Shadow Jumping

Hmm, now where were we?

Oh yes, 4 shell-shocked girls hurtling down the highway, byron in our wake, the beautiful byron shire landscapes passing us by, with Sydney as our final destination. We eventually took out the maps and guidebooks and very roughly planned our voyage to take us along the coastal route, stopping/sleeping at whatever beaches struck our fancy along the way. We decided to avoid cities, stopping only in places small enough to call themselves towns. Other than beaches and towns, our only real stops were petrol stations (gas, snacks, water, and bathrooms....) and supermarkets.

I can't speak for the others, but I know i personally spent these first few days ungluing my mind from byron. My body may have been in that car, but my mind was miles and miles away, still firmly planted In Byron, amongst all the friends and places I had come to truly love. By the time we got to sydney, I had myself reassembled into something mostly like one piece. I was more or less ready to move forward, and it seemed the blue mountains were our next stop.

They were stunning. I can honestly say by now that the best things to see in Australia is pure, unadulterated nature. We stayed at the YHA in Katoomba, a sweet, tiny mountain town full of cafes, 'adventure' equipment stores, and art deco architecture. Our hostel couldn't have been any less like the Factory; dead quiet almost all the time, half empty at that, the guests more focused on planning exhuasting hikes rather than thinking about what they're gonna get from the bakery at 2am that particular night (spinach and ricotta slice, or asperagus+corn+cheese pie? tough call...) The sights were amazing, and the 3hour "National Pass" hike tamar and I took was easily one of the highlights of my australia trip so far. And I FINALLY rode a horse, for the first time EVER in my life. It was pretty cool.

One and a half days in the blue mountains proved enough for myself, Jenny and Tamar. Amber had set her sights on an ambitious 2 day hike, so she and Matt (whom we met up with there) went off on their own into the Jenolan Valley, while us three girls headed back to the coast for more beachy paradises. We set our sights on Jervis Bay National Park, and by the light of dusk set up our tent at the "cave beach" campsite, kept company by the local roo population the whole time. By this point my enthusiasm for camping was pretty well worn off, and fantasies of a nice comfy bed, mine at home even, were frequent.

That day and next were spent relaxing lays on beachs, taking slow forays into local towns for coffee and breakfast, and a hilarious rural op-shop-stop. Night two saw me serenading an audience of fellow campers as we finished off our dinner, right before heading out on a futile mission to find an open pub/bar at 11pm. A laughable venture, really. The next day we packed up and headed towards woolongong, occasional beach stops along the way, to meet Amber and Matt before continuing to Sydney, since we had to return our rental car by 10am the following morning

At some point during these ten days, we coined a motto for our trip, which has since become the motto for my trip as a whole, and perhaps my life? As we raised our wine glasses/mugs by the rosy light of dusk in the bluemountains, I demanded a toast.. I'm big on toasts.. Jenny said, using a lovely translated-from-german turn of phrase, "To jumping over our shadows" which basically means: to facing our fears, pushing our boundaries, and going beyond where our selves seem to end and the rest of the world begins.

And how.

Loving/Leaving the factory

So. After 6 months in Australia, 9 if you count my first stint, with a total of 7.5 months of that time spent at the lovely quagmire that is the arts factory, I figured it was time to move.

As a matter of fact, I'd always had 'after christmas' in my mind as a departure date. 6 months seemed a nice round number. Whatever that means. As January approached, i felt more and more comfortable with my choice because it became clear there would be a mass exodus of 'long termers' around this time; why stay if everyone is leaving? (yet again.. and again.. and again...)

A few days before christmas I realized my departure was fast approaching, and recalled that I had promised myself i'd quit a few weeks early so I could really enjoy my last little while at the Factory. The next day I gave my 2weeks notice, and was off the roster 6 days later. (my wallet and bank balance commiserated...). I had also decided that I was F<^king sick of bus living, and within a week had moved back into the campground. I became a happy full time resident of Sugoi Street!

And so began the emotional rollercoaster that was my arts factory wind-down! For a while I felt no less or more upset about leaving. In fact, it all seemed quite unreal, as drastic changes like this always do; I still can't quite come to grips with how easily and quickly something or someone can become a mere memory. It makes everything feel like it might just slip right through your fingers. Buddhism says we never really held it in the first place, and we must learn to let go. I did try to take comfort in this thought while mentally preparing myself for the separation anxiety to come. (True to byron style; when in doubt, turn to eastern religions! they have good answers AND good food!)




