Leaving Byron

Several years ago my best friend bought me a collection of Calvin and Hobbs cartoons, collectively titled “The Days are Just Packed” to make one chuckle at the perception of a six-year-old that he is busy. Ben and I have gone the Calvin route these last couple of days and have nothing to show for it, which is just how it should be.

We fought the good fight on the jet lag and managed to stay up until 8 p.m. local time that first day—had cheese and crackers in bed and slept for a good twelve hours. We’ve kept that sleep pattern for nearly our whole stay—in fact, it’s seven-thirty now and we’re both in bed, yawning, and ready for sleep. This is good for my constitution: Those of you who know me well know I’m a sleeper, who does best on about nine hours of sleep a night. Yesterday, in fact, I even caught a mid-morning nap, and it was glorious.

On Wednesday, (was it Wednesday?) we had a long-lunch and a read back at our “local” and spent the afternoon taking pictures and lounging about the place. We took a drive around Byron Bay proper and grabbed some to-go sushi from a local sushi-train; the waiter was really nice, an Israeli fellow, and started a conversation WITH ME which is always a relief for Ben. I love to talk, and I love to meet new people, and I think sometimes Ben wishes we could just disappear into a place, incognito-style.

Yesterday afternoon I booked a massage for Ben and I and we both thought our massages were quite good—Ben’s back has been hurting him since the flight, and it doesn’t take an excuse that good for me to book a massage for us, anymore. It’s funny—I didn’t have my first massage until graduate school, and then it was a huge indulgence, and guilt producing as a result. Every massage since has come at Ben’s patient urging, and, afterwards, I always say, “we shouldn’t wait so long to do this again.” I always forget. Let this post be a reminder—massages are worth every penny. It took my puritan heart awhile to be comfortable with the whole “nude in front of strangers” bit of it, but I think I’m over that now. I just remind myself that masseurs, like doctors, have seen it all, and my ass won’t be the ass that makes them lose all faith in humanity. Probably.

In my post-massage bliss I took myself down to the estuary with a Bundaberg ginger beer. I noted a rustling in the trees above me and worked up the courage to look up: There were, I’m not kidding, at least SEVEN FULL SIZE TURKEYS (I didn’t think they could fly) in the tree above me. I know, I know: Imagine that, Robyn, birds at an estuary! but it was terrifying. I forced myself to stay put for about ten minutes because I wasn’t going to be bested by turkeys, but, as they got more and more active, my fear got the better of me. Seriously. Turkeys in Australia. In the trees.

Last night we ate at a local place recommended by a friend of Ben’s, The Balcony, which is a second-story restaurant, decked out in a Moroccan theme, where you can dine al fresco. Great ambience and tapas, mediocre paella, but I am a paella snob. We had a night walk on the beach (it’s winter here, so the sun is going down about five o’clock) and I, sadly, found myself tipsy on a single glass of wine.

Today was just as lazy—breakfast around the casa, and a brief clean up (I can only handle the chaos of travel in my hotel room for a couple of days.) Ben and I spent the afternoon in town, shopping a bit and hitting the post office (celebrating 200 years, congratulations Aussie post) and then took a long walk on the main beach. It occurred to me this afternoon that, here we are a the Easternmost point of Australia, near the “bottom” of the Pacific, and just 18 months ago we were honeymooning at the Western-most point of Canada, near the “top” of the Pacific. When we were there I’d asked someone what I would hit first were I to hop on a boat and head straight west and they said Japan. I love how small travel makes the world seem. My folks are in Seattle tonight, preparing to head out to sea on an Alaskan cruise, and I’m so excited for them. This week alone the Longs are bookending the Pacific.

This is our second trip to Byron, and, on our last, we’d only spent a day, foregoing New South Wales for a week-long trip through northern Queensland. When we were last here, we said, “one day is not enough—we have to come back” and I feel so grateful that we’ve been able to. I’ll say goodbye to my little estuary in the morning, and will miss the SOUND of the birds and the tropical feel of the place, and, tonight, over a yummy dinner at a new restaurant called St. Elmo’s in Byron Bay, Ben and I agreed that “five days is not enough.”

It’s just started to rain, our first of the trip, and perfectly timed. We saw the clouds rolling in over the ocean this afternoon.

Signing off from Byron Bay,
Love,
Robyn and Ben