Driving from Port Macquarie to Byron Bay took approximately eight hours. Driving for such extended periods of time became somewhat of a game for me at this point. Like I was trying to set some sort of Mazda Tribute land speed record.
We arrived later in the afternoon, sorted out our accommodation for the evening and decided to check out the town. We stumbled across an amazing restaurant called Mokha, located at one of the entrances to a shopping arcade in the town centre. There was live acoustic music playing in the background with a very mellow tone.
The dishes ordered were wahoo with avocado and sweet tomato relish and paella. Probably the most amazing meal we had on the entire trip. For those of you not in the know, wahoo is a type of fish.
Naturally, it was only fair to explain to the Crazy Canadian that the reason the fish is named ‘wahoo’ is because of the sound it makes as it jumps out of the water after it has eaten every meal. This makes the wahoo particularly easy for fishermen to catch, because all they have to do is throw bait into the water and wait patiently for the fish to eat, jump out of the water, scream “Wahoo!” and then it basically jumps straight into a net.
OK. It was working up until that point. I managed to sell the idea well enough, up until I said that they actually screamed “Wahoo!” and then the Crazy Canadian caught onto the fact that I was taking the piss.
After dinner, we had heard some loud doof-doof music playing somewhere nearby and decided to check it out. Again, we stumbled across this place entirely by accident – a rooftop transformed into an open-air nightclub, art exhibition and cinema for the evening. Admittedly, a lot of the focus was on the music. The roof was fairly busy, with a number of people dancing around and some oddly placed, frequently misused bongo drums. The DJ seemed quite talented, but I don’t know what methods DJs utilize these days and I’m perhaps unfairly comparing him to DJs I’ve seen do live sets before.
The art exhibition part of it was showing off local talents, with one particular artist who replaced people’s heads with birds in all his drawings, which made for some interesting interpretations and social commentary.
They were showing Baraka on the projector. For those of you that haven’t seen it, it’s like a high-definition screensaver. I shouldn’t joke about it, though, as it actually has some very stunning imagery and tries to capture as much of the world as possible. I’ve watched the film on blu-ray, and the transfer is one of the better examples of high-definition media. As tempted as I am to start discussing the difference of an 8K restoration versus the formats we’re used to watching and the relatively low pixel counts by comparison, I’ll get back to the night spent dancing on a rooftop in Byron Bay.
One pity about people watching Baraka in this way is that they didn’t get to experience the soundtrack, featuring the vocal stylings of Lisa Gerrard and Dead Can Dance, which is equally as haunting as it is captivating.
Instead, people were hearing dubstep (I still don’t get how dubstep became a ‘thing’, seriously) and awkwardly banged bongo drums occasionally. The thing about me dancing is – well, I don’t dance usually. And when I do, there’s usually some grand level of inebriation to thank. But for the sake of my company, I made the best effort I could.
Here’s the problem. Dancing to music you enjoy is easy, because generally listening to music you find appealing releases some sort of endorphin or induces a state of pleasant, happy well-being-ness. Therefore, you’re in a relaxed state and kind of feeling your movements as opposed to forcing them out of you.
Trying to dance to music you don’t enjoy just ends up looking awkward and forced. I learnt this that evening. That said, what passes as ‘dancing’ these days I found equally as puzzling. One guy looked like this – imagine it if you can – from his feet to his kneecaps was filled with sand and the rest of him was some sort of inflatable device that was being beaten around the head with a bat and consequently flailing about in all manner of directions, only to bob back up occasionally to correct itself before being beaten in another direction by said bat.
We left sometime after midnight and decided to go and check out the beach, as the social life of the town was quite active. We arrived at the beach on the last night of Schoolies. I secretly did a dance of joy in my head knowing that we were due to arrive in the Gold Coast after Schoolies had officially finished.
The next morning, we travelled up the coastline, along the very nice tree-lined roads until we reached the Byron Bay lighthouse.
Apparently, the beacon was the greatest in the Southern Hemisphere at the time it was built, shining some 50km out to sea. I imagine this would be an epic pain in the arse if you lived within 5km of it, though. You’d either feel like someone kept shining a really bright torch through your window as you were trying to sleep, or the police were constantly after you, but were only able to use their silent, invisible helicopter.
I can now also say that I’ve been to…
Unfortunately, I wasn’t feeling the Easter vibe at all. No rabbits. No chocolate eggs. No Jesus. Disappointing.
After that, we explored what the town had to offer. I’d use some adjective like ‘quaint’ to describe the town, but I don’t like being the type of person who uses the word ‘quaint’ so flippantly.
Joking aside, it’s a really nice, alternative town. You can’t help but get swept up in the vibe. For reasons unknown to me, every store assistant or merchant seemed to know exactly where they sourced their products from and were forthcoming about it too. We purchased lunch at a placed called Ozy Mex. The Crazy Canadian ordered a fish burrito, and when she asked what was in it, the woman politely (and almost apologetically) replied, “We source our fish from Vietnam. However, it’s not a fish farm. It’s completely organic and self-sustaining, so there are no hormones in it.” Whereas, she just wanted to know what was actually in it. Either way, I liked the fact that everyone there seemed willing to share information regarding where products have been sourced from. It didn’t matter where we were, either. Clothes, jewellery and even iPod speakers were all accounted for in terms of their point of origin. I almost felt like asked where they got sunlight from, just to see whether someone would bite.
There was a legal service near the outskirts of town. I swear, the breadth of the crimes committed there must consist of teenage misdemeanour’s, marijuana possession charges and drunk driving (which technically shouldn’t exist within the town, because you can walk just about everywhere).
In closing, I’ll mention the cliff faces near the lighthouse. Some of the rock formations there are absolutely stunning. If I posted photos of it, it would just look like a bunch of rocks and a wasted photo. So should you ever go to Byron Bay, please do check out the cliff faces up near the lighthouse.
Next time: Gold Coast!