Return to Byron Bay

I have waited long enough to tell the tale of my return to the Byron hinterlands, so without further ado, here it is...

Stepping of the plane on 1st January 2014 I was met by my friend who took me back to my home for the next couple of weeks. I've lived in Sydney before, but nothing quite compares to the Bondi bustle! I planned to stay with close friends for the two weeks leading up to my teacher training course. Oh yes... I forgot to mention, I've returned to Aus to take heed of my heart advice to follow my dreams to train as a yoga teacher!

Bondi went by in a whirl, as time does when you're having a blast. Seeing friends, studying books, sampling coffee and practicing yoga was my main agenda. As usual, the hospitality I was shown by my friends and their families was nothing short of inspiring.

On February 2nd 2014 I began my training. The course was seven weeks intensive and my fellow trainees and I ate, slept and dreamed yoga (when we weren't teaching it, practicing it or learning more about it!). The usual daily agenda consisted of a 5am rise and walk into town where we took turns either attending a yoga class or applying what we'd learned in our class hours and teaching the school's 6am public classes. The rest of the morning was spent attending workshops, submitting homework and eating delicious food. The afternoon was again scheduled around workshops, coursework and another 4pm class to take turns teaching. The average day ended around 8/9pm after a post-dinner meditation class.This was an enlightening seven weeks to say the least! Not just in learning how and what to teach but what to believe and prioritise in life in general. The course's many spiritual classes encouraged me to look into myself and search for the answers to my nagging questions: Who am I and why am I here?
I completed and passed the course in March and stayed on to take up some teaching opportunities that arose after.

Attending this course, for me, was the window to a whole other world. Prior to this course, I had begun to explore my spirituality. Having attended yoga as a student frequently over the last few years and devoured books by Ram Dass, Deepak Chopra, Khalil Gibran, to name but a few splendid authors, I had begun a journey of inner exploration - which, I might add, was rather ironic as I had traveled thousands of miles to explore but a few inches within. Alas - the Universe has it's own agenda!

I lived in Byron for five months. I met some of the most inspiring people and learned more and more about myself. I explored dinner dates with myself, as well as seeing music live on my own, though never for long! I grew in confidence though learning, writing, sharing and teaching. I began to see for myself the benefit of travel and it's ability to get you to discover the self in fast-track.

As much as I had fallen in love with Byron Shire and it's majestic scenery; alluring waters; vibrant populous and renaissance undertones, I realised that my return to Australia for a second year was one of self-development and that I had to follow the rabbit to where I would best experience that growth. I completed a 10 day Vipassana retreat then shortly after, left for the red sands and Arnhem Lands of the Northen Territories.

Darwin - The Northern Territories

A short flight from Cairns over the red, Australian bush lands of the Northern Territories will land you in Darwin. Step off the plane and, even acclimatized to the tropical heats of upper Queensland, you can begin to feel your eye balls dehydrating and your hair strands singeing. Oh - it's winter in Darwin...
My Dad always spoke of Darwin in his travels of Australia. I wanted to go there to be able to reminisce together over a beer from time-to-time. I also wanted to see the crocs and was of course inspired (as unoriginal as it is) by the film 'Australia'. You know, that one with Hugh Jackman and Nicole Kidman. Hugh Jackman showering. Ehem. What was I talking about again? Ah, yes...

One thing we hadn't really expected upon booking our flights two months ago, was just how expensive Darwin was going to be. Plagued by rich miners flying in for the working week, the city has, inconveniently, raised it's prices to squeeze every last penny from them. And, every other unfortunate soul who ventures up north, budget backpackers included. Surrendering to the evidence that we weren't going to get a hostel room for less than $33 p/p per night, we elected the cheapest (and only available) one we could find - Dingo Moon, a converted motel circling a pool which is shaded by the hugest and most pungent frangipani tree I have ever seen!
Upon arriving in Darwin we were both handed booklets for all manner of tours and venues, so that same night we landed, clutching our vouchers, we walked to the waterfront where we got BOGOF glasses of red wine to accompany the fiery-red Darwinian sunset.
On day two we awoke to a banquet breakie... croissants, cereal, muffins, tea and coffee and fruit. All free! We fueled up then explored the city on foot, true to our usual reckies. In the evening we walked down to the much anticipated night markets where, after enjoying the magnificent sunset accompanied by a bottle of wine, we bought market food and perused the stalls.

