December 13, 2009

The Byron Bug

My original idea when arriving in Australia was to hang out in Byron for about a week while getting over jet lag and decompressing from the busy months leading up to the trip. I figured one week would be enough and then I would head further north up the coast to Noosa or Cairns for another week before flying to Sydney to meet my friend Danielle. 

However, when my local adventure in Byron continued after that memorable day with Tommy, I found myself pushing out a departure date further and further. Brenda, the innkeeper at Atlantic Guest House, began to hold my bed for days in advance without my request. She even began to shift expected guests to other rooms so that I could have my room to myself. I finally conceded to the fact that I clearly wasn't going anywhere else before meeting Danielle. I had caught the Byron bug.


I spent the next few days following a pattern loosely consisting of the following:
-wake up early
-chill on the beach or write
-have a big breakfast of coffee and toast with hard boiled egg, cheese, tomato, and avo
-take another surf lesson
-have a beer at the Buddha Bar
-head to another locals beach to fish
-cook a late dinner, hopefully with some fresh-caught fish
-crash

By the weekend I had swung fully into the life of Byron. I'd made friends and was getting invited to homes and functions. I helped Chris-O and his family move to their new house. Brenda invited me to pay her a visit at her holiday home in Queenstown on the south island of New Zealand, as I would be traveling through there during her stay. I felt very comfortable in Byron and was fully enjoying my holiday.


Tommy invited me to join him for another adventure that Saturday, in celebration of his birthday. We drove to Ballina, stopping for a big breakfast before taking a kayak out onto the Richmond River. We paddled our way across the salty, turquoise river to a quiet, white-sand beach to do some fishing. A tall wooden pole stood in the water nearby, hosting an osprey nest high above the water. Tommy showed me how to tie the hook and sinkers on the line and how to attach the bait, though he was kind enough to do that part for me as I stood by with a squirmy look on my face.

I cast my line out into the gentle flow of the current, standing ankle deep in warm, clear water. I waited patiently for a bite, but was having a hard time feeling the difference between pulls from the current and what I like to think were bites. Several times I thought I felt a tug, so I jerked the line and reeled it in as fast as I could, only to find nothing had even touched the bait. So, I continued to cast the line and wait.

I finally felt what I knew was a solid chomp from a fish. I quickly jerked the pole up hard and fast. I reeled the line in smoothly, feeling the pull from the struggling fish on the other end, my pole bending from the heavy weight of the poor animal. I worked hard to maintain control and lifted the pole to find a massive flathead flapping in fury!


Truth: I got tired of standing there in the hot sun waiting for nothing and decided to reel in the line to take a break. Apparently a fish caught sight of the moving bait and decided to go for it. I had no idea the fish had taken the bait and had hooked itself on the line until I had reeled it in almost completely and saw the fish on the surface of the water. It was a small flathead. Whether or not I caught the fish or it caught itself, I still had a fish on my line. IT STILL COUNTS!

The flathead was a few centimeters too small to keep, so we had to throw it back. Unfortunately the dang fish had been hooked through the eyeball. I had blinded the poor thing, but couldn't put it out of its misery. I gave up fishing for the day and went for a refreshing swim, instead.


After a light snooze under a tree, we headed back out in the kayak and paddled up river to a mangrove forest. Tommy let me put my paddle away for awhile to enjoy the peaceful scenery while he silently steered us through low hanging branches. I sat back and watched the sunbeams glimpse through the trees, illuminating the life below the water's surface. The chorus of birds, frogs, and insects swam through the thick, humid air. All was peaceful and still.

Back in Ballina, we rewarded ourselves with a large ice cream cone. I managed, as usual, to drip ice cream on my clothes and smear it on my face, much to Tommy's amusement as well as the elderly couple sitting next to us. While trying to control my cone, Tommy and I discussed the evening's plans. As it was his birthday, Tommy and his friends had planned to get together for bowling, with the added twist of dressing in all white clothing. When Tommy invited me along, I couldn't figure the novelty of dressing in all white clothing to bowl in an alley with french fries and beer. As I came to find out, we weren't bowling like Americans. Rather, we were going to play a sophisticated game of lawn bowling, enjoyed by citizens of Commonwealth countries around the world.

Tommy and I drove all around Ballina in search of an open op shop in which to purchase some white bowling apparel. Apparently, the entire town of Ballina takes the weekend off, including many retailers. After a last minute purchase of white shorts, a white top, and a large-brimmed sun hat from Target (yes, they have Target in Oz, but it's more expensive than Target in the States and has less selection), I was ready to get my lawn bowling game on.


