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.