Byron Bae

I took my very first yoga class in Byron Bay circa 2011 which is the most clichè of all clichès but the story deserves to be told. 
 

I arrived at Gold Coast bus terminal 11 years ago, dusty, hungover and exhausted from a year of constant travelling. So far my experience in Australia had been mediocre. I missed the anonymity of South East Asia. I missed the language barrier. After a year of getting by on hand gestures and animated facial expressions it felt way to easy to use just words. The overheard conversations at restaurants were never as interesting as I’d imagined them to be. I missed the chaotic roads and the smell of fish sauce and how I could eat the most fragrant papaya salad every day of my life for $1.50. I missed hammocks on the Mekong and drinking mango smoothies laced with mushrooms out of buckets. Australia felt too clean, too organised and definitely too expensive. 

I’d arrived in Cairns and quickly realised my dwindling budget wouldn’t allow me to backpack through Australia. I needed to find work and reasonable accomodation fast. It was almost Christmas and although I’ve never been nostalgic about that, the thought of spending it by myself in some backpackers surrounded by drunk 20 year olds wasn’t hugely appealing. My cousin Flo had a friend Yen who was living in Gold Coast. Come stay anytime, she’d said. 

So I decided to skip all of Queensland and flew to the ‘Goldie’ to spend a comfortable few days hanging out in a house with an actual shower and my own bed. On New Years Eve I decided to go out by myself in Surfers Paradise and kiss some random boy at midnight because some things never change. I was craving some stability. I wanted to put down roots, to unpack my clothes and leave them somewhere. I wanted to walk around without carrying everything I owned on my back.

‘Go to Byron’ Yen said. ‘You’ll love it there.’ 

I sat on the smelly Greyhound bus with my face pressed up to the window, listening to Bloc Party for the millionth time on my little iPod. I watched the landscape change.  Concrete and billboards gave way to rainforest. I started to pay attention. For the first time since I’d arrived in Australia my heart started to beat to a new rhythm. Yes, yes yes. This land felt good. Electric. I could feel the potential starting to buzz in my fingertips.

The bus meandered past green fields full of cows that reminded me so much of England I started to cry. In the valley the road was lined with huge prehistoric ferns and I could hear the crashing waterfall above. Eventually we popped out at Myocum and the classic Byron vista laid out before me. The paradise I’d been waiting for. When the bus stopped in the main street the first thing I noticed was how beautiful everyone was. The second thing I noticed was the bare feet. Hardly anyone was wearing shoes. Ever the chameleon I ripped mine off, tossed them in my backpack and never looked back. 

I was running out of money fast. People had told me you could work in hostels for free accommodation so I wandered into Aquarius because I liked the name and they told me, yes, a job has just come available five minutes ago, it’s yours. Free accommodation for 2 hours work a day. Sounded like a fair deal to me. ‘The only catch’, they said, ‘is you’re sleeping in the staff dorms.’

I was led up the stairs to the far corner of the hostel. Bongs and empty goon bags were scattered around on the floor. I peered inside. Sheets were roped up around every bed for privacy turning the whole thing into some kind of land based pirates den. A couple of girls looked up at me with contempt. I swallowed hard and made my bed. I was pretty used to being ignored. That night they all came in drunk and insisted on pulling all the sheets off my bed as they needed them for the camp fire. I felt humiliated and alone, I cried into my pillow dreaming of home.

The next day my luck changed. I was sitting outside on the balcony when a bubbly Yorkshire girl with a shock of curly blonde hair offered me a biscuit. 

‘They’re pretty vile.’ She said. ‘But you can have one.’  

We were both awkward AF and different from everyone else. We became friends in about two seconds flat and were inseparable from that moment on. We both got jobs at the same time. I was slinging falafels, she was filling baked potatoes. Within a week we’d moved into a dilapidated house on Johnson St. We were sharing a bed. The walls were literally falling apart. Every night I went to sleep next to a gaping hole right next to my head but I didn’t care. We’d made it. We were living in Byron. Our housemates were an ever changing array of surfers, musicians and Israeli backpackers. Of course we fell in love with them all one by one, along with most of the male population of Byron and a couple of hazy years of falling in and out of love faster than the tide changed ensued. Rach & I careened around Byron on our bikes that kept getting stolen, lurching from one chaotic beautiful messy moment to the next. Life was one long party and we were at the centre of it. 