Lawn bowling is a bit like bocce ball, but you play the game at a bowling club on a court that looks like a large putting green. Bowling clubs are as prevalent here as country clubs in the States. You must pay to be a member of these clubs, which awards you unlimited lawn bowling, or you can pay a one-time guest fee. The clubs feature, at least, numerous outdoor bowling lanes, a bar, and a restaurant. Apparently, many bowling club in-house restaurants serve Chinese cuisine. Naturally.

I was pleased to win a round of bowling, as I was new to the game and there is actually a good bit of technique and skill involved. As the bowling and drinking rounds continued, however, everyone's level of skill and sophistication began to wane, so we retired to the restaurant for some good conversation and Chinese food.

My time in Byron was quickly coming to an end, as I was due in Sydney to meet up with Danielle and fly to New Zealand. I spent my last day taking a final surf lesson, catching some good waves along with some great wipe-outs, and enjoying a feast of fresh oysters, wine, and fish curry with prawns and kingfish.

Byron Bay had been very good to me. I felt fully relaxed, and rejuvenated. I had fantastic adventures, and met some wonderful people. I thoroughly enjoyed my time there and was sad to leave. But new adventures awaited me in new places. It was time to recover from the Byron bug.

December 12, 2009

Spoiled in Whangaparaoa

I began today by waking up sprawled out in a queen-sized bed with plenty of cushy pillows. I enjoyed a leisurely breakfast with coffee, fresh fruit, muesli and yogurt, then took a dip into a warm swimming pool. I've just had a hot shower during which I fully conditioned my hair and shaved my legs, and after which I dried off using a fresh towel from a heated towel rack. I am now sitting on an open-air, wooden deck overlooking Rangitoto Island and a few of the many bays surrounding Auckland, with hot tea and a Tim Tam in hand.


I am in Whangaparaoa getting wonderfully spoiled by an extraordinarily hospitable Kiwi family, the Wotherspoons. I'm using these few days to try to catch up on emails, blog posts, photos, etc. Photos thus far into the trip have been posted to http://gallery.me.com/jessicafolkerts#gallery for your enjoyment.

For now, I must sign off to view an episode of BBC's Planet Earth on a large drop-down screen with surround sound. Life is hard.


December 01, 2009

A Taste of the Local Flavor

Someone recently informed me of the difference between backpackers and travelers. Backpackers come into town for two or three days, fill their time with tour packages and partying, and are off again to the next “hit” town.  Travelers take their time, spontaneously deciding to take one route versus another, and letting the wind carry them through their experience. I like to think of myself as a traveler, preferring to get to know the locals and the true vibe of the area. Which is exactly what I did yesterday.

Tommy, an instructor at the surf school from which I’ve been taking lessons, is originally from England, but has lived in Byron for about a year now. A couple days ago, after I’d been asking about the “real” Byron Bay, he offered to take me off the beaten track so I could see what I was craving – a taste of the local scene. I had heard of the beauty of the hinterland and the waterfalls in the nearby rainforest, but without knowing the way or being familiar with driving on the left side, I was feeling hesitant to rent a car and strike out on my own into the country. I thanked him for his offer and told him I would think it over. After all, I am a single woman traveling on my own. Letting a stranger take me to low-populated areas in a foreign land is not exactly the safest idea.

However, I am a woman who strongly believes in intuition. I had spent two surf lessons with Tommy, felt no “shadiness” in his character, and had a positive sense about him. I decided I would take him up on his offer. Of course, I did take the precautionary measure of informing my hostel roommate of my plans and of writing an email to a friend in the States, with the promise that I would write her again as soon as I returned.

The day began at 6am with the intention of viewing the sunrise from the lighthouse. Tommy picked me up at the guest house and we drove to a high point with a 360-degree view of Byron Bay. Unfortunately, we’d missed the sunrise by about 30 minutes. Nevertheless, the scene was magnificent as the early sunlight shone on the water and the misty marine layer dissipated off the hinterlands. After stopping for a “long black” at The Top Shop, we headed up the road to the lighthouse at the eastern-most point of Australia to take in the spectacular panoramic view from there.


A healthy breakfast, again from The Top Shop, consisting of warm goat cheese smeared on ciabatta bread and topped with fresh tomatoes, herbs, and parsley, gave us fuel for the trek into the hinterlands. We jumped in the car and headed out over the rolling hills through fields of livestock, macadamia and coffee plantations. The farms slowly turned into bush as we headed further inland, the temperature rising with each kilometer.

