So, it’s been quite some time since you
last heard from me. Coincidentally my drop off the information stupid highway
matches the amount of time I’ve spent travelling on my own, no safety net, cut
loose from the bonds of organised fully-paid-up fun and able to basically do
what the hell I want, when I wanted to do it.I apologise if this blog is overly
long (I know it is, don’t be polite), but there is a lot I wanted to say and
not only do I really enjoy writing this for y’all, but ordering it like this
helps me clean my mind up a little from its addled and deranged state.
I’m fairly sure (although TIME and SPACE
are now a foggier concept than ever before) that I last preached to you about
my first few days in Brisbane, nearly six weeks ago. I was lucky to be staying
with my wonderful friend of old, Andrew Jolly (thanks for everything bro). We
partied some, visited some amazing rain forest, and enjoyed some sunshine. I
got inked, visited the Modern Art Gallery and met my old friend Claire, before
I knew that the time had come for me to get the hell outta dodge and leg it out
into the unknown tracts and wide open spaces of Australia.
To say that I was daunted is an
understatement, however I was equally excited and proud to say that I was
finally off, completely under my own steam and able to fully embrace the
opportunity to prove to myself and a few various others that I am not infact
weak willed, self centred or immature. Let me confide that this has been a huge
learning curve for me. Not just because I’ve never travelled solo before but
because I’ve essentially never had to make my own way through lands and peoples
unknown before. In the past I’ve often sensed from people that they feel the
need to shelter me or look after me. This is bullshit. Despite what I know to
be everyone’s best intensions it would seem that I do have the basic human
instincts and common sense to traverse difficult situations, both mentally,
emotionally and physically.
The entirety of the hipster community in
Melbourne (basically the city’s outright population) said that I should visit
Byron Bay up near the east coasts Gold Coast and Surfers Paradise. It sounded
pretty cool to me and I had very vague memories of my UK friend Joe Cooksey
saying he had lived there whilst travelling. From Brisbane I booked my hostel
for three nights only. Now dig, I cannot stress enough how much this one-click
moment effected the following six weeks. The Byron Bay website suggested about
five or six hostels and my eye was caught by an Ad for The Arts Factory Lodge.
Located in sub-tropical swamp and jungle ‘The Arts’ seemed to be in a great
location for the main town and having read through reviews seemed to be pretty
popular with us happy-go-lucky 20 somethings (that was a reference for any
spaced fans out there, if you didn’t catch it) and artsy types too.
I booked three nights in a shared dorm. My
plan was to get to Byron, find a roadworthy boat, round up a crew of misfits
and cruise up to Cairns and back in the following 3-4 weeks, stopping at as
many of the normal east coast backpacker traps as I could on the way. That was
the plan…. And so it goes.
So, to start with I missed my bus to Byron.
It went without me, but I managed to blag onto the next service and got to
Byron just a few hours later than I expected. I was actually the only person on
a 54 seater greyhound and I pulled up into the town square with a Kerouacian
mask of sheer joy and amazement on my face at about 6:30 at night, stepping
down into a sweet, warm evening air and whistling to myself ‘Wheee! yass yass
yass! We’re really at the promised land now!’
 |
| sunset drummings in Byron Bay |
Having started reading Kerouacs seminal ‘On
the Road’ just a few days before (for the second time), I found myself slowly
becoming ‘Sal Paradise’, my sense of wonder and excitement reaching poetic
levels. I honestly felt myself and Sal becoming one. My journey was his, his
was mine and I was to meet the rest of the cast in the coming month of ‘digging’
and ‘kicks!’ in the chillest place I’ve ever been.
 |
| soul soothing on the left break. |
Byron Bay is like something out of a movie.
Sort of lost in time and inhabited by hippies and surfers all of whom seem to
be so relaxed its unreal, the sun is a big help. Although there were a few days
of bad weather, by and by each day was paradise and it is a wonder what a good
beach and a bit of vitamin D does for the soul. I got off the bus and within 30
secs had met a blonde curly haired kid called Dane who ‘worked’ (ahem) at the
Arts Factory. Tick box number 1. I walked excitedly with Dane to the lodge and
checked in. I got shown to my dorm and met English Andy (later nicknamed Andy4
due to the seemingly never ending list of Andies who where also kickin’ it
there). We were to become good friends and often mistaken for travelling
buddies. He was pretty stoned and not up for a big night out. I was though. I
went straight to the Buddha Bar and made my way to the bar. The tropical air,
musical vibes and very most beautiful people made my heart swell.
 |
| Josh and my trumpet in the Jungle Hut. |
I bought a pint and stood heart in throat,
fully aware that in many ways the crux of my trip was upon me, the weight of
the moment felt tangible, like asking out the girl who would become my wife or
leaving Plymouth to travel solo. Now I was truly on my own and about to sink or
swim in terms of the next month or so. Those of you who are aware of what my
life has been like for the last 4-5 months will know that my confidence has
taken a brutal baseball-bat beating and so it was with shaking hands and quivering
voice that I turned to the beer garden knowing that I was about to try to make
friends with complete strangers. I targeted a table of friendly looking people.
