Byron Bay

Having exchanged heart-felt goodbyes with the Yamba clan, I set off 'on the road again' in our campervan - Autumn, with whom I have recently become reacquainted.
Autumn was left behind in Yamba by Luke when he made his way to Byron Bay to do his Dive Masters course. In the few weeks Autumn was with me, we made a few girly trips. One of which was a blast in Lennox Head: Four of us, two sleeping in their car, drove up to Lennox for a couple of nights. We made some great friends who owned a lovely French café. On the second night we played Ping-Pong in their weekly competition. I blame my lack of podium position on the rather large glass of Bordeaux I was sipping along-side.
Whilst staying in Yamba to work, I made weekly trips up to Byron Bay, Australia's happening, hippie town where it's all about the hazy days and lazy ways. If you know what I mean...
Each week, Luke and I would chill on the beach and eat at some of the many restaurants. Then I would return to Yamba and back to my routine of surfing, working and beach bonfires. The dilemma (what!? I hear you say)? The dilemma, was that Luke and I were really starting to miss each other. (Sic).
Aside Luke's brief stay in Yamba and my once-weekly visit to Byron, Luke and I had hardly seen each other since I left Stubbo farm, back in March so we were really starting to crave each other's company again.
I left Yamba suddenly and impulsively. Yamba had well and truly sucked me in, along with all the other 'long-termers'. I needed a quick escape and this was my opportunity. So, on the 1st July, I left. I actually managed to get the majority of good-byes in, aside my employer Greg (SMASH man), and the lovely little family I was teaching Spanish to. I do feel really guilty about that, even if they had assured me from the get go that they understood the fickleness of backpackers and that I may be prone to slipping off when the wind blew from the North. For those of you pedants out there, I did steal that one from Chocolat and I have adopted it as my excuse for chronic dissatisfaction, aka 'Itchy Feet' ever since.

Byron Bay is a very unique little town. The backpacker's Mecca of the Australian East coast. Everyone has been, or is, Byron bound.  Known by many (boys) as 'that place with the jelly wrestling club' - Aquarius, and the 'wet t-shirt competition' competitions - Cheeky Monkeys, the majority of gap year travellers* come to Byron for the party and in summertime, I can imagine that plays a large part, however, look closer and you'll discover what the locals are keen to nurture and that's the spiritual, surfy, organic, yoga fanatic, vegan friendly, Krishna curious, scuba-diving (Luke's addition) community that we have got to know a little about.

Luke scuba-dived and volunteered at the local dive shop, assisting with the preparation and dives. I've watched him often when he teaches the refresher course in the pool. He's a fantastic teacher, very patient, passionate and good-looking. I meant, err...
Whilst Luke was diving I was filling my time with long coastal walks, whale watching (12 humpbacks to-date), morning beach meditation and twice-daily sessions of yoga - Ohm. I've also caught up on quite a lot of reading. And then there's always The Game of Thrones, which is unescapable even from over the other side of the world!

We took up the 7-day-a-week-now-I-won't-ever-mop-a-floor-again hostel job upon my arrival. This gave us free board and a much needed weekly income of $400 p/w, $300 after tax. We had to arise every day at 6am to the humbling routine of sweeping and mopping the entire tiled surfaces of the hostel, uncover the pool (I implore you to attempt this in a tropical monsoon. Not easy), dry the bathroom surfaces, ready for the cleaners (never really got that part?), wipe the communal tables and unlock all the common rooms. We finished around 7.30am, enabling Luke just enough time to gobble up some oats before hitting the ocean floor for the rest of the morning. Our evening work entailed emptying of bins, covering the pool, locking the common rooms and cleaning the kitchen. The most annoying part of our role could have been eliminated had we paid better attention to the job title - Night Manager... Find me another soul who can be woken without contempt three times a night to the volume inept, drunken shenanigans of other people having fun whilst attempting a night's slumber in preparation for a 6am wake so I can shake their hand, because I sure as hell didn't demonstrate my most patient side whilst telling people to "SHHHH, for the last time' at 4am on Sunday mornings. Needless to say, 'Luke who sleeps through nuclear bombs' did not get woken quite so often. Unless a pillow was thrown in his general direction. Which it wasn't, whistles quietly...

The only sad news I have for you is that our dear campervan is up for sale. Boo-hoo. She has done us very proud, safely taking us down to the southern-most points of Australia and now up to the most Easterly. She's driven through rain, dust and scorching heat alike whilst simultaneously leaking and over-heating. She is a symphony of squeaks, rattles and bangs with a cloak of rust, rot and mould. But we wouldn't have her any other way. Well, perhaps without the leaks.
On hindsight (reading back to my first post in September 2012), we chose Autumn very quickly. We had only looked at a couple of others before deciding that we had found 'the one' and committing to the sale. We spent half our savings within the first two weeks (on the purchase of the van and essential garage work) only to be dealt a panic attack in the form of a broken down camper in a dark and drug addict ridden Coles supermarket car park, in the notoriously dangerous Baclava side of St Kilda, Melbourne. Needless to say, Not much has fazed us since then!
Looking back, would we have chosen against buying a campervan and instead settling for the popular hostel/greyhound bus route most venture down (or up, as is our case)? I'll let you know once we do a little of it over the next couple of months but for the moment, as mentioned earlier, the only thing i'd change is the leaks.
And, if we could only pass on one little piece of advise from our hard-learnt knowledge it would most definitely be to avoid where possible, if not completely, the consumption of chickpeas. Or any other form of pea or bean for that matter, unless you don't mind sharing a noxious gas chamber with your loving partner. Need I say anymore!?

*dubbed glampackers for their disproportionate spending of funds on non-essential items such as copious amounts of alcohol, trendy museli and nightly take-away pizzas.