Walking back from the markets we were handed free drinks and $5 pokies vouchers for the casino 'SkyCity'. We decided to take the casino up on it's generous and purposely enticing offer and poked (no pun intended) our heads in on the way back. One vodka soda, g&t, beffuzled pokie participating hour later, we each put $10 down on the blackjack table... Fortunately we left $90 up on the house. Although granted, we realised this wasn't the most reliable way of earning whilst, rather broke. He he he. Life's a gamble, as they (the gamblers) say!

On Saturday 27th we saw crocs!
There is actually a reptile zoo in the centre for which you can pay $35 each to see huge, lethargic and depressed looking crocs floating in small tanks. Needless to say, we decided against supporting that establishment and booked a river cruise on the Adelaide river instead.
In keeping with the rest of our independent travels, we hired a car for the day and booked up our own action-packed agenda...

Luke spear throwing (impressingly accurately!)

In the morning we went on an aboriginal cultural tour, 'Pudakul'. We had to drive a little way down a dirt track (shh - don't tell the hire company!) to reach a small open area next to a small lake, or 'billabong'. There we met another couple booked in for the experience and promptly waited together in the heat of the wilderness for our native guides. We were greeted by "DD", a young aboriginal girl of 18 who has been leading the tour since she was 12. She initiated the tour with a head wetting which blesses any non-natives to their specific Kakadu people and protects us from any malicious spirits or animals. The wetting entailed DD's skillful spitting of billabong water from her mouth onto the tops of our heads. From the opening, we were led down a small pathway through the native flora where DD educated us on some of the plants traditionally used be her people for medicine, food, water supplies, natural dyes and craft. The aboriginals enjoy a vast diet of fruits and vegetables alongside different animal wildlife. Some of the meats they consume are very high in oily fats which, when consumed regularly, coat the skin with a thick oily layer and act as a natural spf. These indiginous birds are protected in Australia and by law, only the native aboriginals can hunt them for their meat.
We were introduced to her father, Graham, further down the track who showed us how to play the digeridoo. They make them by seeking out termite-induced, hollowed trees - tapping trunks with a stick is the tried and tested method, then cutting them down, painting them and finally getting around to playing them. Digeridoo playing is considered a male past time.
We learnt 'dilly' bag weaving techniques, carried out by the women in the communities, in between meal preparations.
There is a very clear law system within the communities, regulated by the elders. One of the many that was explained to us was that of the discipline stick, used for, well... disciplining?!
We were shown how to throw spears using launchers. Luke proved to be quite the natural at this and went all Dundee on us, hitting the target spot on.

In the afternoon we boarded The Adelaide Queen and cruised down the Adelaide river marveling at the abundance of crocodiles looming up out of the murky waters. The ship's crew bring along enticing chunks of meat and hang them from rods just above the water. When a croc makes his first attempt at an easy snack the crew raise the rod as he sinks begrudgingly down again. On his second attempt, the savvy croc slithers up with momentum from directly underneath the not-so-enticing rotting fleash and easily clears the surface with his back legs. Splashing back down with his reward, he submerges once again into the muddy depths. Luke and I were amazed at the number of crocs awaiting their 3pm snack and, of course, relieved that it wasn't us...

Darwin was an educational and pretty impressive experience.
With our travels nearing an end we felt recharged and ready to dedicate time toward selling Autumn and making the long journey back to Sydney for some last-minute souvenir gathering!

Cairns - The Great Barrier Reef

Having been rather stationary for a few months (as far as travelling goes), Luke and I spontaneously booked some Jetstar sale flights up in a hasty attempt to see more of this huge continent before leaving in two months to go back to the UK.
The most of our travelling has been by campervan which has ticked all our boxes as far as adventure and convenience goes, however, budget-wise, we are now very much experiencing 10 months without a tangible income and the fuel here, like most other things, is NOT cheap!
On Cairns-flight eve, we decided to stay the night in Brisbane airport in order to be at the airport ready for our 4am check-in. We undoubtedly had the worst night's sleep since our ghastly, broken-down experience in St Kilda Melbourne... Not only did we manage to overlook that our 'perfect nesting spot' was in fact under a disguised air-conditioning unit so that, upon waking from our pathetic hours sleep we felt cold to the bone, but also, we somehow managed to forget to buy in comfort-food supplies, rendering us not only frozen, numb and sleep deprived, but also hungry for something more than roasted nut mix. We weren't the best of pals that night or the following morning. Rookies.
Anyway.