About a week before my departure date, a hazy veil was removed from my eyes and suddenly I saw my little world more clearly than ever before. Every tiny detail was being soaked up by my senses in the vain hope of keeping them with me forever and ever and ever. This 'letting go' thing was proving difficult! The struggle peaked during my last sunday session at Oska Cafe, where musicians (mostly arts factorians) gather on fuzzy sunday mornings to perform/enjoy laid back music and absorb bacon grease&caffeine. Every moment, every note, brought on more and more intense feelings. I tried to focus on how lucky I was that I should leave with memories like these in my mind and heart! But, alas, nothing could stop the flow of emotion and I had to excuse myself about 4 times to go hide around the corner and cry my eyes out.

(the hangover didnt help...)



Finally, d-Day came, rather anticlimactically. Spent my last evening first poking at my first-and-only-ever 2$ dinner at Cheeky Monkeys, then wandering around Byron late at night with Tamar, eating one final hedgehog from the 23hour bakery. Awoke the next morning to a very long to-do list that included giving away half my stuff, and packing the rest into a suitcase, a backpack, and a box to follow me down by post at a later date. Peppered through my tasks were many hugs, goodbyes, and last minute additions to my todo list. (Crap! Never asked so-and-so for that money they owe me! 20minutes is enough time to do laundry, right? Its never too late to make that long-promised 3dozen chocolate chip cookies.....) At about T-minus2hours, I must have blacked out, cause the rest is just a big ol' blur of reassuring words, hugs, tears (mostly mine) and car related pranks.



And then just like that, we were gone. Jenny, Amber, Myself, and Tamar were dazedly packed into the car, hurdling down the highway towards rest stops and beaches unknown, no longer under the protective wing of the Arts Factory and Byron Bay. I felt like a kite whose string had been cut;flying through random space, unsure where or even if I'd land again... How long would I be caught in updrafts, and how far would they carry me? Would I wind up swallowed by the sea? caught in place by some branches again? On I flew.

Hi All!

I am working on a real entry right now, i promise. i swear. I DO! But in the meantime, here are some pictures that I posted on Facebook, covering the last 2-3 months of my life.

More and more and more Byron lots of pics of silly people.

Byron Wind-Down aka my last month in Byron Bay, when I quit work and lived in the campsite.

4 is a magic number OR 4 crazy girls get in a giant rental car and driiive driiive drive their way to sydney and the blue mountains and beyooooond.

Just The Two Of Us, Part One!
The first of two massive sets of photos chronicling my 10 day trip in a campervan with Tamar, a dear Arts Factory friend, between sydney and melbourne, and just south of Melb along the great ocean road.

And in other news, I'm gonna be an Auntie! My Brother & Sister in law are expecting in September! So, my travel plans may need a bit of re-jigging now... hmm.....

tons of hugs and kisses and sad/lonely sighs,

Claire

Christmas in the land down undah.

I love christmas. With a passion.

As soon as halloween is over, it becomes my obsession, my pre-winter raison-d'etre. As the days get darker and colder and more threatening, the reds, golds, and greens of autumn become the ones of christmas decorations, and keep me going. I pour over the update of last years christmas playlist, and start playing it privately right away, publicly as soon as my friends will tolerate, and feel giddy every time I hear sleigh bells. I start keeping Christmas-present/card lists in about 4 different places. I drool over delicate blown glass ornaments and can't resist from buying at least 4 new ones for my tree-to-be, despite the fact I have way too many ornaments already. Decorations go up on the first of december. I create a huge mental list of all the crafts I will inevitably not make as presents for people. I spend too much time examining and buying a tree at the market, then argue with someone, anyone, while attempting to get that damn thing up straight. I stay up ridiculously late doing christmas baking/crafting at least twice. Christmas eve-day is, without fail, a mix of excitement and intense stress as I rush around completing last-minute preparations for the next morning, and curse my annual christmas procrastination YET again. 4pm Christmas eve - shops are closed, all I can do now is some rushed wrapping, and get cleaned up and dressed for a lovely, long, rich family&friends dinner. Christmas morning comes and I am like a very young child again, in my christmas PJs, waking everyone up needlessly early to start the gift opening around the base of the tree while drinking coffee and eating croissants. The rest of the day is spent lounging, tidying, playing with new toys, watching christmas movies, and enjoying the glowing buzzing feeling of happiness and satisfaction we all share.

Christmas in australia was pretty much NONE of those things. It was hot and summery, it was over in a flash, and it was my first christmas spent without my family. Yet, it was probably the best christmas of my life so far.