Somehow, within the hedonism I found yoga or maybe, as they say yoga found me. My friend Kristen convinced me to go to class with her. I’ll never forget that experience. My teacher Mariana was a Brazilian girl with a voice like honey. I remember it being really really hard. I had no idea how to move my body or follow the instructions. I had no idea where my right foot was, let alone how to put it next to my right hand. I felt like a baby elephant trying to navigate a trapeze. Meanwhile lithe men and women were floating up onto their heads beside me. I was about to walk out and never go back when Mariana said the magic words. ’Savasana’. This is the bit when you lie down at the end of class. If you’re lucky you’ll get a blanket laid over you, an eye pillow placed lovingly on your eyes and even a massage. This is what got me. For the first time in my life I felt energy moving through my body. I felt like I’d been plugged into some mystical power source. My hands started vibrating and my heart was doing that thing again. ‘Yes yes yes yes yes’. I had no idea at the time but my life changed forever, lying on the floor of that school hall. It would take me a while to figure out what path to take, but the fire had been lit and could never go out.

At that time, everyone who wasn’t Australian was desperate to stay. The thought of going back to grey England after experiencing paradise was unthinkable. The words on everyones lips was ‘second year visa’. We secured ours by WOOF-ing on a beautiful organic pig farm up in the hinterland. Rach was way more conscientious than me and worked hard pulling out Lantana till she was red in the face whilst I’d lie on my back, looking up at the cloudless sky and contemplating birth, life and death. Brown snakes were everywhere and I’d infuriate Rach by refusing to wear shoes. Once she screamed at me ‘DONT TAKE LIFE SO… SO UN-PRECISIOUSLY’. 

Other days we’d enjoy long lunches with Matthew who’d tell us about his failed marriage and his time as an activist in PNG. He clearly loved having us around and signed our papers even though we’d done no way near the allotted hours. With our second year visa in the bag we made an executive decision to get the fuck out of Byron before we turned into the casualties of the party life we’d see crawling around the streets at 4am with wild eyes and matted hair. We bought a Mitsubishi Magna. I’d never driven an automatic car before and was constantly slamming on the brake thinking it was the clutch. We eventually lurched out of Byron one sunny morning. Said a teary goodbye to all of our lovers and started the journey back to nature. Back to ourselves. Our life got very wholesome very quickly. Without the temptations of drugs and alcohol and parties on tap we settled into a gentle rhythm of cooking on camp fires, reading each other bedtime stories, getting up with the sun, going to bed with the sun. We had one last party together, one of the first Rabbits Eat Lettuce festivals when it was a tiny tiny little doof up in the Bellingen hills, which holds a lot of significance for me now but that’s another story for another day.

One of my fondest memories is the time we spent next to a river somewhere in the Nightcap National Park. No responsibilities. No distractions. No technology. Just me, Rach, books we’d picked up at op shops and simple meals of beans and rice every night. I’d practice the few yoga postures I knew and do my best to sit and meditate. It was idyllic, but still we were 20 something year old girls and we had a constant desire for excitement and a serious case of FOMO so it was time to move. We want boys, drinking, dancing and excitement, yesterday! We drove to the nearest town of Coffs Harbour and descended on Reggae Night at the Hoey Moey with wild hair, no shoes and full hearts. This next adventure led be to the next big love of my life and my (almost citizenship).

As I write this I’m lying on my friend Steve & Vanessa’s floor, watching the rain move across the mountains. It’s hard to believe I found myself here 11 years later. If I could speak to my younger self I’d tell her to trust that little voice. Trust the yes. Trust the no. I’d tell her to not force things that weren’t flowing. I’d tell her she’s more loved and supported than she’ll ever know. I’d tell her her sensitivity is her greatest gift. 

I’m so grateful to be here now, with all of you. Thank you for sitting alongside me on this wild ride of life. Batemans Bay feels like heaven to me. For the first time in my life I’m truly settled. I’ve been here for almost 3.5 years which is the longest I’ve been anywhere since I left England. I’m more dedicated than ever to creating and nurturing a space where you can feel that same energy coursing through your fingers. Yoga has breathed me back to life and it brings me so much pleasure to share this gift with you all. Thank you for being part of it. Thank you for supporting Soul Tribe. Thank you for believing in this vision. I love you.