“You’re getting me to deal with”, I thought to myself. I sat down and said
hello! Would you believe it (of course you would) they turned out to be
brilliant and friendly and I straight away made a great connection (that it
turns out would last) with a seriously cool cat called Josh from Vancouver
(Canadians it turns out are uniformly brilliant people – no joke). We all got
smashed and hung out well into the night. It turns out that I can make friends!
After drinking hard we made our way to the infamous ‘jungle hut’. A wooden
shack right in the middle of the ‘jungle’ (camping ground). I already knew that
my trumpet was a good icebreaker and I played all night. Forces-of-Evil 0 –
Simon 1.
People really dig something a little
different. I guess that although many musicians come through ‘the arts’ not
many play an instrument like mine and for that I am thankful. Once again I am
labelled ‘Trumpet Guy’ and making friends seemed pretty easy from then on.
The Arts is a very transitory place and
therefore people are pretty much as relaxed and as friendly as (presumably)
anywhere on earth. Various people told me I belonged there and I humbly felt
this too. Free to be whomever I wanted, I was told that I’d move from the
‘Mainland’ (the arts factory slang for the main complex of the lodge) into the
‘jungle’ within days. “I don’t think so” I protested, my plan was to move on
after three days. Hmmmm….. Not quite how it went.
I have to admit that things are a little
hazy over the six weeks I was at the arts, and so I’m gonna have to switch to a
different approach for this blog. Previously I’ve told you what has happened
day by day, but despite my best efforts to keep track and maintain my journal I
disappeared within days into a black hole of adventure, debauchery and
impulsiveness. So far, so good! I think the best way I can regale my tale is to
simply recount some stories in roughly chronological order, bringing into the
gleaming sunlight the characters I met and some of the stuff wot I got up to.
There are almost too many characters to recall, but I’ll try. It was a sheer
wonder to be hanging with cool cats from all over the world. It made me realise
how alike we all are in a wider sense. Everyone had a story, some I found out,
some remained a mystery, but everyone had their part to play as I, Sal
Paradise, found my place in the quasi-literary world of my own making in the
wyldes of the east coast jungle haven that is Byron Bay.
 |
| Me, Cera, Andy4, Kelly and Amy on the way to Nimbin! |
One night, jamming in the jungle hut, I met
Kelly. A great gal, all flaming red hair and budding guitar skills. We hung out
and along with Andy4, the brilliantly sweet Romanian Cera and the self-proclaimed
flower-fairy (and new arrival) Amy, we made a trip to the gonest place on
earth; Nimbin. What kicks! Thanks go to Mr. Gavin Higgins for suggesting this
place to me. Ultimately I’d have found my way there anyhow however. Nimbin is a
one street place. A one street place that time forgot. It’s famous for one
thing and one thing only. The green stuff. Coppers turn a blind eye and if one
where so inclined one could purchase virtually whatever one would want there.
Not that I’m inclined of course (ahem), I was merely a witness to the fun and
frolics possible if one where to ask the right person the right questions. Not
hard to do. We returned home, gunning the car through jungle and mountains in
glorious sunshine and blue-sky thoughts, laden with goods and dreaming of
sleepy days in our newfound paradise.