Without warning, Tommy turned the car into a small pull-off area on the side of the road. It occurred to me that we were seemingly in the middle of nowhere and I had no idea where he was taking me. But I truly had no worries. I followed him down a small dirt path to a rock ledge and looked over at a stream falling over the rocks and down about 15 feet to a deep pool below.  We were at Whian Whian Falls in Whian Whian State Forest.


Tommy stood at the rock ledge beckoning me to jump with him, assuring me that the pool is deep enough and safe to jump into. I was quite afraid of the high jump and wasn’t going to give it a go without some serious coaxing. Tommy jumped first to show me it was perfectly safe, and after some good nerve-building, I finally took the plunge on the count of three. I screamed like a little girl as my body hurdled toward the clear pool. I hit the water, came up for air, and squealed in delight over the cold water and the fact that I had overcome my fear of the jump. I felt so liberated!

A local family arrived and we all enjoyed jumping and swimming in the pool together for a bit before Tommy and I headed off to our next destination. A short drive later we were in Nightcap National Park, a subtropical rainforest full of banyan trees, odd frogs, and loud birdsongs. I followed Tommy up a trail along a small stream, stopping to take countless photos along the way. Every sound, sight, and smell was new to me.

Tommy stopped a step ahead of me, turned around, and said, “we’re going to climb for a bit, but don’t look up until I tell you to.” I had no idea what to expect, but as we climbed up the trail I kept my focus on the rocks we were scrambling over. I took a wide step onto the top of a boulder and heard Tommy say, “Ok, now look up.”

As my eyes gazed ahead and began to move slowly upwards, my mouth opened and my jaw dropped. There we stood, at the bottom of a dramatically massive rock face carved out of the earth with a waterfall dropping from the highest point to a clear pool in front of us. The rock wall seemed to endlessly reach toward the sky and the waterfall pelted the rocks below with brute force. I felt so small amidst such grand beauty.


After taking endless photos and sitting in silence to listen to the sounds of the rainforest around me, I gingerly made my way across the sharp rocks to the base of the waterfall for a bit of a shower. The water hit me with such force due to the long distance it traveled from the top that I didn’t linger for very long. I returned to the other side of the pool and dried in the sun on a flat-top boulder. I laid there like a lizard in the sun, thinking about how free and natural I feel in this environment; how invigorated my body and mind become when surrounded by nature’s glory.  

Once I’d begun to feel my skin baking, Tommy and I made our way back through the rainforest to the car. Just a short distance down the road, we arrived at The Channon Tavern (pronounced “Shannon”), a former fire house turned restaurant/bar, located in a small town in the hinterland, known as The Channon. The tavern’s owner, Clayton, chatted with us for quite some time, though I’m not entirely sure what he said. He had a thick, rural Australian accent that I could barely make out and could only liken to that of someone from a backwoods Louisiana bayou. I gathered something about brown snakes (which are abundant on the east coast of Australia and are deadly) dying from eating some type of poisonous frog, and something about $100,000 found in the town’s river. I just nodded or shook my head in response whenever I could determine it was appropriate, and asked Tommy for a translation once Clayton had disappeared behind the bar.


Tommy and I sat in the shade of the large, open porch, indulging in a bit of lunch and some cold beers while conversing the hottest hours away. I listened to the hum of what sounded like locusts rise and fall, as the river flowed lazily by. A hot wind had developed over the morning hours and was blowing the sweet smells of jacaranda, frangipani, and countless other sweet-smelling foliage that I couldn’t identify. I easily could have drifted to sleep on that porch, but we had places to go and things to do.

We headed east out of The Channon back toward the coast, the air cooling a bit with each kilometer. As we drove down a dirt road through Broken Head Nature Reserve, I could see the coastline through the trees. Bright blue water rolled into waves crashing onto white sand beaches that were entirely empty of tourists.


I followed Tommy down a steep path to Bray’s Beach, just a few small beaches south of the crowds in Byron. I could see the shore from a high point on the path, immediately noting that there was absolutely NO ONE on this beach! Despite the fact that I enjoy meeting new people and find humans altogether fascinating, I relish in solitude from time to time. Particularly when I’ve been thrust into a new country continuously surrounded by new people. I was thrilled at the opportunity for some peace and quiet.

We stayed on that beach as long as we could before the rain moved in, enjoying the surf and the sand, and of course, a few cold beers. I led Tommy in a mini, stretchy yoga session, my muscles squealing in delight after their strenuous workout in the surf lessons. I dedicated the session in my heart to gratitude for the day – for my adventures, the beauty of nature I encountered, and the good company that had shared his day with me.

I went to sleep that night with a smile on my face, knowing I had been privy to a true taste of the local Byron flavor and recognizing that I am, at heart, a traveler.