It was well into december before we decorated the hostel on a hot sunny day, my bathing suit still wet from a morning trip to the beach. The only festive thing in town was a giant fake tree in the middle of town, covered in peace signs and hideous color-changing orbs, taunting my love of christmas. I swore to single-handedly spread christmas spirit around the hostel, I made it my mission to carry out christmas traditions in order to spread the cheer - but it was easily another week before I even remembered to transfer my playlist to the hostel stereo system. I continually marveled with others at how it felt like pretend-christmas-in-July thanks to a lack of all those normal indicators of the festive season, and tho I anticipated the normal christmas-music backlash, much to my delight others shared my relief at some, at any, feeling of christmas cheer. I initiated a christmas countdown board at the front reception desk, just to keep myself from missing the day completely, and felt a tinge of jealousy every time a package or sticker-decorated red envelope arrived behind reception for one of the guests. It was probably the 22nd or 23rd before I attempted to create my list, when it occurred to me that broke backpackers needs to get creative with gift giving. I settled on some good old fashioned Christmas baking, carried out just hours before the eve. (At least some things never change!) I tried and tried, but it still felt so un-chirstmasy.

On the eve, a big masquerade dinner was taking place at the hostel, but I just didn't feel like taking part. It was a huge affair, 200 people, mostly short term guests who seemed to highlight my loneliness rather than relieve it. I had decided early on that my priority was to be with friends, but the eve found everyone either working or scattered. At around 8pm a small group of us gave up on any special plans and headed over to the bar for a turkey dinner reminiscent of a college cafeteria "santa-special". And yet, what a lovely dinner! We talked about our families, shared our christmas traditions, talked, drank, and were merry. We were a rag-tag group, but that made it feel even better. After dinner we escaped back to the hostel to join in slightly-crazier-than-normal craziness of drunk&happy backpackers. A few gifts and christmas notes were exchanged as we milled around starting to feel festive and loving.

On christmas morning, i rose early to finish packing my baked goodies, then distributed them to the foot of friends beds/tents while they still slept. Walking around the campground I giggled and felt fuzzy at the sight of 7 present-stuffed-Christmas-stockings, hung on a piece of twine running between two bamboo trees outside a group of tents. Around 10am our little group commandeered 3tables in the big kitchen and united over a potluck christmas breakfast, complete with mimosas and sentimental speeches. We ate for ages, complimented each others food and thanked each others cooking efforts. We laughed and took silly pictures, passed around the santa hats, and openly wondered if the yoghurt had gone bad thanks to the constantly malfunctioning Arts Factory fridges. Full of food, sweating from the effort of eating, we retreated to the pool for some morning swimming hi-jinx, then stuffed the pool to head to the beach, partly out of longing for the sea, but mostly just so we could say we spent christmas on the beach. Never will I forget the sight of a surfer heading down to the sea, board under arm, clothed in nothing but a Santa Hat. Around 3pm I headed back to do a short 4hour shift behind reception; best work shift EVER. I pretty much just sat there, aglow with contentment, loaning out pots and pans and wishing everyone a Merry Christmas, happily receiving their mutual wishes, and giving out christmas hugs and kisses.



At some point that morning, It dawned on me that a christmas void of all the normal traditions and routines was also void of all the normal stressors and superficialities, leaving my mind free to focus on and enjoy all the little things that christmas is really about. Not gift-giving; any gifts were tiny tokens, and the note that came with the gift was the truly special part of it. One friend gave out bracelets of hemp twine with a single knot, 'tied with love and positive intention' - i think he hit the christmas spirit nail on the head.

So, even if I missed my christmas a bit, and missed my family and friends, It was easily one of the best christmases of my life. Though it was lacking all my normal traditions, though it was hot and sunny and over way too quickly (by the 26th we all wondered if it had happened at all?!) I loved it for whittling down all the christmas bullshit and leaving me with nothing but the truly important and rewarding parts of the christmas season; love and positive intention. I hope to make every christmas for the rest of my life just like this one. Aka: sorry people, no more gifts, but I can promise you tender notes and lots of hugs, kisses and love.

Merry Christmas and Happy new year to you all, I love you & miss you, and wish you all the most amazing things in the upcoming year.

xoxoxoxoxox Merry Christmas!! xoxoxoxoxoxox

A brief photo summery tooo....

So. I broke my camera waaaaay back in august. it was a tragic day.
The good news is I just got a new camera, a sweeeet camera, the canon
G10!! But i did manage to get some pics of the last little while
from tech-saavy friends. so here ya go!

xx

Splendour in the Grass, my first weekend back in Byron in August.

Yah, it actually got cold at night in august. Cramming around the woodstove, escaping the chill of the night and our tents, became a nightly tradition.

Just another day at the pass.