The
gang
In my first few dizzying days at the Arts
factory new friends were radiant and plentiful. I could only sit back and
presume that it was like this for everyone. I soon made good connections with
an excitable, if transient group. I realised that some of the people I had
naturally gravitated towards had been at The Arts for some time. I suddenly had
to try to work out who were ‘the lifers’ and who was just passing through. Like
your first days at uni, everyone asks “North or South?” (are you travelling up
or down the East coast), “how long you been here? How long you got left”,
“where are you from?”. You start preparing answers until you realise that it
doesn’t matter…..we’re all just getting by…..on our own paths….Whee!!! yass
yass yass!!! Dig! Dig! Dig!
 |
| Wreckhead Andy. King of the Bush Turkeys |
Early on in my stay and in remarkably rough
chronological order I met Kurt and Sasha (the providers) from Sydney. We raved
it with them good… jumping and digging into the cold starry nights, telling
tales by the fire until dawn. Next up came the mysterious Xenia, a brilliantly
fun girl, but who confused us outright with her unreal accent, proper queens
English, never heard anyfink so posh! Holly, a crazy Lesbian from the US found
her way into our gang, and although no one ever knew quite what she was on
about we had great fun and adventures regardless! Soon I began to meet the
long-term residents at the lodge. ‘Wreckhead Andy’ (later renamed
Rock-Andy-Roll) very quickly became one of my favourite travelling finds. A
crazy gone 20 year old kid, modelling himself somewhere between Lou Reed, Iggy
Pop and Sid Vicious, whos reason for existing was to drink, smoke and laugh. I
real heart of gold….he’d keep me in ‘ciggies’, goon and laughs for the next six
weeks. Oh yeah, Goon! If you don’t know what that it, it’s probably important
that you do. Backpackers are poor. Goon is cheap. Four litres of something
slightly akin to, though essentially only
just resembling wine for $12. It tastes fucking awful, comes in red, white
and somewhere in middle, but very good for cheap kicks!
 |
| Everyday....seriously. |
Sunsets become a real fixture in your day
in Byron. Despite me travelling in the middle of Aussie winter the weather is
still better and definitely more consistent than the UK and so nearly every day
at about 4:30 (mercifully close to 4:20, ahem!) hundreds of surfers, hippies
and hipsters would trek to the beach, line the rocks and await the sunset. It’s
without doubt the most beautiful I’ve ever seen and so I made the effort whenever
I could to see nature at its most kaleidoscopic and jubilant, both in the
evening and occasionally the morning too. Goddamn Byron, I miss you so! During
the first week I made this bohemian pilgrimage with my new comrade in arms,
Josh Manley from Vancouver. What a fucking cool cat! We were to dig each other
straight away. After hanging for four days Josh left the Arts to work tree
planting in the middle of literally nowhere. We both knew we’d hang out
again….and we did, more on that later.
Like I mentioned earlier plenty of people
had told me I would move to the jungle and despite my best intentions to move
on after three days they were right. Josh left and I decided I loved The Arts
and might just stay. I could have rushed about being a tourist but instead I
decided to kick it and dig all that The Arts and Byron had to gift me. I gave
in and went to reception. I extended my stay by a week and mooched to the
jungle. Here I met the brilliantly odd and ever stoned campsite king, Trev.
Meet me in five he said. I did and he sorted me a tent, mattress and storage
crates. Now I was really in! My first move to becoming a long termer! I should
mention a bit about the jungle social and group dynamics. David Attenborough
could have done a great job narrating what went on. There was an actual market
for real estate. Tents, large and small were constantly changing hands, often
for upwards of $150. People moved on and left there ‘set ups’, the largest of
which seemed like mansions! Mine wasn’t, but it was home for the next five
weeks. I had a good spot too, just next to what was known as ‘Beverly Hills’ as
it had the best views of the lake, the site and was on higher ground.
 |
| En-mass Jamming! Lee (dean) and Vincent in front. |
Once I’d moved to the jungle everything
seemed different. The jungle hut was mere metres away and it was here that most
of the long termers days were played out. Smoking, drinking and jamming filled
our days and time seemed to slide by. Often not much went on, but that seemed
just fine. Just digging the sunshine and each other seemed enough and whilst there
I couldn’t think of a more relaxed and creative environment to be part of.
People always left their mark (the hut was constantly being adorned,
redecorated and graffed) and the jungle hut itself beat its heart, marking time
with each 4:20 and lock down. An awesome place and pace! I found that the
longer I stayed in the jungle and the further out into the wyldes I moved the
more cohesive and tight the gang got. We’d all been here longer than the
mainlanders and so it was that we clung to each other, trying daily to hold
onto the slivering shreds of sanity that we still possessed. I miss the jungle
hut family more than I can tell you with these simplistic words that I write
now. Pretty soon everyone had heard ‘trumpet guy’ (whether they wanted to or
not I suppose) and when I appeared at the mainland I’d always get a few
comments…”oh you’re the guy with the trumpet!”, ”yes, yes I am!” I would say.
Yeah, Fuck Yeah!