A tropical flower in the botanic gardens

We arrived in Cairns to a barmy tropical morning. Having rescued our dwindling sugar levels with a measly handful of sultanas each, we survived the hour's wait for our complementary shuttle bus to Nomads hostel. Having arrived, food shopped and FINALLY eaten a decent meal, we rested our weary heads on the grass beside the town's Esplanade lagoon. Friends reunited.
The following day I finally dedicated my morning to completing my Australian tax return online. Unfortunately, after devoting hours to the cause, I wasn't able to submit it as they are apparently, waiting on my 'Shared Secret Information' which can be made available from any time up until the end of August by my employers. Not handy when you're a budgeting traveler living on avocado sandwiches. So, with this unfortunate turn of events I was finally forced to make the humble phone call back home. Damn. One day I will be a fully independent, functioning adult. I promise.

Cairns is another popular destination along the East Coast. Most famously for The Great Barrier Reef. We like to think we saved the best for last. It's also winter in Australia now, which for a tropical climate means dry season, which to us, means guaranteed hot sunshine. We are now on our third consecutive summer in a row and still not missing winter.

On our to do list for Cairns was predominately a snorkelling trip to the Great Barrier Reef.
Luke's grandmother, known by most as 'Moosie', provided us with the contact details of some good friends of hers in Port Douglas, an hour up the coast from Cairns. Having been quite the adventurers themselves, we should have guessed that Luke's grandparents' friends would be so too... These friends were in fact the owners of Poseidon, the most highly regarded dive yacht of The Reef. A rather nifty stroke of luck, we thought!
We had sent a post card a few weeks in advance of our arrival, hoping to visit the couple and catch up over tea on some of their no doubt, remarkable travel stories they shared with Luke's grandparents. When we phoned them upon arrival, they offered us a truly fantastic deal on their yacht which, at the time, we had no idea just how famously regarded they were. After graciously accepting their offer, we booked in for our day trip to The Great Barrier Reef.

The Great Barrier Reef
The early rise wasn't the slightest struggle on Tuesday 23rd July. With the arrival of our hugely anticipated day, excitement was definitely in the air. We had hired a car the evening before and gathered our 'on the road' snacks ready to hit the road pronto. The drive from Cairns to Port Douglas would turn Jeremy Clarkson a deep shade of emerald - The beautifully maintained roads snaking amidst a glassy turquoise ocean to our right and tropical rainforest to our left.
We arrived in Port Douglas around 8am and treated ourselves to a coffee from the marina. We were greeted aboard our vessel, The Poseidon' with smiles and welcomed with tea and muffins.

The Poseidon set off shortly after everyone had boarded for the first dive site. We were given a quick briefing on what not to touch - essentially everything, as it's obviously a protected Eco-system, then ushered toward the stern and invited to jump into the 25C glassy water...

In my opinion, you have never 'seen it all' when it comes to marine life. The coral alone came in hundreds of varieties, not to mention the thousands of colour variations. Initially, the sight was overwhelming. Nature defies our rules of colour coordinates, electing favourably to paint itself pink and yellow, orange with purple spots, blue and green stripes... You name it, nature's wearing it! The fish are no different to this rule. Parrot fish are just as the name suggests. They have hard beak-shaped teeth to gnaw at the hard coral which, by the way, is so hard and sharp that the slightest touch of a flipper against it creates deep scratches in the hard plastic. They are luminescent shades of pink, orange, green, yellow and blue and are about the size of your average toddler!
We saw molluscs of every shape and size, sea cucumbers the size of draught stoppers and what seemed like the entire congregation of Nemo's family. And some.
You are told to look out for clown fish, angel fish, grouper and whales sharks but the majority come to investigate you before you even begin. What a spectacle.