Field Picnic funtimes! Loveliest Ladies in the world.

Byron's weekly farmers market.

Halloween!!!!!! bzzzzzzzzzz....

Jim's Alternative Tour takes a pit stop at Minyon Falls

Roman visits: we have fun.

A summary of some kind.

So, again, apologies for my long absence from you all in this virtual medium. I know I said I woudln't try to cover the past few months.... but I lied..... here goes!

When I first arrived back, I was full of determination to find work, but the highly contagious byron-bay-lifestyle and the slow-season-lack-of-work meant it was a few weeks before I started working for accommodation, and at least a month before I started earning money.

My first job here was as daytime shuttle driver for the hostel I live at, replacing a friend who was going away for 6 weeks on an east coast adventure. Work started at 7am, my first trip up the the bus station at 7.20, and then a work day that combined driving, working, and lots of bus-station hijinx with drivers from other hostels as my co-conspirators. It was hard work - a day that lasted until 9pm, with a deceptive/useless 3hour break in the middle of the day. The end of the day usually saw me exhausted and incredibly grumpy; not one ounce of friendly disposition left for even my friends, let alone any guests. I'd eat a quick dinner and collapse in my room. It was 3days a week, so it left me plenty of time for other pursuits. Like a second job!

My other part time job saw me employed as a server at "Cardamon Pod", a restaurant run by Hare Krishnas! *Hare hare, hare krishna krishna rama, rama hare...* The food was delicious and much too greasy, mostly indian, and prepared in the Hare Krishna way. My coworkers were all lovely lovely people, some devotees, some not, like myself. Best of all, it got me out of the factory, and gave me a bit of supplemental income.

So i did this for a while, about 6 weeks. Enjoyed it massively, but started to feel overwhelmed as the town became more crowded with the high-season approaching. Luckily, Jimmy came back form his trip, putting me out of bus driver work, straight into reception work! Which is what I have been doing since then. Much better suited to my patient, bubbly personality, though I've earned much much less income since then. Oh well. I have to remind myself that I'm here to have interesting & varied experiences, not just to work and save money.

Working so much, however, has meant that I've had not alot of time for much else; no surfing, and much less musical practice than I'd hoped. But now I have a month of completely empty days to make up for it! I'm going to buy a surf board this week, and hope to fill my days surfing, biking, singing and playing my uke, cooking, lounging at the beach, and sleeping in occasionally.

Speaking of. Leisure calls.

all my love!! Definitely don't miss the cold and snow, but miss you all terribly.
xoxo

claire

Insert generic apology for blog absence here...

Hello Daaaaaah-lings!

It's December 7th, and I've been back here in oz for a full 4 months. I've been putting off updating this gosh darned thing largely because the more time passed, the greater a feat updating you all on my life seemed. An impossibly large task in fact. Where to start?! And how could I ever communicate to you all the joys of the tiny moments that fill my days here in Byron, that make this experience a whole that is greater than the sum of its parts?

This past Monday at our weekly talent show, the solution to my procrastination fell into my lap when a good friend of mine, Ben, did a prose reading. What he wrote touched me so much, as it so beautifully and succinctly expresses everything I would have tried to tell you about what it has been like to live here at the Arts Factory, and in Byron Bay. So you have my apologies for not providing my own version, but I'm thrilled to be able to share what he wrote with you all. I'll fill in my own details in entries to come.


lots of love and hugs,

claire

ps, many thanks to Ben for allowing me to mooch off his much time invested in writing this.

Listening to my intuition is a skill I’m finally learning and reacting to it requires a certain amount of selfish conviction that doesn’t come naturally to me. Since leaving Asia and the shroud of kindness that is wrapped around you by the beautiful people who live there, my soul has been longing for love and friendship. Stubbornly I refused to yield to these desires and shut them away. I regarded them as a weakness and insecurity and didn’t want them to dictate the path I chose to follow. Slowly I came to realize that neglecting myself in this way would only compound the problem, and if I am to continue to travel and follow my dreams I must take care of myself in every way.

At the Arts Factory I had found a calm bay in which I could weather the storm of emotions I was feeling. I found smiles, compassion and a loving atmosphere quite unlike anywhere I had ever been. My confused heart was distracted and I began to rebuild.

I fight to push my arm through the hole designed for my face as the alarm lady informs me of the time. Trapped inside I jerk my body across the tent and with a single finger I manage to prod the button which brings silence again.

