Seemingly Infinitely Long

Just about all backpackers travelling the east coast of Australia stop at Byron Bay, the hippy beach side town with the easterly most point in Australia. But it isn’t for photographs at the lighthouse by the sign saying so. Nowhere more typifies the coastal pilgrimage of the wandering holiday traveller more, with a host of hippies with dreadlocks, devoted surfers and sun worshipers. The small town slowly affects its laid-back mood on the visitor and the longer the stay, the harder it becomes to leave. There’s more to it though, then just the cool bars, bead shops, massage parlours and yoga studios. It’s as if there’s something in the air itself that limits the ambition to no more then the want for a couple of hours in the sun.
The problem with Byron Bay has to be the hostels which comes as a big surprise for a place that is such a holiday Mecca for the budget traveller. There was one hostel who’s reputation preceded it long before my arrival to Byron Bay. The Art’s Factory was a fairly easy walk from the central bus and train stations and was going to my first choice. When I arrived there at around midday, a pool party was already in full swing and wherever I looked those dreadlocks were an ever present as I was shown around the five acres of grounds. A notice board advertised the days available activities as didgeridoo and fire twirling lessons amid the signs advertising the film for the day in the hostel’s very own big screen cinema. It was more of a resort then a hostel. Due to the popularity, I could only be offered a mattress in a large, pointy roofed tent. It seemed a little too alternative for me and I didn’t like the lack of security in the tepee thing and so I left the party people to it and headed back into town to look for an alternative.
Most hostels were a good distance out of town and although they included regular bus pick ups into and out of the centre, it was more then a little inconvenient walking back in the pitch black having missed the last bus, constantly looking over my shoulder for Maori on push-bikes. The hostel I chose was The Rainforest Retreat, and was adequate enough but with the boxy rooms and a small kitchen it would not be high on the list of places in a list of best stays. It did have a nice pool area and I liked being in the bush, the small clutch of buildings just outside of town were surrounded by dense forest. I could have done much worse, Tera complained to me about the hygiene of the hostel that she chose to stay at, summing it up by declaring that she felt the need to buy a new pair of sandals after using hers for the commute to the shower.
Travelling along the coastline, I was beginning to see the same faces. People I recognised from coach journeys or from hostels would catch my eye and leave me in a moment of puzzlement while I searched my brain for recognition. I got into town the day before Tera, and we arranged to meet up at the legendary backpacker bar called Cheeky Monkey’s. I was glad of the familiar company, not only was she just about the only person worse at shithead then me, but both of us were at the more mature end of the typical backpacker age group. As such we had each other to roll our eyes to when the dancing on the tables and indulgent party atmosphere got going. But being Byron Bay, we didn’t have to look too far to find a more chilled out place to see out the evening.

"I don't want any of you ending up at either of these two buildings," said Ivan, our tour guide when we arrived in Nimbin. We had booked onto a tour, the small group made up with about half a dozen others, for the trip from Byron Bay. I exchanged smiles with Tera as we looked out of the mini-bus window to see that the buildings in question were the police station and the hospital. We were well aware of the town’s reputation as Australia’s cannabis capital, but there was more to it then that. Ivan was enthusiastic with a great knowledge and interest in the local politics and he gave us a talk about how Nimbin came to be when we’d stopped just outside of town near to Nimbin Rocks.
When the right wing Australian government followed America into the Vietnam War, thousands of protesters arrived in the area for the 1973 Aquarius festival. Though a labour government was soon elected and pulled the troops out, the community retained its image as an alternative hub and issues such as environmentalism and animal rights became cause for support and raising awareness. Many of the inhabitants arrived for a few days and yet ended up settling in town. It's seen as Australia's drug capital and the government came to tolerate the town hoping it would implode, even sending convicts there hoping that the failure of such a community could be used as an example of the dangers of legalising cannabis. Instead, the locals took in the new comers and they became integrated into the society. At the last vote, the legalisation to ban dope in New South Wales was blocked by one Member of Parliament only. Ivan’s opinion was that right wing governments didn't actually mind the heroin users - they don't do anything - but they have problems with the pot smokers as they are more likely to be the people protesting against government policies.
Nimbin Rocks were some large rock formations in the hills just outside of the town. Of significance to the Aborigines, they were used as part of a coming of age ritual for the men where they would climb up the rock face and pass through two of the rock outcroppings. They would then be circumcised using no more apparatus then two hand-held rocks.
Despite the huge reputation, Nimbin is tiny and the main high street can be walked along in just a couple of minutes. And that's when running the gauntlet of the various colourful characters offering you dope. We stayed an hour and a half which was plenty of time to wander round, have a mooch through the psychedelic museum and make a stop at a cafe.
As part of the tour we stopped at Nyon falls, a beautiful secluded spot with a waterfall and accompanying waterhole. Too cold to swim, we were happy just to stare distantly at the natural beauty that surrounded us. We then moved on to a spot overlooking the region’s very low looking reservoir for a good old Aussie barbecue. It was the tastiest meal I’d had for a long time.
It was a long drive back to Byron Bay and after so much time spent on buses recently, exhaustion became overwhelming. I wasn’t the only one, the happy giggling that filled the bus on departure had subsided and everyone’s head’s lolled into unnatural angles. I didn't even notice Tera getting off when we arrived at her hostel in the evening.
I was glad that I had a few more days in Byron Bay to relax. The karma was certainly affecting me. I arrived back at the Rainforest Retreat craving crisp sandwiches, chocolate biscuits, a cup of tea and a big hug.

