I arrived at the hostel amidst intemperate weather and couldn't hit the beach. I wasn't feeling very social, and I again found myself surrounded by British gap year students and recent college grads, so I got myself some groceries, worked out a bit in my room, and settled into reading "Clash of Kings." I had wanted to walk to the nearby lighthouse at sunset, but the weather prevented me going.
The next day was raining again, so I spent most of the day Skyping my family and planning my trip to Fraser Island later that week. I also thoroughly assessed my budget and came up with an end date for my trip. I found a flight from Bangkok to the New York on July 26th for only $650 and bought it, giving myself four months in which to do Asia and resigning myself to cutting my trip short and not getting to Europe, Egypt or the Middle East on this trip. But the decision felt right, and I had no regrets about the money I'd spent.
That night I bonded with four other girls from my hostel over our shared irritation with asshole hostelers who don't clean up after themselves in the kitchen. And their covetousness of the salmon salad I had made for myself that night.
One of the girls was from Denmark and the other three from England and we had what must have been at least my twelfth conversation of the trip about the differences btwn England and the U.S.. (And just for the record: To all of my Brit friends out there who always ask, "Why do you say 'aluminum' and not 'aluminium'? There's an 'i' at the end!" Um, no, there's not. Not the way we spell it anyway. And as far as television goes, I love British dramas. I enjoy your high comedies. The surrealist stuff? "Spaced"?Not as funny as it is to me as it is to you, but again I enjoy them. The slapstick, though? Mr. Bean? Sorry; don't get it at all. And yes, I have become inured to how casually and often you use the words 'cunt' and 'twat', but I will never do so myself. Thank you. That is all.)
The next day, I awoke to the sun shining in my window and so rushed to the beach.
Franca had given me a copy of "The Time Traveler's Wife" before we'd parted, so I started in on that as I vainly attempted to brown my untannable hide. Once I felt properly baked, which didn't take long, I went into the water, which was refreshing but a bit rough where the waves broke. I was repeatedly bashed by the surf so intensely that I almost lost both my top and bottom. I retreated back toward the shore where deep dimples in the sand formed pools right by the water's edge. I sat and enjoyed the sensation of the water turning cold, then hot as the waves ebbed and flowed. I walked to a nearby sushi restaurant for lunch but returned shortly to read and people watch some more.
Byron Bay's reputation as a new-agey hippie mecca led me to believe that yoga classes would be good here, so when I left the beach, I set off for one of the local studios. I arrived in time for the cheapest class, during which teachers-in-training rotated while instructing us, and got a pretty decent workout. Not quite challenging enough, however. I had decided that 12-15 lbs of weight gain exceeded even my tolerance for my own self-indulgence, and I needed to lose a few.
That evening the weather turned foul again, but I decided to walk to the lighthouse anyway, since I intended to leave the following day and wouldn't have another opportunity. I started walking along the beach and stopped to watch the surfers at the Pass.
They twisted and turned with balletic grace, sometimes shuffling their feet up their boards as they rode, often changing directions mid-barrel, cork-screwing and carving foamy slices into the swells.
I stood upon the lookout, mesmerized by there skill and dexterity, not to mention their audacity at paddling so far out and riding so close to the rocks.
I lost track of time, and only when the rain started coming down did I realize how little daylight remained and how far I still had to go. The wind and rain blew fiercely as I set off up the path and along the coastline. I had seen so many beautiful ocean vistas, but this one-- so grey and malevolent, the sea thrashing, the clouds foreboding-- had its own dangerous beauty.
I went into and emerged from a forested section of the path to find myself on a bluff marking the...
Here, the storm raged at full force. And still, a local fisherman sat perilously perched on the edge of a rocky outcrop, his line whipping about in the wind. I hardly dared to take a photo of the Winslow-Homeric scene, having nearly ruined my camera in the rains on Franz Josef, but just before I moved on, I chanced it. Bringing my jacket up by my sleeve, I darted my hand into my pocket, snatched my camera, and hid it under my jacket. There I set up the shot, and when I was ready, dropped the jacket front and snapped the photo, before yanking my jacket back up.
As I approached the lighthouse, thinking how lovely the scenery must appear in better weather, I resolved to return in the morning if the sun shone, simultaneously acknowledging to myself the unlikelihood of such a scenario manifesting. A change in weather seemed doubtful, for one thing, and for another, I know myself well enough to know that in the cold light of dawn, I often think worse of those ideas I formed the prior evening.
As I started down the return track, darkness began to fall, and I realized that I hadn't brought my flashlight. "Lin: always prepared," Franca had chorused on multiple occasions during our jaunt around New Zealand. Yes, I thought. Always. Except in the most obvious of situations.
The path became trickier and more slippery just as the beam from the lighthouse fell from view, so I removed my flip-flops and followed the shoulder of the road as best I could. Animal noises I couldn't identify echoed all around me. I had just started imagining any number of ridiculous life or death scenarios, most involving being bitten by one of the poisonous snakes or spiders James had told me about, when a car passed by, illuminating the road ahead of me and showing that only 50 meters or so remained until the main road began. I then felt rather silly about my flight of fearful fancy; I was in Byron, for goodness sake, not the outback. I made it back to the hostel without a scrape, tucked into some dinner, and called it an early night. The next day, I was off to Hervey Bay and Fraser Island.
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Location:Byron Bay, Australia
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