A few times a year, the tide goes out far enough that the top of the reefs are actually out of the water. Some of the branch-like coral does actually emit a powerful toxin while out the water and actually becomes carnivorous toward, smaller, marine life (phew). The best was, in our opinion, left until last and having enjoyed three hours worth of snorkelling for the day, we were finally called back aboard for the return journey to port.
Unfortunately we weren't able to catch up with Moosie's friends as one had had an operation and was recovering. We plan to pay them a visit and flood them with thanks again in person some day soon.

The rest of our time in Cairns was spent trekking around the beautiful botanic gardens, which was our first of the tropical variety. We must have walked a 20km round walk one day, encompassing the mountainous parameter of the park, amid humid flora. The air was thick and salty and every tree appeared to perspire some kind of glistening sap-like residue. Like everything else in the tropics!
We treated ourselves to an impromptu dance and drink one night, enjoying views of the harbor. It was so nice to be wearing thin clothing at late hours. It really did feel like the holiday we so desperately needed from our holiday after all!

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.

Flying solo - Yamba

Date of arrival: Tuesday 9th April
Date of departure: Saturday 1st June
Coordinates: -29.43712 153.360, NSW
Soundtrack: Alexi Murdoch, All My Days/ Breathe (I recommend listening to these on iTunes/YouTube while reading)

'I must be willing to give up what I am in order to become what I will be' - Albert Einstein

A very new but good friend gave me some wise advice before I left the UK. She had just got back from travelling herself and encouraged me to have a few 'yes days'. Esentially, days which urge us to respond to arising opportunities with a simple yes and follow through accordingly. Easy right? But think how many times a day you say no and reel off a list of excuses of why you've got to do this and that or get here/ there for a specific time. Constantly rushing. Rarely slowing down enough to concentrate on the thing you're actually doing because you're already thinking about what needs to be done next. When I think about it, I actually say no quite a lot.
Cue Yamba.

I arrived in Yamba at noon by car. Robyn and Phil kindly gave me a lift up from Sawtell. I checked in with Justin, one of the family who owns the YHA. His brother, Shane, lent over his shoulder and told me that his famous 'Ten Buck Tour' was setting off at 1pm. I had an hour to eat lunch, dump my stuff in my room and get back down. My first "yes" was put to test.
A little background information on Shane's famous tour is imparative at this point. A friend I met in Newcastle got to Yamba a few days before me, whilst I was still in Coffs. She had told me how pretty Yamba was and how if I chose to stop there (my original plan was to go straight to Lennox) I had to go on Shane's tour. Fraustratingly, I can't reveal too much about Shane's tour. The beauty is in it's surprise, it's a little bit of silly genius and I can't spoil it for the next backpacker. I can say it involves a good deal of adrenaline, cliff jumping, laughing, crying and certainly some suprises. It's also great to go on Shane's tour if someone has personally been on it and emplored you to go on it. Even better still if Shane recalls your referee. Sorry for all the cryptic.
Anyway, after Shane's tour, which finished around 5pm I had a shower and put my face on for the party downstairs (by this point I was easily reeling of the "yes'"!).

It's not unheard of for a little bit of drinking to go on in the evening in Yamba. It's pretty much compulsary after a standard day. In fact a typical day in Yamba usually consits of the following agenda:

6-7am. Wake up. Brush teeth. Moan about hangover. Vow not to drink for a week. Breakfast & coffee (maybe two of the latter). Don swimwear/ wetsuit. Head to the best beach according to the swell/ wind. Surf. Do this for hours. Do this with friends and on some days with dolphins. Yes, surf with dolphins right next to you. And probably sharks, but don't look for those... Oh look, it's a miracle - the hangover has gone!
12pm. Lunch. Gorge ravenously - surfing all morning!?
1-4.30pm. Afternoon surf session or cliff jumping if the wind has changed too much. Or, skate session/ walk along beach listening to music/ film (if you're boring)? Basically, free time to do whatever you decide will be the most fun. Unless you're one of the (un)lucky people who have scored some work hours here in Yamba, in which case, work. Snore.
5-7pm. Happy hour at the YHA. Break morning vow. Oh dear.
7pm onwards. Live music, of which there has been some amazing bands, Finding Harold Bloom and Dubbaray to name a couple. Lots of dancing and drunken shenanigans and invariably, a big beach bonfire to cap it all off. With a little more alcohol thrown in for good luck. Sorry mum.