After a couple of days of my being in Byron Bay, there was slightly less water in the Pacific Ocean then there was beforehand. I feared that this might have caused an imbalance to the earth that may make it spin off of its axis and plummet toward the sun or career into space. Should this happen, it’ll all be my fault and all because I took my first surfing lessons. Despite my best efforts to appear like Patrick Swayze in Point Break, I was more like Patrick Moore, being wiped out countless times and hence swallowing bucket loads of the Pacific.
The problem really was that I started off too well. Our instructor ran us through the basics on the beach including how to read the waves in order to tell where the rips were and a run through of the stages we needed in order to successfully stand up. I thought I had a good understanding of the process and thought I looked pretty good. But then we were still on the beach and the boards were not being pounded by waves or moved by the strong ocean currents.
I headed out into the water, full of confidence and I managed to control the ride on my first wave to shore whilst lying on the board. I headed back out to attempt standing, and on only my second attempt, I had a degree of success, I managed to be fully vertical for all of two seconds. But I then got cocky, I thought I'd venture further out and take on some of the bigger waves, some of which were quite intimidating and a job to paddle through to get to the start position. In the deeper water, the waves just wiped me straight out. My frustration grew as time and time again I put effort into wading out with the cumbersome surfboard only to be smashed by a wave into a heap of limbs and board back toward shore. By the end of the lesson, I was physically tired and had a brand new set of cuts and bruises from hitting the ocean floor. I couldn't put my watch back on due to the swelling in my hands. It was a great fun. Despite my tired and broken body I was left wanting more as I gradually got the hang of it.
My time in Byron Bay was nearly up. On first arrival, I didn't really see why the place was so popular in many people's eyes, but after a few days I was totally sucked into the town’s laid back cool nature where time becomes irrelevant. I spent a good week in the area and even got in some quality beach time despite having the 'I'm going to the beach’ curse, whereby anytime that the sentence or the like is uttered it promptly rains. I could now see how many travellers could spend weeks and even months in Byron Bay. It was only with a great determination that I was able to get up for the early bus and watch the sunrise over the bay next to the lighthouse. The rest of my last day was spent lazing on the beach. Those were the only ambitions left that Byron Bay hadn't relieved me of.