The Arts holds its very own talent night
every Tuesday. I played in various capacities every week for five weeks. I
jammed with The Arts’ very own songwriter in residence, the wonderfully
talented Rich Maule. I smashed out punk songs with Wreckhead Andy and jammed
en-mass with entire groups of drummers and guitarists. So much fun! It got to
the stage where I’d just take my horn and would end up being asked by nearly
every actto join them. I always said yes. Wheee! What kicks!!!! Sal Paradise
was on the scene!
 |
| the official jungle hut theme. by me. |
 |
| Kelly, Me, Emily and Shu! |
Possibly the best jam I’ve ever had came a
few days into my move to the jungle. One night I met possibly the coolest cat
I’ve ever seen. Shu, a Japanese drummer seemed to osmose into the jungle one
night and played djembe with the most impeccable rhythm and passion I’ve seen.
We understood very little of each other’s words, but that didn’t matter, we had
our music. We connected deep down into our souls, digging our combined
counterpoints and hitting every beat. Later that night I met the wonderful
Emily, a young girl with such soul and funk that it made my heart bleed. Shu,
Emily and I blew and beat and within minutes I hit upon maybe the best pop hook
I’ve ever played. It sounds stupid to say it but that jam became an instant hit
to us and in a way defined my stay at The Arts. We coined it ‘the official
jungle hut theme’ and jammed it all night. A kind of jumping electro-swing vibe
that had everyone singing and dancing. Tash, the ever-lovely hula girl from the
UK appeared and danced all night. For the next month people (long termers or
not) came up to me asking me to play ‘that tune!’ and often singing it back to
me perfectly… oh the joy! (When I left the Arts I wrote the main themes and
chords out and left it in the jungle hut for future musicians to jam out to!)
The next day after the jam Shu, Emily, Tash and I agreed to meet on the sea
front and play. We did, and busked amongst the throngs of hippies and hipsters.
We earnt proper dollar too! Awesome! Later that day we missioned it up to the
old lighthouse that overlooks the beautiful seven-mile beach at Byron. We saw
Whales and Dolphins. Paradise.
It always amazes me how musicians find each
other. There will always be masses of guitarist on the road, but it takes a
specific kind of mind to hold down a real good jam. Lest I forget I have to
mention the supreme talents of Jimmy Harwood from the UK on his trusty 12
string. Another amazing jam happened there! Unforgettable Jimmy, thanks bro!
Mitch, a loud and very funny cat from Adelaide turned up to drum and we played
a sick jam, Little Ollie and Andy Hill from the UK and Katia (sax chick) from
Melbourne also joined in and the gang just grew!
 |
| Alright Beard!? |
Soon I met a guy who I would have many an
adventure with. Jack (later simply Beard). What a guy! A man large of beard,
few in words, with impeccable phrasing, and great humour! We started to hang,
went drinking, made a million ‘in jokes’ and confided earnestly in each other.
Another connection that cannot now be broken. More of Jack later for sure.
Through Jack I met the awesome trio of friends Dave, Nicole and Jessie. We
ended up closer than hell and I spent much of my final month with these guys.
Dave (later simply Chef) is a rude boy from the UK who cooks up a dream. Jessie
is an off the hook Aussie, hell bent on partying the world off its hinges and
Nicole is a brilliant girl from the UK, also on her first solo trip. Jessie
wanted to rap….and actually could. He took a bit of guidance and prompting, but
eventually me and J-cat performed five or six times, ending up as ‘J-cat and
trumpet’ winning $50 at a local bar, with us exchanging 8’s jammin out to a
bouncin crowd. Was so dead proud of him….the boy had flow too!
 |
| Nicole, Chef and Jessie-cat! |
 |
| Me, Becky, Lee (dean), Emily and Kelly. |
I’ve not mentioned one of the main players
of my time in Byron yet. As I said I’d been becoming steadily more obsessed
with Kerouac’s ‘On The Road’. Sal Paradise is nothing without his Dean
Moriarty, The holy con man with the shining mind. A week into my trip I met my
Dean (Lee, another brilliant Canadian). We connected immediately, due in part
to him being remarkably like my friend little Lee from the UK, in stature and
temperament. This cat had the sharpest mind I’ve locked horns with in a long
time. Inquisitive, detailed, philosophical and mathematically on point. We
talked all night, made plans, solved the world and lost our minds together. One
particularly hedonistic night we ran around Byron in one hell of a state and
fully became Dean and Sal. Digging everything all at once in the sweet evening
air and started to understand TIME and IT for the first time. Whee! What kicks
man! Yass yass yass!!!! As I read more of the book we understood the world and each
other more, until us and Jacks sporadic ramblings became one. Kerouac was
writing about us and we were reliant on his mind for our very existence. We
talked of girls, tea and philosophy deep into each night until Dean more often
than not ended up on the run with some gone little chick somewhere. Old Dean
surfed all day and thought deep all night. What a gone cat! We hung out until I
left a month later. I have a feeling that I’ll see old Dean on the road again
at some point. Maybe we’ll follow Kerouac’s route one day and lose ourselves
for reals!