I was fortunate to meet a great guy in Shaun when I arrived here, I won't big him up too much though, he has a big enough ego as it is (har-har). He managed a Spanish tapas bar up the hill and employed me on my 5th day. At this point I had about $50 to my name. Luke had transfered over some of his savings from the UK to our joint account but that would just be cheating.
I worked at the tapas pretty much every day from then until it closed on Sunday 28th April. I enjoyed the work at the tapas, not to mention the tequila shots and free dinners! The work paid for my accomodation and food bills the first couple of weeks. It was quite sad to say goodbye to Shaun when he left for Sydney to manage the tapas restaurant there for the same owners. I met the owners actually, they were lovely and offered me the opportunity to work for them there or at least the security of knowing I could get some work somewhere, if ever needed. The tapas closed down because of their success with their Sydney venues and the arrival of a new little person in this world. They have their hands full enough already without having to manage another restaurant 8 hours away. The locals all miss it though.

I was then employed one day a week by the sailing club's commedore who also runs a skills based programme for primary schools called SMASH. I travelled down to Grafton on Fridays with him and helped set up a 14 base circuit with a variety of different skill-set activities where I then taught my own classes! It was so much fun working with the children. I can see how teaching is rewarding in that most of the children made such fast and noticable progress. Very rewarding indeed!
Along with the Friday work I was also teaching Spanish to two beatuful little boys on Monday afternoons and filling the rest of my down time with cleaning work at the hostel, to earn my accomodation. So the agenda then became:
6-7am. Wake up. Brush teeth. Moan about hangover. Vow not to drink for a week. Morning Surf/ run/ walk. Breakfast & coffee (definitely two of the latter!).
10-12pm. Clean hostel.
12pm. Lunch. Gorge eve more ravenously than the weeks before!
12.30-2.30pm. Clean.
3-5pm. Grab snack and down to beach for second surf/ walk.
5-7pm. Happy hour. Vow broken. Cold beer and SIT DOWN!
7pm onwards. Live music. Beer pong spectating (promise). Bed (10pm?).
Phew! When I eventually left Yamba for Byron I was in need of a good break to recover from all the Yamba madness!

I celebrated my 24th birthday in Yamba amongst my lovely Yamba family. Luke tripped down from Byron, where he was in full swing of his dive masters course and I had the most remarkable day. It started with a little drizzle (heavy Aussie rain) but my day brightened after I surfed in on my best wave at Turners with my friend Hanneke. When we made our way back out again I was honoured with birthday greetings from the dolphins. (Don't worry, I'm not THAT ego-centric but a girl can at least dream!). At the end of my day, after a lovely picnic with Luke and a gourmet dinner in a romantic restaurant in Angourie, I was 'surprised' (monumentally - to the point of near heart-attack) by the Yamba clan in the upstairs common room. With all my lovely friends present, I was bestowed a fabulous, home-made organic dark chocolate and ginger cake. I don't think I could have asked for a better day or nicer people to celebrate with.

In Yamba, time appears to slow down. There's too much fun to be had now to be thinking about tomorrow and aside the morning hangover, only the fondest of memories for yesterday. During my stay i've met some really amazing people that I know i'll stay in touch with beyond my travels here in Australia. They've become my surrogate family. The Yamba family. It was a bit sad to say goodbye to this place but I have learnt to accept that moments should be embraced and ejoyed for what they are then happily and willingly let go of, ready to accept the next one. I realised this in Yamba and that's why it will always hold a special little place in my heart.

Adieu, Yamba.

Flying solo - Coffs Harbour and Sawtell

Coffs Harbour
For those travelling along the east coast who endeavour to venture off the usual route, courtesy of the Lonely Planet Guide's understandably summarised recommendations, there are a good few little gems that await discovery.
I'm not going to proclaim Coffs Harbour is one of these. On the contrary, I was a little disappointed with my visit there, however (there's always a but), Coff's neighbour Sawtell was, for me, a different experience altogether.

