Sometimes, it Takes a Kangaroo - May 10th, 2012

Yesterday was my last day in Byron Bay before traveling back to Maryland for a bachelorette party and wedding, and a month with family and friends in between. 

I had breakfast at Mac’s, dropped off my mail, went to work to say goodbye and pick up my last week’s pay, returned my library books, had a meat pie from the French bakery L’Ultime on the beach. I finished souvenir gift shopping, and went to the dive shop to see if there was a space for a volunteer on the one o’clock dive boat.

Half an hour later, I was headed out to sea.

Fishes galore, a big spotted ray, woebegone and leopard sharks, Julian Rocks served up an afternoon of warm, calm waters for my last run of the season.

Back in town, I flopped on the beach like a wet fish to dry off in the sun and sand. Melancholy set in. Thinking about leaving the roaches behind along with the sea helped a little.

I sat and watched the sea until the sun started cooling, then went home to pack. Instead, I sat talking with one of my housemates for hours about purpose, and the environment, and the nature of humanity. Very productive. At last it could be avoided no longer, and I packed at the speed of a turtle, carefully choosing a place for each thing, orchestrating my bags for the journey, and swept the sandy wood floor before falling asleep. 

I left against my return my surfboard, my Aussie hat, a laundry basket full of hangers, snorkel mask and drybag, my fluffy garage sale blankets, and enormous rainbow umbrella. In the morning, I put away the last things, toothbrush and contacts case and pillow, then stood around taking photos of things until I kicked myself into high gear and made breakfast.

There is something so deeply lovely about standing outside at sunrise when the air is cold and your breakfast is steaming hot. Breathing in crisp, clear chilly air, nourishing food warming inside, the whole universe is thrown into high relief, crisp and inviting. I’ve discovered this again and again, the magic of chilly air sunrise breakfasting, both while camping and having meals outside on my deck at Browning Street. Every time it charms me anew. The sun splashed warm tones against the leaves of the banana trees, the birds cavorted, and my oatmeal was done to a turn.

I hiked in to the bus stop and sat down in the sun, planning to fondly watch the town wake up. Mostly, I started feeling bored. Uh, oh. This was going to be a long, long trip. Days on end, the longest continuous travel I’ve ever done by myself, and the boredom was already beginning to lap at the edges of my sentimental goodbye. This could be a looooong couple of days.

The melancholy continued on the bus out of town, through Lennox Head and Suffolk Park. Passing through Ballina, I spotted The Giant Prawn, a huge pink sculpture and exultation of absurdity. 

This brought me much glee. 

The bus changed to a train, and shortly outside Casino, I spotted a wild kangaroo.

My day was made.

Melancholy gone, transition made, I’m now watching the cattle country roll by outside my window, becoming increasingly excited about the journey ahead, many hours of amazing scenery unfolding, books to read, movies to watch, tasty snacks and journeying companions and exciting surprises that all await before I reach that lovely place at journey’s end.

I'll be back in Byron for the whale migration soon enough.

Right now, a month at home is sounding really, really good.

Maryland, here I come!