 |
| Most easterly point of Oz, in Byron. |
 |
| yeah, fuck yeah! swimmin' yeah! |
As the days rolled by characters swam in
and out of focus. The lovely little pixie chick Becky from Perth had us all in
pieces. The sweetest little thing we’d ever met, we walked on the beach, talked
of philosophy and sci-fi nerdism and passed entire days smoking and singing.
Steve and Melody, a tattooed and painfully steezy couple from Florida made us
all laugh for weeks. They instigated ‘Crafternoon’ and led workshops in this
and that each day. I will always remember Steve for one comment. When we were
all about to go to a music festival Steve had hidden some ‘stash’ in specially
modified ear stretches and said, “Well, I’ve got ears full of pot and I’m ready
to rock”….too true my friend, too true. The stunningly beautiful Candice and
her travelling friend Celine were always around, partying and hula-ing. They
helped to make the jungle the wonderful place it was. Next the French guys.
AAAaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhm what brilliant guys. Vincent and Max, I’ll never forget you
guys…. The best jams and ‘situations’ galore…. more of that later for defs.
Aaron, my favourite ever next-door neighbour, simply wonderful jamming Pumpkins
songs with you my friend. Sarah-Jane, the coolest most REAL punk chick I ever
met. Thanks for the lifts and the best jams xxx Oren, you’re soundsystem setups
and car park rave instigations were the best, oh and thanks for dropping some
insane beats for us all to rave it up to. Felipe (Angel), what a guy, sorry we
didn’t get to hang out more and to the other Felipe (BUS TO TOWN!!!!!) you are
the most chill guy I’m ever likely to meet. Julian, chess master and chief
thinker amongst us, you rocked and last but certainly not least, Diego, your
pancakes rocked my world my friend!
And so it went that I lazed day-by-day
dropping further and further off the grid. What bliss! I checked my emails only
when I needed to do something else, like book a flight or whatever. Everything
on the omni-present harbinger of shit, Facebook, seemed irrelevant and useless.
My phone was either lost or out of battery most of the time and you know what,
it was brilliant. I’ve learnt a lot in the last six weeks (I can’t be 100% sure
what however) but one of the things I know is that we, as a race, although we
are becoming closer in this ever shrinking world, are becoming way too fucking
caught up in the bullshit of social networking. It’s just rubbish. Not real.
Fin. As I’ve said in previous blogs, at least on the surface ‘Ignorance is
Bliss’. I’ve had a lot to hide from and being almost completely off grid helped
me in the middle of my trip by sheltering me from the often-painful reminders
that the “internet” continues to serve me up, should I choose to look.
Normally in my blogs I’d tell you about my
“feelings”. I’ll do the same right now I think. I’ll say it with my words. Lets
get growing….
For the most part I’ve kept my brain
occupied with drinking, smoking, travelling, beaching, walking, laughing and
playing, but there have been occasions where my insanely slim veneer of sanity
has slipped. I had a few really rough days. The nightmares returned. The worst
yet! Woke up three mornings running cold, sweating, crying and out of breath.
It is beyond me how hateful the images my brain conjures up for me can be.
Still on the same themes as ever, however. Fighting the same guy all night and
locked in an unwinnable duel to the death. Blood spills and I awake repulsed
and disappointed that it was just a dream but thankful that I am out from under
my sleep-delerium. Begging the same girl from the bottom of my soul to find a
way to take it all back and make it all right and being taunted to tears yet
again. Fuck….I’m done with that shit!
My health remains in the balance. I dried
right out in Byron, but a month of partying and sleeping in a cold tent (fully
clothed, it is winter after all) and my chest is fucked again. Due I think in
part to the sheer level of partying that took place at Splendor in the Grass
(mud)….more of that later.
