Hey guys,
Are you still with me? I know, it's been a while but I've been on "holiday" for the last couple of weeks. One thing I've learnt is that life still teaches you lessons even when you've signed off for the Summer. Those lessons they never stop and sometimes you discover things about yourself that you'd probably rather not.
The lesson I learnt this holidays is that I'm no where near as cool as I thought I was. This is in fact a bit of a bummer because well my housemates are really fucking cool.
My housemates aka The Queens are so cool that they booked a holiday to Byron Bay and got tickets for Falls Festival months ago. I'm sure you guys have heard of those two places because you're also a pretty trendy bunch of kids but for those of you who haven't well let me explain...
Byron Bay is an uber cool beach side town located in the far north of NSW. It attracts thousands of travellers a year because the surf is good and the chicks are smoking hot. Think Britney Spears in her prime with a star fish in her hair
Hawt eh? And what do some of the most beautiful women in the world attract? Some of the most beautiful men of course. So when the girls told me that they had a spare ticket and a hammock for me to sleep in I thought why not? I might meet the man of my dreams.
As we drove into town which appeared to be in the middle of no where it quickly occurred to me that maybe Byron Bay wasn't the place where my typical dream man would go. No immaculately dressed tall dark and handsome types just heaps of my high school peers wandering the streets. Growing up in Noosa I went to a 'surf excellence' school. Our sports teams were even named after famous surf point from around the world. To me the guys in Byron Bay resembled the likes of Josh Daly, sandy haired short board champion who tried to finger my friend Francis in year 10 and Troy Norris who by the end of senior year was sponsored by nearly every major clothing brand. To me they were just the same old guys that I grew up with but to The Queens every guy carrying a surf board looked like Brad Pitt dipped in chocolate.
The sound of screaming and giggling erupted from the car as we slowly drove down the main street.
"Holy shit these guys are smokinggggg hot" Queen L cried nearly losing control of the wheel.
"Yay, yay, yay, yay YAY" Queen B squealed nearly bursting out of her seat.
Even Gemma another friend who was staying with us for the week could barely contain her excitement at the sight of the sea of brawny, brown and probably brainless young men.
That was the moment I looked back. Maybe if I had of exited the vehicle then and found some way back to regular-shoe-wearing civilisation my coolness would still be intact. unfortunately for personal growth reasons this was not an option.
To be fair the odds were against me from the
beginning. As soon as we arrived we dropped our bags off at
the apartment and headed to the beach. It was hot, super hot so I
stopped and purchased two coconuts from a vendor on the street. I'm a big lover of
coconuts and their hydration and fat burning properties - they are no stranger
to my diet either as a Paleo diet pretty much relies on them.
Anyway Queen B had a couple sips of hers then
claimed it was too sweet so I gladly drank both before rolling
over and falling asleep in the sun. I woke up 45 minutes later with the worst
pain in my gut. At first the pain was sharp but subsided quickly, I was on
holidays so I disregarded it and headed straight for the water to cool off. It
wasn't long before four fairly hot guys swam over to meet us four fairly
sunburnt girls in the water. But after a little duck diving and frolicking it
hit me again.
Shitttt. At this point I knew I had to find a
toilet and soon. The girls rolled their eyes when I told them I had to leave -
they just figured that I just wasn't interested in getting to know any of
Byron's local talent. I didn't stay to tell them the real reason why I expelled
myself from the white water faster than road runner on speed. I just had to get
home. The run/walk/hobble back to the apartment felt like an eternity. There
were several times where I KNEW I was going to shit myself. Luckily the flood
gates held off long enough for me to reach the toilet.
Reason #1 - Those fucking Byron Bay
coconuts.
After my little episode we found some boys and boarded
the "courtesy bus" to the festival.
For a one way ticket from Byron Bay to Byron Bay
Falls Festival they charged everyone $10 ONE WAY.
Reason #2 - $10 ONE WAY
Luckily this young man had a bubble machine and the
uncanny ability to recite every Disney song ever written.
The pain of being in Byron Bay was temporarily diluted
when I discovered Bonobo. I had found my dream man - Simon Green. And then some
sweaty dude on pingas rubbed his disgusting wet pimply back on me.
To my dismay the next day the girls woke up with a
musician and a avocado farmer and I woke up with a full blown head flu.
Reason #3 - Getting sick on your holiday sucks
balls
Meanwhile our neighbours were finding an alternate use for the bubble machine
Solange (Beyonce's sister) was undoubtedly the
silver lining. She reached out to my cold mainstream heart in a way that all of
the other super cool alternative totes underground bands never could.
After the festival finished and I had managed to
ruin two pairs of vans and get dust in places I never thought possible we had
two days left to do all the things you do when holidaying in Byron -
Hung out with Salty Rain
Befriended stray rabbits on the street
And drank ice cold long neck ciders
As you have probably noticed by now all of the pictures above are a great contrast from the tone of this piece. They depict happiness, smiles, laughter and love which is pretty much what Byron Bay is all about.
I thought greatly about getting one of the Queens who absolutely loved Byron to write this post. Because with all of you cool kids who read HOB who is going to relate to my dismal POV anyway? After all my three best friends thought I was insane for wanting to go home early.
But you know what 2014 is the year of honesty and in the name of honesty I want to be the first person to put my hand up and say festivals are overrated. Unless you're willing to take drugs or smuggle in a couple of flasks in between your butt cheeks it is both physically and financially impossible to stay happily intoxicated for a whole day and night. Being sober at a festival makes you all the more aware of the other shitty aspects. Sweaty boys in singlets fist pumping and checking each other out, so much dust and dirt that your snot turns a delicious shade of brown and no matter how hard you try having to endure those god awful portaloos.
But hey that's just me, lame mainstream Janet Jackson loving me. I have to admit there was one moment where I actually felt and loved what I assumed to be the real essence of a festival.
London Grammar. Drug induced trances and steroid inflated egos aside this band was fucking incredible. For a moment there it wasn't about getting your bum pinched by a hot guy or the intoxicating inhale of a cigarette you bummed of a plastered hippy it was about the music. The insane vocal abilities of Hannah Reid that transports you out of the sweat pit and into a state of pure tranquillity. Now that's what I think festivals are about.
Other than that its all bullshit in my eyes.
What's my idea of heaven could be your idea of hell and vise versa, staying true to yourself is what's really cool.
Now that I've finished inspiring millions with this post (aka mildly embarrassing rant) I must be off.
Next stop Noosa!!
Now that's a beachy town where my type of men do go ;)
Stay tuned lovers
xx