Coffs Harbour from the look-out point

So as not to be a hypocrite (having just criticised the LPG) and state my disappointment for a place without at least providing back up in the means of my own personal experience, here's a brief summary of my stay in Coffs, before I move on to Sawtell. Turns out I am a hypocrite after all...
I arrived at Coffs on Friday (5th Apr) evening. It was dark and pouring with rain (of the sub-tropical variety, none of that English piddly stuff us Brits are used to).  The YHA in Coffs is very large and on my visit, very quiet. There wasn't so much as a hello from my room mates, merely an inaudible grunt from a day sleeper I had disturbed upon putting my heavy bags down. The kitchen was a bit grimy and the hobs weren't working due to a routine (so I learnt) theft of kitchen lighters. Again, there wasn't much conversation here either. The lounge room was empty, bar one person plugged-in to their laptop, skyping back home. Probably moaning about the lack of conversation in the hostel.
I ate an uncooked dinner and decided to walk to the town jetty to get some fresh air and shake the feeling of dread. It's really strange how first impressions can shape our emotions. I have always been an emotional person, quick to judge and, shamefully, sometimes negatively so. It appears to be of paramount importance that I arrive somewhere new under idealistic conditions which I have come to learn most inexperienced travellers do. We all learn, right?
I phoned Luca whilst aimlessly wondering in the dark toward the jetty. The harbour looked nice, from what I could make out and the evening, whilst certainly wet, was nicely mild. No one appeared to be dinning out in Coffs on a Tuesday night. I haven't yet mustered the courage to drink at bars on my own. I walked back to the hostel and sought my secret weapon (always have one of these whilst travelling)... My sachet of instant hot chocolate.
I sat down in the common room with Irish Sean, my friend and travel companion from Pt Macquarie. He turned to me and said, 'This place is rubbish, there's no atmosphere and no one talks, I hate it here already and we've only just got here'. Another quick yet justified judgement! I recommended a hot chocolate. He opted for the solo drink in a nearby bar...

The next morning I got up and walked to Mutton Bird Island. One of the few recommended things to do in Coffs. I started my walk in the drizzle and ended it in torrential rain. I could hardly see my hand in front of my face, let alone the beautiful, picturesque sea views the LPG promised me. On a positive note, walking in heavy rain is very fun when you fully commit to it - coming to think of it, my mum always enjoys a good walk in the rain.
I skipped the morning shower (nature had provided that one free of charge) and gobbled up some breaky. Sean and I walked into town via the Botanic Gardens whilst enjoying a second cold shower. Note to self: Do not wear big woolly jumpers in the rain, they are not waterproof and they do not self drain, I bared great resemblance to a chimpanzee toward the end of my walk, practically dragging my water-logged sleeves behind me. The borrowed bin bag hood was effective but hardly attractive - unless you're into the KKK thing? Hardly.
The town is about a 5km walk from the jetty. It's OK. Nothing out of the ordinary. Got a good coffee and another emergency subway and made my way back to the hostel where I was picked up by my knights in shining armour, Phil and Robyn.

Sawtell
15km South of Coffs Harbour is a small little town called Sawtell. The beaches are beautiful, the houses neat and humble and the high street quaint. Everyone was friendly and best of all was my accommodation.
Bruce, our Stubbo farmer had provided me with contact details for his sister-in-law and her husband. They picked me up from the hostel (I was sad to say goodbye - not) and bought me back to their beautiful house in Sawtell, where they had kindly prepared their guest house for me. The guest house was at the bottom of their garden complete with bedroom, kitchenette and bathroom. A welcome change from the over crowded 10 bed hostel dorms I have become accustomed to.
The three of us had dinner together and enjoyed a good natter. Phil is a physics professor and Robyn a secondary school maths teacher. A little clout between the two of them, that's for sure.
On Sunday morning I walked the 15km beach trail from Sawtell to Coffs. The walk was amazing. No incredible. To be honest, words don't do any justice, look at the photos.
I arrived at Coffs to a lovely little market by the town jetty, which contrary to the day before, was pleasantly sunny and pleasingly full of life and bustle. I got a juice and browsed around a little then met Robyn in town after lunch. I admit to lounging around quite a lot that evening, without the least guilt - feeling justified after my mammoth walk. I was teated to another big dinner and got in an early night.
On Monday I cooked us all omelet, which I really had to argue the pleasure of. Robyn and Phil are extremely hospitable (and stubborn) hosts!
I spent the entire day on the beach reading and swimming, breaking only to walk up into the town to enjoy a yummy lunch and coffee. I am also a little ashamed but excited to report back on my first swim in the ocean since getting back to the coast from the farm. The water in upper NSW is really warm! What a pleasant surprise. The water in southern NSW isn't exactly cold but it's definitely a refreshing experience that we've got used to.
I was kindly offered a lift to my next destination by Robyn and Phil. They assured me that they were due a road trip and were planning on spending the night in Iluka, the neighbouring town to Yamba, which is where I am currently and indeed the reason behind my recent radio silence.

