This picture was taken of Bryon Beach and it's the most crammed I've seen a beach since I've been here, incredible! After arriving from the surf camp, the group of people I've met were raring to party so we ended up hitting all the hot spots, (Cheeky Monkey's, Cocobongo, the Beach Hotel etc.) and on the third day some of us were a little worse for wear.
Apparently beer is not always the best way to cure a hangover so that morning about 20 of us signed up for "Jim's Alternative Tours" which is a day trip to the town of Nimbin, the last bastion of hippydom in all of Australia. Our guide was a man named Ivan who made it clear that he hated all forms of authority from government to religion but other than being completely out of his mind he was actually very informative and took good care of us. Here are some pics of the town of Nimbin.....you get the drift.
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The thing that you must understand about this town is that the clock stopped in 1968. As soon as you step off the bus you are swarmed by people who's one goal in life is to sell you marijuana, marijuana cookies, and/or mushrooms. The whole town's economy runs around the sale of illegal narcotics and it is a very weird place. While I don't think that many of these people are interested in making much of themselves the one thing I do give them credit for is that they do seem truly happy doing whatever it is they do....which is mainly the product they are trying to market in the first place I might add.
The police obviously turn a blind eye, however it's considered rude not to yell out "Taxi" when a police vehicle does approach so as to encourage those caught unaware to stop what they're doing. And no...there are no taxis in Nimbin, it's got one street for God's sake!
Along with an eclectic musical taste, our driver did come with a certain sense of compassion and care which manifested itself in a "stern" lecture that took place a few miles outside the city limits. He told us that a lot of macho people who think they can handle their stuff come to Nimbin, eat way too many cookies and then spend the rest of the day puking on the bus, being paranoid, passing out, and waking up otherwise fine but with no recollection of how the day unfolded. Hence, he made us aware that a half a cookie for two hours was probably enough. (It was and then some in case you were wondering.) My favorite two stories he told us were as follows.
Earlier this year as a joke, the driver dared one group to eat three pieces of marijuana cake if they thought they were so cool. Well, without the drivers knowledge, a 300lb. Israeli who just recently got out of the army took the driver up on his challenge and sure enough all hell broke loose. The guy was sitting in the back of the bus when all of a sudden he bolted to the front seat and started sobbing his eyes out, (much to the amusement of the rest of the clientele,) because he was convinced that the rest of the passengers were really Palestinians who were trying to kill him. By the time the bus pulled back into Byron a very embarrassed, somewhat tired looking Israeli hugged our driver and had a good laugh with the rest of the bus that night at the bar!
The second story involved a couple of girls from the US I believe who had one too many weed cookies and forced the driver to pull out onto the side of the road. Appalled at their current condition and determined as they were to turn over a new leaf and never do drugs again they ordered everyone off the bus including the driver. (The driver went along just for the story I presume.) Once everyone was off the bus, the girls made the passengers line up and watch them dig a hole and then ceremoniously bury the remaining weed cookies that they had in their possession. Once that took place one of the girls assumed it was her job to deliver the rest of the bus from the grips of temptation and tried to convince the driver that she should drive the bus straight back to Byron that very instant. As the driver said....."not on your life!"
After some more great stories it was off to the "Sunday Market" a place where people who lived in the surrounding area could bring their kids, listen to live music, sell their wares, and convince each other that Gerry Garcia wasn't dead, he was just planning a comeback tour with Phish.
FAR OUT, MAN!!!!