Essentially I am none the fucking wiser as
to my situation in life. I guess I never thought I would be. Time is a great
healer but I am still pretty confused and under the surface mask of a happy
traveller I’m still gutted beyond words. I’m even now confused as to what I
really want from my life. Who do I want to be and what do I want to do? Christ
knows! All I’m aware of is that however much fun all this partying and
pretending has been, shit is gonna get real very very soon. All at once I am
despairing coming home to the UK and can’t wait. In the words of my good friend
Beard, “Come on Son!”.
Some things I’ve realised.
1) In general people don’t give a shit
about you. Not in a negative way, I just mean that by-and-by people are too
wrapped up in their own shit to have enough spare energy to give much of a shit
about your woes. This I now see as a positive.
2) Kerouac is AWESOME.
3) People are mostly kind hearted.
4) Happiness comes from within, only
sometimes its fucking hard to find and harder to maintain.
5) At some point in my life I really need
to get some fucking self-belief and confidence. A few times over the last six
weeks a few people who I held as the coolest cats have said things so kind
about me that I’ve blushed. What does one do when ones confidence is so bruised
that your not sure for shit what the point is?
6) There is a lot to be said for travelling
and partying. Staying young is a good thing.
7) Bush Turkeys are the most annoying and
gnarly creatures on this green and blue mess of ours. They became a genuine
part of every day life at the lodge and I found myself becoming one with the
thieving little fuckers (one day they bust into my tent and stole my freakin
bananas!!!). However it is Wreckhead Andy and not my dear self who was to
become their king! To ‘bushturkey’ even became a verb, meaning to blag
something, i.e can I bush turkey a ciggie please?
Airlie
Beach and the Whitsundays
 |
| Wotcha! |
About three weeks into my stay at The Arts,
I realised that I’d probably be really mad at my self if I got home to the UK
without making any effort to travel north up the east coast in Oz. Therefore I
made the choice to book a screamer of a visit right up into Queensland. Some
good adventuring and tricky situations presented themselves! I travelled early
one morning to Brisbane Airport and took a plane to an outback mining town of
Mackay. There is literally nothing there. I knew I had to get from there to
Airlie Beach (Gateway to the Whitsundays) somehow…. it was another 300K away
and a girl at the airport told me she didn’t think there was any way on a
Friday evening to do it! Shit! I hitched from the airport into the town and
then again to the local bus station which was infact a petrol station. In the
fading light and heat I found a late night bus and bumped into yet another
amazing gang of Canadians (I’m so going one day!). We discovered we were all
going to Airlie Beach at the same time and for the same reason, so we hung out.
I booked into the Nomads in Airlie beach later that night then went out on the
town with the Canadians. Fun happened. I awoke very groggily at 7 the next
morning to go and sign in for my three-day trip around the Whitsunday Islands.
 |
| Paradise for Sal. |
 |
| The funniest night! Bram, Me and Mike. |
I boarded the 18-metre catamaran; ‘Avatar’
and we set sail. The wind blew fierce, but the skies stayed a perfect light
blue. The wind chill hid the burning sun and I bobbed along, running around
deck with the most disparate group of gone oddities ever. You’ll notice that
this time I wasn’t worried about whether I could make friends, only who they’d
be. Pia, Nash, Mike, Bram, Ed, Laura, Georgie and random St. Austell people
turned out to be the gang and for three days we sunbathed, snorkelled on the
Great Barrier Reef (I swan in amongst inestimable jelly fish and sea turtles!)
and walked on the most breathtakingly beautiful beaches. Whitehaven beach
boasts sand that is 99.8% Silica!!! That’s crazy right? The sand was so fine it
was possible to brush your teeth with it. I tried. It worked. Sick! This really
was paradise now! Inbetween drinking goon, snorkelling, playing cards with the
ska-loving deck hands I realised that I was getting quite good at holding my
own in the world. The night ended with a riotous laughing fit with more
Canadians and some nice chicks from London while we sprawled on the Catamarans
nets on a starry night and smoked to the gods above. What kicks!
The last morning of my trip, having shared
a bunk with a guy from Plymouth who knew my dear friend Welshy, I awoke with a
terrible hangover. Think of how awful that could be on a boat. However I was up
to watch the sunrise and this made everything better. I met the Canadians I
travelled up with and we shared beers and stories of our boats. We caught the
same buses back to Mackay and simultaneous flights to Brisbane. I beat them to
central but booked into their dorm and met them minutes later for a few beers.
I might never see them again but Ryan Barrett, and Kaitlynn Deacon and Jen, it
was wonderful to hang with y’all.