Some successful sun reaches me through the canopy and the only sounds are those that come from the birds. Splendid relentless repetitive noise, I’m curious to know if they ever hyperventilate – perhaps that’s why they make so much effort, not a communication thing at all, but a way to get high?
My work boots weave about the guys and pegs, my hat ducks and bobs among the rope and tarp and I negotiate my path through the shanty jungle village to the mainland. This is my favorite time of day, its where I find my solitude. I cherish the silence. I watch the Water Dragons absorbing patches of morning heat and Bush Turkeys chasing each other about the lakeside. I see blue sky behind the montage of green leaves and conclude it too early for a breeze. I’m still staggered by how much rain we get here and this fine morning comes as a splendid holiday from the tropical wet. I hope it lasts long enough to dry the damp smell from our tents.

Positioning myself in full sunlight I eat cornflakes and banana at a table on the balcony. It’s Monday. I remember the weekend and piece each fragment together, enjoying the memories and deciding to stay until Christmas. Halloween, five weeks into my life at the factory was the first time I had been drunk here, and I consider if drinking together builds bonds between people that can’t be built sober? Instilling a sense of comradary? If this is true, perhaps I should drink more?

Byron’s monthly market never fails to impress me, I always find something new, be it food or jewelry or music, and luckily for me it only happens once a month because any more frequent and I could kiss my savings goodbye in favor of a big belly and multicoloured wardrobe.

Exactly this time last year, at the beginning of my journey I was here with my Mother, Lucie and Daryl, visiting Charlie and Shaun; our first taste of Byron. Feeling nostalgic I sit and watch a band called Oka. The reminiscence I’m lost in floods me with emotion and a tear falls onto the grass. Memories arrive of the last time I saw them, like a slideshow one after another, after another, and I try to land in them, be there again. More visions arrive, of friends of weddings, of other brief moments and before I know it I’m hugging the tent-pole like a lost child. Out come the accumulated pain and frustration, angst and worry, sorrow and loneliness. I’ve not cried like this for two and a half years and it feels so good; purging and cleansing. I feel a hand on my shoulder reach up and hold it there. It seems my sobbing has been shaking the whole tent and has not been as discrete as I was hoping. It is quintessentially Byron to have a stranger hold your hand as you cry. I half expected the arm to reach over and hug me, but it didn’t.
Walking home with a wonderfully clear head, I consider why crying is viewed as such a weakness when it seems to have the most amazing healing properties. By the time I reach reception I feel like a new man, well my old self again, at least, and begin looking for some fellow lunatics.

The Beach Hotel is full of Friends and we dominate the floor as if the show is especially for us. Grants dancing wins him a kiss with Lisa Hunt and a strained back and everyone loves him for his barmyness. Our collective eventually dissipates and some of us guiltily patronize Dominoes for $4 pizza, before ambling back for a chat and a smoke.

I check my watch and discover I am, as usual, late. My boss is weak and fond of sulking and especially dislikes my punctuality. I try to win his mood with a massive smile and a cheery greeting. Today’s task, as was yesterdays, and probably tomorrows is moving heavy objects from one side of the building site to the other. I feel grossly over-qualified and as I begin the menial job my eyes must turn glassy as I drift and fade from real life, losing myself in daydreams, ambitions and memories.

Into my left ear, a famous Dylan rift, and as I journey through the campsite more music welcomes me home; drums, percussion, and more guitars. I can feel the nervous excitement in the air, tonight is the most important night of the week for some, perhaps even the main reason some stay? Mara arrives at my tent and plays a couple songs she has in mind, then bounces off to find wine. I just sit, in my recycled lounge-shack, enjoying the atmosphere, loving my life and appreciating how happy I am here.

I feel nervous as I find a patch of blanket to sit on. I don’t know why I’m nervous, I just am, and as we pass beers and joints the atmosphere finds its own unique and loopy medium. It must be so difficult to remain composed in front of this many eyes. I imagine myself under those lights and wish I had something to offer. I feel that squeeze in my stomach the rises to my throat, just thinking about being there ruins me, there must be 300 people watching?

Every Act is outstanding and I feel proud of my friends. We all dance to Cockatoo Paul as he wraps up his show and the short term visitors look bewildered by our zeal. The atmosphere relaxes and the evening is underway. Now I have to decide how functional I want to be at work tomorrow, because there ain’t no turning back… I feel old as I pause to consider the repercussions and laugh at myself for being so easily persuaded, what harm would one more do?

I live with a lovely community at the Arts Factory and plan to stay here until after Christmas, when which, there is only one other place in the world I would rather be – Cold rainy beautiful and homely Devon. But not this year. Between New Year and April I am still undecided but it will depend on how much money I have saved. My future travels require an obscene amount of money, all of which needs to be earned.

- Ben Bushell, Byron Bay, December 2008