* * *

It’s not often that overweight Australians are seen. The parks are full of joggers and the beaches are full of fit looking people surfing, playing beach volleyball or else one of the variants of the country’s many forms of football. The country’s obsession with sport is encapsulated by the sports news, which were often as long as the main news bulletins. The obesity crisis reported by the media in other western countries did not seem to be a big issue here. However, on arrival at Surfers Paradise, my first stop into the state of Queensland, I had to wonder whether the place wasn’t a dumping ground for those that could be judged as having too much excess flesh. Plate tectonic activity is causing the continent to slowly tip into the seas to the north. Maybe there was a secret plan to arrest this slide by working out a suitable position for a fulcrum and having these types of people put into place as a counterbalance. Much of Australia had reminded me of home but nowhere more so then the stretch of coastline of the Gold Coast. I could have been in any British seaside town with nightmare over-development packed with touristy gimmicks, only with more sunshine and skin cancer clinics. The hostel pick-up summed it up. I was picked up by limousine, though a little battered I still liked the thought of the locals wondering who the VIP was. Then when I got out I saw that it had the backpacker’s logo and name emblazoned across the side. It kind of ruined the effect. In the evening I got talking to David and I kindly helped him to drink his carton of beers. A short, slender New Zealander, he was yet another traveller running away from a going no-where life. He reminded me of Sylvester the cat from the tweety pie cartoons with his lisp and the slightly eccentric manner in his ways, but I liked him a lot. As well as the munificence with his beer, I found him to be open minded and very friendly, though it didn't work on the Brisbane girl’s soccer team that we met at the Shooters bar that we ended up in. David was a little naive for his age of 29, being taken for a ride by some of the girls that were only out to get him to buy them drinks. I felt sorry for him especially as it was me that was given the promise of a tour of Brisbane.
I decided to follow the girls into the nightclub next door after I’d somehow inexplicably lost David. I was worried that as I’d drunk quite a lot by now and with the reputation of the strictness of some places, I wouldn’t be able to get in. "How many have you had?" asked the bouncer. "Only a couple," I replied. "How many’s a couple?" "Two or three," I said more vaguely because I'd actually had six or seven. I looked the bouncer in the eye, well one of the four I could see on his two heads and tried not to swoon, though that probably made me wobble about more. He must have grown bored with me and he allowed me to stumble in.As a mid-to-late-twenties, single backpacker, the theme parks, tacky bars and tourist attractions of Surfers Paradise didn't interest me so instead I took a day trip to the hidden gem of South Stradbroke Island. Having read about it in my travel guide, I quickly found that it was not easy to get to and all the tourist information booths tried to sell me tours. After some investigation and chats with the hostel staff I found a way to explore it my way. After a bus ride and a good hike, I finally found the easily miss-able ferry jetty that would take me there and back for a mere $25AU. I felt I was beginning to know what I was doing with this travelling lark.
South Stradbroke Island and its northern counterpart are sand islands covered with thick rainforest. It’s a strange sight to see the dense bush growing straight out of the sand. Apart from a couple of tightly knit basic holiday resorts, there was no development to be seen when I first arrived on South Stradbroke. It plays host to tame free-roaming wallabies that are without cause to fear man. As such, I managed to get up close and pet some of the younger ones. One side of the island has a seemingly infinitely long deserted beach with the most awesome waves I'd yet seen. I spent a pleasant day on the beach, walking through the bush and playing with the friendly wallabies.
With only one ferry to and from the island each day, I needed to be sure to get to the ferry pier in plenty of time. My cunning plan of marking the beach with the correct turn off failed when the tide had come in and washed away the arrow I’d drawn in the sand. I thought I’d be OK though, I thought I knew the general direction back. I was walking back through the forest when I began to lose confidence. I was sure I hadn’t gone as far as I was on the way in. Looking around, all I could see was a sea of green. I was getting more and more lost and the 22 by 3 kilometre island seemed to be getting bigger and bigger.
I thought I was safe when I got to one of the holiday resorts, but at that point I’d thought there was only the one resort where the ferry had arrived. Inevitably, I was at the another resort and on the wrong part of the island, going up and down the waterfront questioning my own sanity about why the ferry jetty had disappeared. I must have made the day of the guy who worked behind the desk at the resort. He gave me directions once he figured out I wasn’t a lunatic and imagining things. But I had barely half an hour to run back through the sandy trails through the rainforest and along the beach to get to the other resort on already tired feet.
Adrenaline and panic can be very productive things. I would never dream of betting on myself to cover the distance through sand in less then half an hour but somehow I made it to the jetty, with just enough time to grab a much needed can of Coke at the resort bar. The laid back ferry operator took one look at my dishevelled appearance that was totally in contrast to his own cool demeanour.
“Had a nice day?” he queried.
The return ferry was actually a speedboat as most of the people that went over in the morning had elected to stay at one of the resorts and so the large passenger ship wasn’t needed. Speeding along in the boat cheered me up and helped me to forget the blisters on my feet with a thrill ride back to the mainland. It was capped off with the glimpse of a shark that briefly surfaced.