I returned to find an odd feeling in the
air at The Arts. A lull I thought.
Having just found out that my brother Josh
was returning from work in the outback and that he had successfully got me onto
recycling volunteering duties in return for free tickets to the hugely popular
‘Splendor in the Grass’ music festival (almost the most expensive festival in
the world!), I decided that this was just the calm before the storm, and man
was I right!
The tension at the lodge built to crazy
levels. There was fervour in the air and a buzz everywhere you looked. Prices
went up around town and the local population just about doubled. Certainly The
Arts was at capacity and the lifers in the jungle rallied around to stave off
the relentless march of the newbies. Never mind, we all partied together and
had a great time.
Splendor in the Grass (mud)
 |
| So so totally Rad! |
Morning One. “Can you drive?” says the guy
who runs the litter picking crew. “Uh huh, but I don’t have my licence with
me”, I say. He laughs and points to brand new Ute WITH A TIPPER ON THE BACK!!!
“Drive that around all day and pick up what the litter pickers leave for you!”
he says. This time I laugh. He puts my newly returned brother in arms Josh in
the cab with me and we roar off laughing like idiots. For the first hour we
have literally no idea what we are doing and neither does anyone else. We drive
around a big loop of the festival watching impossibly beautiful and manicured
people flow into the site, beeping our horn with ‘JJJ’ at full blast on the
radio screaming FUCK YEAH! Out the windows in the glorious sunshine and beeping
any girls we could see! “Can you believe they gave us this thing!?” Josh
shouts, “No!”, the masses shout back. Well we couldn’t believe it either. Later
that day we discover that our brilliantly funny French friends Vincent and Max
have the other Ute. Much hilarity ensues. On the move high fives and screaming
and shouting a plenty….thanks guys…. It wouldn’t have been so sick without you.
x
 |
| Me, Vincent, Max, Tash, Amber, Josh and Liam at Splendor! |
In hindsight being a garbage truck driver
was stupidly hard work. 11-6pm each day, and hard hard labour. We should have
been paid, but alas the company was great. Josh and me had the most fun ever.
Stinking, but tanned and revelling in the stupidity of the situation we had a
great time and even managed to get into real trouble. After a few hours of
emptying bins, lifting bins, nearly crashing and screaming and shouting at everyone
we decided it would be the honourable thing to do to give a lift to all the
pretty litter pickin’ girls we found back to the recycling depot. They danced
all sexy (like some real twisted music video) in the back of the Ute as I drove
at 10kph through the site. We dropped off the girls then my radio beeped. “Greg
to Simon”, “Copy”, “I’ve got health and safety all over my back and the site
managers are going mad! YOU CAN’T JUST GO ROUND PICKING UP CHICKS IN A GARBAGE
TRUCK!”…. That, that right there, is the single funniest thing either Josh or
me had ever heard.
 |
| pure comedy! |
PICKING UP CHICKS IN A GARBAGE TRUCK!
PICKING UP CHICKS IN A GARBAGE TRUCK!
PICKING UP CHICKS IN A GARBAGE TRUCK!
We became all but heroes. Every site office
we passed people cheered and told us that the message from the depot had been
heard across the entire site. Sweet infamy!We spent the whole evening meeting
people we’d seen under our working guise. They all thought the story was pretty
funny, cos it was!
That night we screamed about diggin this
and that and heard At The Drive In and the Hypnotic Brass Ensemble do their
thing. Sick!
Day 2. Much the same but harder work and
hotter sun. Shirts off. Smashin it round. Eco Girls. Hedonism. The Kooks, Bloc
Party, Azalia Banks (212 was OFF THE HOOK!), Nice!!!!!
Day 3. We gave up on driving the Ute; we
wanted an easy ride like everyone else! We went out, picked up a very small
amount of litter. Ditched our stuff and got into the crowd. High as kites, with
the spoils of the confiscation bins in our bellys (sneaky) and having avoided a
very near miss with the police sniffers we partied till we nearly dropped. A
sick band called Fun started the day. Django Django rocked, then the Pumpkins
rocked our lives off (Billy on his own really, but the spectacle enough)…I also
made the mistake of having one of the Eco girls on my shoulders for the best
part of 30 mins…. She was small, but man was I tired after! I met Jack (beard)
and the lovely Becky after this and we raved it to mean dubstep and d’n’b till
late with faces painted eco-green and warmed hearts.
I returned to the Arts broken, but happy.
