Wednesday 8th April 09 – Byron Bay.

I sit here at a wobbly legged, one drawered desk, with a faded 1970’s map of the world lacquered onto the top, munching on an almost comically sized carrot and a fresh pot of Promite. I have just finished and enormous mug of hot chai tea with soy milk and honey, that I pilfered off of one of our new house mates, promising myself as I poured the gloopy white milk substitute from its cardboard container, that I would replace it when I next have the money to afford such luxuries.
Our new abode, for the time being, is a large crumbly, 1960’s, guesthouse. It has mahogany coloured floor boards, an enormous veranda and kitchen taps that make me want to call them “faucets”.
Mark, the owner of this ‘Sesame Street’ house, reminds me somewhat of a Vietnam war veteran. Short back and sides, slightly crinkled and frayed around the edges, permanently on edge, with a soft Californian drawl. He seems nice enough tho and likes to keep himself to himself which works for me. The ‘big room’ was the one we originally fell in love with here. It is enormous with two floor to ceiling shuttered doors that lead out into the similarly gargantuously proportioned balcony. We pictured this room as our dream studio, come bedroom, come living room, come yoga studio as it is easily big enough for all this, and a few impromptu dinner soireys to boot. However, as is typical this time of year, being Easter, and the yearly awaited Bluesfest, any landlord worth his salt hikes up his prices, and has a tendency to squish as many poor willing fools into one room as possible, and charge them thru the roof for the privilege. Mark, being the seasoned pro he is, had this firmly in mind as he point blankly informed us “ do you know how many people I can get in that room man? And at least another 2 on the balcony. You guys take the small room.”
So here we are in the ‘small room’ that is to be fair, more than adequate for 2 people if a little stark. We have fashioned a wardrobe from a piece of rope strung between two hooks in the corner, we have a rickety double bed with four double sheets but no pillows and a desk with no chair. But, I sigh, at least we have a place that is slightly more within our price range to lay low until the pot smoking, blues loving, Easter bunny has hopped off out of town and we can return to our search for the dream house. We are also waiting to hear back from a friendly English couple who are selling their bright yellow, ex florists van, which they converted into a camper. They have just lowered the asking price again form 3500 dollars, to 2500, as it seems they are desperate to get rid as they leave Byron at the end of the week. We decided to stand firm with our measly offer of 1000 dollars and see just how desperate they are by Friday. Fingers crossed.
We have already sniffed out and claimed a few friends here, that seem to have that same universal wit that Ollie and I are drawn to, and so we have spent the last few nights at our friend Adams house as I think he felt sorry for us.
Last night we clambered into his ute and he drove us to the Yurt (don’t get confused here) up on the hill. The Yurt is incredible. It is exactly what it sounds like. A 10 metre round mongolian yurt, that is filled with the most delicious old Indian rugs, cushions and Tibetan prayer flags that turn it into the cosiest, womb like structure I have ever seen. It is used for yoga classes, meditations and, I found out that you can hire it for your wedding. Cue a few inconspicuous nudge nudge, wink wink moments in my beloved boys direction.
Any way back to the story, we tiptoed up the path to the intricately carved crimson door, removed our shoes and stooped down thru the door way into the technicouloured tent. We each recieved a round cushion and took up a cross legged seat on the floor. Thus followed a 45 minute silent meditation which I am very impressed to say the boys handled like pros and I think they even enjoyed it, numb bums and all. Rebecca and I fell straight back into the old routine of our daily meditation classes from yoga camp, and I actually felt a lot calmer and a little less disjointed as I had before. When we were all fully meditationed out, we hopped back in the shiny white ute and headed back to Adams beautiful house, to feast on homemade sweet potato and cashew dip, with vegetable squewers, followed by roasted banana, soy ice cream and homemade flap jacks.
I have developed a serious case of post yoga camp munchies so this went down a little too well. Diet starts tomorrow.
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