With special thanks to: Robyn and Phil for my wonderful stay in Sawtell. The favour will be very happily repaid upon your next visit to Europe. And yes, I will drag you round the Natural History Museum. And yes Phil, we will watch lots of Dr Who!

Flying solo - Port Macquarie

For me there was an notable change in climate from stepping on the train at Newcastle and alighting five hours later in Port Macquarie. I arrived around 7pm to a humid subtropical evening. The sound of birds fremescent and rhythmically accompanied by the cicadas. There's palm trees everywhere, a welcome change from the usual, humble eucalypt.
 

Cheeky and his pal Groodle

I was given some rough directions toward my hostel and arrived about fifteen minutes later at Ozzie Pozzie, a YHA backpackers. The hostel has been added to over the years creating a network of traveller's nests bordering various covered courtyards. There's a pool and ping-pong tables and a TV room complete with an overflow of old VHS classics (I watched The Beach, again). The potted palms and a few beautifully painted murals really bring the tropics into the hostel. Waking up each day is like stepping into the rain forest to brush your teeth.
A long-term resident here is a rainbow lorikeet called Cheeky. And he is just that... I recommend introducing yourself first to the feathered friend before attempting to walk past him barefoot, if he's hopping around on the floor he takes to bee-lining towards your pinky toe to remind you of your manners!

I think I've done the most amount of walking from day to day since our arrival in Aus. I awoke early on Wednesday and decided to follow the Hastings river up to the mouth and then hike the coastal walk. At the mouth of the river Hastings is a large section of painted rocks which has been added to over the years, tides of travellers artistically marking their passing through with mutations of the common 'I woz ere' catchphrase. I admired them for a long while.

The coastal walk is where it gets interesting. Picture an entrancing illustration from a children's fairy tale book and you'll be halfway toward imagining the majestic surroundings. The narrow, cobbled path weaves unevenly up and down and in and out of the multiple coves along the Port Macquarie coastline. Indigenous flora is unyielding and in abundance. The native animal life noisy and curious. For most of the walk you can't see civilization (apart from the occasional Surf Life Saving Club and convenient toilet) and, if I'm honest, once further on from the town beaches, you're blissfully alone and in awe of the crashing ocean, sandy beaches and dense, mossy, emerald-green rain forest. Complete with mosquitoes, of course!
On Thursday I managed to make it the whole way to Lighthouse beach which is well worth the distance to see it. From the lighthouse hill you can easily see all the way along the 9 km curl of white sand and turquoise ocean.

$5 hired me a bicycle from the hostel and with it I cycled to the koala hospital, which admits between 200 to 250 'patients' a year. The hospital is open 365 days a year, staffed by volunteers, with the exception of the vet and leaf pickers. They manage to run the hospital on donations alone. National Geographic have released an hour TV documentary, 'Koala Hospital', available for purchase which also helps donate funds to the hospital and help prevent the threat of extinction to the most beloved marsupial. We were given a brief run through of each of the current patients, their reason for admission to the hospital, their treatment and ultimate outcome.
Most koalas are treated and successfully reintegrated into the wild. Others have become regular visitors, the 'clumsy' ones. I was interested to find out that there's around 800 different species of eucalypt in Australia. The koala species eats only around 50-60 varieties, determined largely by their geographic upbringing. Mummy koala passes an enzyme found in her poop to her baby and with this enzyme the young koala can then successfully digest that species of eucalyptus. In aboriginal dialect, koala means 'little water' and are aptly named as they require little additional water to that of the content they obtain from the leaves. Due to this, aboriginals believed killing a koala would bring on a perilous drought. The koalas are really cute and at 3pm a group of visitors and myself get to see the koalas being fed their milk. They're really cute.

