Byron Bay

A different state, a different time zone. As we cross into New South Wales from Queensland, we move our watches forward one hour.

Often referred to as The Promised Land, Byron is the total opposite of Surfers. Just a 2 hour drive south and yet a world away; low-key, arty, a bit hippy and not a building above 2 levels high.

Staying at Byron is one of my most vivid memories from my backpacking trip in 1990 and as we drive in, I recall the defunct railway line, the originally named Railway Bar, a very posh hotel facing the beach and the beach itself where I saw one of the most amazing sunsets I have ever seen, even to this day. Except the very posh hotel (it was posh to me, as a 23 year old backpacker, and I dared not even go in) is now a very busy bar which has extended its boundary out over the front lawn and where the grassy verges of the beach were, there’s now a car park. I cannot believe it. The very spot where I sat with a take-away curry is now a Ute’s resting spot. Where I gazed along the beach, there’s now a swimming pool blocking the view. And we call this progress. I’m really getting the feeling that, wherever there’s a beautiful spot, we just go right on in and make that spot more accessible and thereby ruin its beauty. Mankind really are a stupid race, considering the size of our brains (although actually my brain seems to be shrinking by the day due to lack of use, especially compared to my girth which seems to be expanding by the day due to the amount of food and alcohol we’re consuming). One of the guides we met on Mission Beach said that mankind have the largest brains of all the animal kingdom and yet we’re the only ones who have to send our children to school for 12 years to learn how to live in the environment we’ve created and that no other animal destroys its own habitat in the way we do. I keep replaying those words in my head and they’re so true.

We’re staying at Mariners Bay (www.marinersbay.com.au), a 2 bed apartment just a 5 minute stroll from town. Will takes full advantage of this on our first night and heads into town, supposedly to watch some footy (I swear his other woman must following us down the coast, but I don’t have any proof just yet) and he miraculously ends up in the Beach Hotel (formerly the Posh Hotel) rocking to a live band til 1am.

It’s Sunday and we haven’t yet had a Sunday Session (when in Oz, do as the Aussies do), so after having watched the surfing competition and admired some buff bodies running around the beach, we head to the Beach Hotel where a band is playing at 4.30pm. Just my scene; right next to the beach, live music, a glass of wine and a seat right next to the dance floor. Maybe this particular change to the Byron Bay beachfront isn’t so bad after all.

We’ve decided to stay here for a week, which is the longest we’ve stayed anywhere on this trip, apart from Adelaide, which means we have plenty of time to explore the area. We pass through Bangalow which is a cute little one road town but we’re headed to Nimbin which, according to our Lonely Planets guidebook, is even more hippy than Byron. The trouble with the Lonely Planets books is that they’re usually at least 3 years out of date by the time they’ve been published and you’ve bought them, which is very evident here. Nimbin sounds like an idyllic little hillside village filled with happy-go-lucky residents smoking a bit of weed in the afternoon before sitting around a camp-fire doing a bit of happy-clappy. Now, the residents appear to be on something a little harder and there’s lots of glazed-eyes and shuffling movements going on. Even the lady who made our lunchtime sandwiches (who Will thought was 60 and I thought was closer to 70) didn’t seem to know what day of the week it was and struggled with an order of toasted sandwiches and fresh orange juice. Apparently, when Sydney hosted the Olympics in 2000, a lot of the local hard drug users were given cash incentives to move to Nimbin, which inevitably changed the hippy culture into a completely different scene. There’s only a handful of shops here but one offered the cheapest deals yet with mangoes at just 99 cents (45p), pineapples at $1.99 and 10 kiwi fruit for $1. Leaving with bags bulging full of fresh fruit, we decide we’re definitely glad we came, but we won’t be rushing back, unless it’s to buy some more fruit!

Bloody bowling! My back is f***ed since Brisbane and ignoring it isn’t helping. At least we’re in the right place for a massage. An hour of pummelling later (unfortunately not at South East Asian prices) and I’m starting to feel some relief but I really need to get back to doing some proper, regular exercise. I’m actually starting to miss those 7am gym sessions I used to do. And I definitely miss the muscle definition I used to have. Strange thing to miss!

There’s one thing that absolutely everyone does when they come to Byron and that’s to visit the lighthouse, the most easterly point of Australia. So we do. It’s a beautiful spot, even if it is an overcast day. I don’t manage to make it right the way down the walkway to the rocks due to my knackered, pummelled-to-death back, but Will and Ruby (who increasingly seem to be forming an A-Team whilst Harley and I sit it out in the car) trek on down and arrive back panting and sweaty. Figuring they’ll sleep well, we book the babysitters….

Ah, freedom. I’m loving travelling with the kids, loving spending time with them, but it’s so good to get some time away from them too. We’re headed back to the Beach Hotel and hoping the band are as good this time as they were on Sunday. It turns out to be a slightly different gig as a heavy-rock looking bunch of guys surprise us with some Shania Twain, a selection of wedding-reception music and even a bit of YMCA. If you can’t beat ‘em, you join ‘em in YMCAing, don’tchya?

The Railway Bar (now called the Friendly Railway Bar. Strange that, cos I remember sharing jugs of beer with other backpackers here in 1990 and that’s pretty friendly. More strange that I was drinking beer) offered another evening of live music and was only interrupted when Harley started to wilt…at 7.30pm.

As Head of Research, I’ve questioned our fellow residents over pool-side swimming as to where’s the best place to go for dinner. Rae’s at Watego Beach is amongst those recommended and I order everyone to get down there. Ah, this is what trips are made of. The most amazing food, gorgeous restaurant, right on the edge of the beach and, although ours are the only children in the place, they’re very child-friendly. A bright green tree frog even comes to join in and hops onto my hand for a while which seems to revive Harley and gives him a second wind. A moonlit walk on the beach seems in order and, by the light of the silvery moon (and the flashing light of the light house just above our heads) we head down onto the sand where Harley decides that he’s going to get onto his knees and use his two fore-fingers to draw a train track in the sand. Almost 400 feet later, he’s still going, backwards…

A re-read of all our pamphlets and booklets the next morning reveals that Rae’s is in the Conde Naste top 20 restaurants in the world. Ah, that would explain the bill…….I don’t care, it’s amongst the best food we’ve had since we’ve been away. Coming to Australia? Come to Rae’s! (I’m not even paid to say that. Must change that.)