My feet were ruined and my shoulders tanned. I saw all the bands I wanted to
and had a great time with some truly lovely people. Thanks Splendor (in the
mud), maybe I’ll be back one day!
Onwards
After Splendor a post festival sickness
encircled the jungle. Everyone was sick or getting there. A lull hit the camp,
but a tired and contented one. I, for one, was proper crook….old ailments tied
me to my bunk and I coughed and coughed. After a few days of chillin’ I
realised it was finally time to move on. After a final fling at The Arts talent
night and the Buddha bar open mic (where me and Jessie won the audience vote) I
prepared to get going. Easier said than done. I was really feelin pretty crook
and so I stayed just a few more days, recalculating constantly in order to work
how long I could possibly stay in Byron before I really had to leave.
Finally the time came, and with many many
heartfelt goodbyes I left my transient travelling family and caught a lift with
the incomparable Sarah-Jane Coffey (punk as fuck) and having made a quick stop
off to say goodbye to the beautiful songstress Jessie-Rose we headed to
Brunswick Head to see one last sunset. What a good choice that turned out to be
as it lead to one of the most beautiful sights I’ve seen in Oz. As we turned up
to the beach the sun was setting on a millpond still bay. We paddled in up to
our knees and almost didn’t notice when a pod of about 6-8 Dolphins played in
the water ten meters from our feet. They stayed, we stayed. Perfection and
beauty like I’ve never seen. A wonderful goodbye to Byron Bay. I will never
forget my time there. I might even go back. Maybe to stay, at some point. Who
knows? I certainly don’t.
Sydney and beyond
I had planned to go straight to Sydney and
I flew in on a beautiful day. Seeing the opera house and bridge from the air
was pretty special. I knew that I might be able to meet up with my Arts Factory
friend Kelly and that she might be hanging with another Byron travelling mate,
Amy. We arrived at Amy’s almost at the same time and set about getting settled
and finding what kicks we could!
It was great to see Amy again and tell
tales of Byron. I did all the tourist stuff I could. Opera House….stunning in
the blue sky haze. Bridge….sick! Cockatoo Island art exhibition….amazing.
Sydney school of music…kickin’, walked in on a choral rehearsal and decided
that maybe I’ll do a masters one day after all! I took it easy for a few
days….still feeling pretty crook. Went to the bath houses in beautiful Balmain
and chilled….hard! Went to the docs. More anti-biotics, I’m starting to think
that I’ve actually had pneumonia, but fuck it….onwards.
A few nights ago I was lucky enough to meet
up with a friend of old from the UK. Ali, so good to see you bro. Made my day
for real. We drank and I played with a DJ in salsa bar over looking the Opera
House…..tick!
I met some of Amy’s wonderful friends
(Chloe, nice jammin’ with you!) and last night I went to see the Siren Big
Band. Yeeeeaaaahhh! Siren are an all female big band from Sydney playing really
crazy contemporary big band charts. Feeling inspired and boozed up I approached
the band leader and said, “I’ll write you a piece”… It’s on! Big band piece is
next on the list.
Tomorrow I move on again. A brass band
friend of mine, Phil Anderton is taking back up country once more. This time
I’ll hopefully be seeing the wonderful Gunnadah Shire Youth Band who have
played some of my music before. Incidentally Phil has his own 2-seater prop
plane (that he built himself) and we intend to fly around on Monday and Tuesday
before I return to my new family in Melbourne for more digging of stuff, sky
diving and kicks a plenty. Yass, yass, yass, indeed, Wheee! What kicks!!!!!
We’re really in the promised land now!!!
So, simply put, I have no idea what happens
next really. I’ve been smashing it and making friends and playing at being Sal
Paradise, being on the road and seeing what the world holds. I know now that I
want to travel solo more for sure. I’d love to see Asia, Canada and South
America, very possibly with some of the inspiring characters I’ve met in the
last six months. I find myself in the slightly unenvious position of not really
knowing what I want from my life or who it is I want to be, but I guess we all
just push on huh?
I’m sorry this pretentiously volumous tome
is so overly long…..thanks a million if you made it this far! x
As ever I send my love to my
ever-supportive family and friends (now, the world over). I miss you all. My
heart is as ever with the blood spattered gutters and gin soaked streets of my
gnarly little punk town, Plymouth. I’ll see you all soon. I feel both
desperately afraid of returning to my own fair shores and excited to come home.
I’m sure something will work out….perhaps I’ll go back to Oz.
…And so it goes….
Xxxxxxx
Yeah, fuck yeah!