On Friday I walked around the Kooloonbung creek national park. The deafening screeches in the trees above belong to thousands of flying foxes, hanging around upside down. At first I got excited spotting a few then realised they were everywhere... I then became quickly concerned with where their poo was falling, which I can assure you, had no relevance to the direction their bottoms were pointing! The creek is more like a swamp with temperate rain-forest thick vegetation. I could imagine walking there to cool off on hot days. I saw a huge goanna lizard on the path as well.

I left the hostel at 3pm with a jammy lift I managed to score a few days before. Sam is a lovely trainee nurse who lives in Coffs Harbour and offered to take me and Sean, another back-packer, with her. The petrol contribution was easily a third of the cost of a bus fare. We explored Southwest Rocks en route too. Thanks Sam!

Flying solo - Newcastle

Newcastle - Shortland Esplanade

I hopped on the train from Sydney Central station at 11am and arrived around two hours later in Newcastle. Having not pre-booked a hostel for the night, my first challenge was to make sense of the small map in my Lonely Planet and find one. This was certainly my first experience as a real backpacker (as opposed to the rubber tramping Luke and I are accustomed to!). Arriving somewhere entirely new, on my own, hungry (2pm and no lunch), homeless and carrying my weight in belongings, I was thrilled. And this is no sarcastic witticism, I was genuinely ecstatic. I won't lie however, my happiness was certainly heightened upon finding a Subway...

After ravenously scoffing my sarnie I walked purposely and without direction toward the hostel/ hotel neighbourhood, confident of my chances. I checked for my first time at a YHA and was very pleasantly surprised, despite my father's constant advice on the benefits of being a YHA member... Ever learning the hard way (cue dad's eye roll).
I walked along the Shortland esplanade and up a steep and winding path to Stzelecki scenic lookout. The views of Newcastle from up here are outstanding. I missed Luke and wished he was there to share it with me but the vista is truly euphoric so the missing part may have been somewhat short lived - sorry Luca. Love you!
 At the lookout point I spotted a congregation of skydivers and their equipment. Whilst their general vibe was somewhat disappointed due to the blatant lack of wind, we still chatted enthusiastically about Bill Moyes, who I had met a week prior (see my previous post Flying solo - Bondi). I'm sure when traveling you have these bizarre and seemingly remarkable re-acquaintances because you're looking out for them, that is, you're exposed to so many more people and different experiences than you would be in every day 'routine', that you have much greater chance of encountering the same people again. That, and much more time on your hands to look out for them. I stayed in a girls dorm for the first time in Newcastle and discovered the social side of solo travel. It's much easier to spark a conversation with someone when you're on your own. It's also crucial you do otherwise you could find yourself feeling a little too solitary.

On Tuesday morning I walked up to Nobby's Lighthouse and took pictures of the contrasting views of Newcastle. From Nobby's you can see a certain Brightonesqness* of the foreshore to your left and the industrial coal mining precinct to your right, broken up by some serene park land and a little city centre in the middle.

I spent the rest of the morning speed-walking the city and looking around the Art Gallery where I stumbled upon a great painting by Brett Whiteley called 'Summer at Carcoar'.
After eating a rushed lunch I got on my ContryLink train, destination Port Macquarie, a mere 5 hour trip ahead of me. Fortunately I was sat next to a dairy farmer who maintained a steady manipulation of air waves, for most of the duration. Now insert sarcastic witticism - I feel as if I have been truly educated on the process of milking cows. I was pretty surprised to hear that dairy cows produce between 30-35 liters of milk a day. Tell that to all those marathon runners complaining about nipple chaffage...
When my new dairy farming companions left at their stop, I was then nicely rewarded with the honor of entertaining two young children who had taken to throwing paper cups around the carriage (5 hours for a kid must be an eternity!). My remaining hour went by in a flash of 'eye-spies', 'name an aminal** starting with the letter...' and 'try to decipher this modern-contemporary art drawing without offending' challenges.

*complete with fish n' chips and ice cream parlors but with the wonderful addition of the Ocean Baths, white sand, surfers and most importantly, SUNSHINE.
**miss-type intended, bless 'em