‘Byron Bay I tried to say I’d be there, waiting for you....’

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Byron Bay. A beach, some clubs, pubs, shops and hostels, and only beautiful people (except for the Brits, of course). I checked into the Hostel with the typically a-bit-too-cheery staff. “Oh no” I thought. Wisely booked into a mixed dorm which normally has a majority of girls in, strangely. Much better as they smell less. 10 beds, 8 girls – a good smell to non-smell ratio. For some reason the place was awash with Swedish, then Germans (although Germans are ALWAYS EVERYWHERE YOU GO, god bless’em), then Yankees, Canadians, Brits, Dutch, Danes, the occasional French or Italian (though rare). But I’ve said it before and I’ll do so again – it’s brilliant to be a native English speaker cos den THEY have to speak MY language and I can be all lazy and stoopid with no problem.

After getting some lunch/dinner and checking out the town and beach I went along with the Hostel bar-crawl, the leader of which was what I believe they describe in the states as a “Frat Jock”. I got the whole US college experience – “boat races” and commands given by a 20-something marine lieutenant*, or lieutenant** as they say in America.

Had a good old chat with people before we set out. The good thing about travelling around is that it’s very easy to talk to everyone. You do get fresher-style questions, but instead of “hat A-levels did you do” or “what other unis did you apply to?” you have “how long have you been travelling?” and “where have you been?” This time though you actually care about the answers because the people around aren’t as interchangeable as one might think and certainly not as much as freshers. You get gap yahs (although not that many at the places I’ve normally gone), gap yahs after uni, gap yahs after a couple of years working, short-termers (like me), redundant people, early retirers, newlywed couples and not-yet-married couples (these are nearly always Germans. In fact, there are Germans everywhere and it’s a wonder there are any left in Germany).

Anyway, my tip for bar crawls is not to buy the overpriced ticket but just go to the same venues they go to and pay the comparatively small entry fee. I didn’t know this before, though. We went to a few bars and clubs. Details are confused, but at one point there was a dancing competition, so I grabbed the nearest female and didn’t see it coming that the respectful and chivalrous poses would make way for sex ones. I’m so naive. Not really my thing, although clearly was as my partner and I got to the grand finals and that*** close to winning a free skydiving session. I managed to remember that a northern bloke called Dave had suggested meeting at reception at 11 the next morning. I didn’t know why, but then, I didn’t care, because I was tired and ready for my refreshingly non-smelly dorm.

* lef-tenant

**loo-tenant

*** place your thumb and index finger about an inch apart



Thursday 15^th March

I’m not going to lie, being woken at 7am by drilling from next door and then some kind of alarm ringing on the phone of one of the Swedes in my dorm going for ages was not cool, but then again it’s not as if I had anything important to do, and you can sleep when you’re dead, as they say.

Indeed Dave was downstairs, with Marie (who it turns out was the sex dance partner), Camille and Shamir. We all went to breakfast then to the beach to catch some of these famous Byron rays! It pissed it down.

After some ping-pong as we awaited the end of precipitation, we three “lads” went for a coastal walk to the lighthouse. A well-pathed walk up to this old lighthouse from like, the 19^th century or summing. Bootiful, it was. Thereafter we got a 48 pack of beers [did you know that Duff beer from the Simpsons actually exists?), some pizza and a beach beggar came and asked for some money to get a beer – I gave him a beer and a couple of slices of pizza (little did he know I was fecking full anyway), but beach beggars make a much better beggar than city ones – they have the sea to wash in, as well as the public showers on the beach. He was off his face on something, though...

We arrived back in time for beer pong tournaments. I didn’t play because I didn’t know what it was. If was want to know, Google it – I can’t be bothered to explain. I started commentating from the sides which was greatly encouraged by the players* until I became a semi official commentator and attempted to put off the players using subtle psychology: vis-a-vis, insults.

After this we went out with the usual fist-full of free drink tokens given to us by absurdly attractive promo-chicks on the beach. The first place was dead, of course (I only realised after a while it was the same place of the dance comp the night before). Got the free drinks and went to “Cheeky Monkeys”. If you’re ever in Byron Bay, go for the experience. I’ll say no more. I packed it in about 3am. Clubs aren’t really for me, or the other way around. But as they say, when in Rome, go clubbing.**

*They kept shouting their team-names to spur me on. Why they should call their teams Fokov and Shaddup is a mystery to me.

** Although I’m not sure of the nightlife in the Italian capital to comment accurately.





Friday 16^th March

Again with the 7am drilling and the Swedish alarm. I got off my bunk and went over to the Swedish girl, she was sleeping on her alarm, gave her a shake. Dead to the world (though thankfully not actually dead). Tried again, no response. So I took matters in my own hands (literally) and slid underneath to get the alarm. Pulled it out, switched it off, left it next to her and went back to bed. I know she was Swedish, but how could I have known when my arm delved in that she was in the nuddie under the bed covers?*

By this time I was haemorrhaging money, so I went to the shop to get breakfast supplies to last me the next couple of days. Also got toiletries which I’d naturally lost, due to my tendencies towards forgetfulness.** I decided it was time to do some laundry, but it was a bloody debacle. However, I’m prepared to do transport anecdotes, but my laundry anecdotes are pants (boom chish). It did end in me fustratedly manhandling someone’s knickers, but there were good reasons.***

Whilst the laundry dried, I played some cards with some Germans. I made the mistake of introducing myself and asking about the game in German. Then they insisted on explaining it all in German. And I had to pretend to understand. I got it, but I had to listen in German, come up with the probable translation in English, come up with an English response then put it back into German, then say it. My tired hungover head could not cope so “Ich würder liebe auf English sprechen, wenn es moeglich ist” made an appearance, and I don’t think that’s very good German anyway.

Anyway, hot sunny weather = beach! Hoorah! Met classic gap yah girls from Baarkshaar , then back for shower and snooze and met my new roommates who were well nice bunch (I had moved rooms. I’ll leave the reason a mystery. Because it’s interesting if I leave it a mystery.****). Nina and Orianna from Switzerland (yes, they both actually had Swiss-army knives, Simon and Matt from French Canada, Chris from South Africa and Mel and Laura from UK. God bless ‘em. We all dressed in Green stuff for the Paddy’s eve bar crawl, it was mostly a torn up bag but, like I say, cash was getting tight. We drove in a big double-decker “party bus” for about 10 minutes to the first venue, which I knew for a fact was less than 2 minutes walk from our hostel. By now I was an old hand at these bar crawls, having done one two days before. Still bought a ticket though, like an idiot.





*Why do I get the feeling “your honour” will be the next two words after that sentence? (Which will be followed by a different kind of sentence)

**Your honour

***Your honour

****It’s not because of the Swedish groping, let me clear that up. I just wanted to stay an extra night so had to move rooms!

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