest floor, the natural curves of the roots that have lost earth only to find it again somewhere lower, the way the colors explode against the neutral backdrop, the sound of the water rushing down beside us. Simon pulled out his camera and began taking pictures of some of this stuff – sights others probably walk past without noticing or appreciating. I felt profoundly appreciative again for the gift of this hike. I have done countless hikes similar to this, but each one is unique and different from the others. This place was no exception and the thrill of sharing what I see with Simon made the experience special to me. Since I am used to doing this kind of thing on my own, I typically have no one to rejoice with during the evolution of new and exciting visual beauty as a hike unfolds. I was very proud of Simon, pushing himself to make it all the way to the top to experience the brilliance of the actual falls themselves. I had to teach him how to climb and maneuver the rocks – I skill I take for granted but that he had never done. At the top, I could tell Simon was amazed – he took another 30 photos. It pleased me deeply that he enjoyed the hike, and reinforced why I love my friend so much.

Back at Byron Bay, we crashed early – the hike and trip to Nimbin exhausted us both and the next morning would be an early check out and drive further up the coast to Australia’s Gold Coast. With Muriel on our side, what