the only living cynic in byron bay
a short smattering of thoughts
i wanted to write about sincerity. this week i’ve been back in byron, staying in a famous hostel - the arts factory lodge. if you want a clear view of what it’s like, it’s where they filmed the inbetweeners 2, and it’s exactly like it appears in the film. currently i’m sitting between a volleyball tournament and a massive lake. two shirtless guys are playing guitar and there’s a girl opposite me, journalling. this place is the epitome of backpackerdom. people stay for months, mostly living out of vans in the carpark. every monday night they hold a northern rivers-renowned talent show, which ends up turning into a massive party. act after act of young people, up on stage in front of a few hundred people, earnestly singing something they had written. this place is excruciatingly sincere. i think i find that tricky.
i’ve had ups and downs this week. socialising has been both easy and a challenge. it’s been very easy to speak to my endless cycle of british bunkmates, but harder to truly connect with them. i am not ‘doing the east coast’. byron is really the only part of it i know, which disconcerts those who are used to asking new bunkmates if they’re doing ‘north to south or south to north?’. turns out, you’re allowed to do something different! lol. talking to the rest of the people in the hostel has also been a challenge. i know theoretically i could go up to anyone and start a conversation, and indeed i have, but even after having done that a few times i still feel invisible, surrounded by people who seem to know each other so well, despite having only been here a couple of weeks.
i’ve been out a few times - my first night, after a week of hanging out with a 72-year-old, i craved youth, and decided to join a random group of people in the smoking area. in turn i was invited to my first beach doof. a doof is a bush rave - a gathering of young people around a DJ set up, finding it slightly difficult to dance on sand (but easier depending on how many drugs one has consumed). i get a lift with a random 29 year old girl. i feel so YOUNG. we dance in the dark, staring up at the stars. we drink goon (cheap boxed wine) from the tap. it’s like i’m in a lorde song. i get home at one a.m, feeling accomplished. i am young, i have my whole life ahead of me, starting with this long decade of being twenty-something. and yet, part of me couldn’t quite let myself sincerely enjoy it. i am reluctant, and cynical. i join in a game of piggy in the middle in the pool, then i retreat to my room. i go on a night out to a bar, i come home early. i sit and watch a busker at sunset, and roll my eyes as he repeats how much he wants to ‘achieve his dreams’ of signing a record deal and then sings back-to-back acoustic covers.
is it the brit in me? we are so used to shitness in the uk, that when something feels ‘perfect’, we mark it with suspicion. are these people really happy? is anyone really happy? is that even the overarching emotion i want to embody for the rest of my life? not necessarily. i quite like to complain. i quite like the few days a week when it’s grey, and people wander around in a daze, wondering where their perfect sky has gone. sometimes there’s a quiet satisfaction in shitness, in having a cynical giggle.
that being said, there’s still joy to be found in my little routines (going to my favourite beach each day, doing my journalling on the deck, going to the saturday markets), and there’s joy in trying new things. sitting with the group of half-strangers from the doof and listening to their ideas on time and energy. last night, a guy told us that he sees the universe like a tongue - god (or whatever) is curious to taste everything, and therefore places different tastebuds in different areas of the tongue. i loved this image, and the group i was with continued a fascinating discussion from that point, no ‘where are you from’ small talk needed. before that i had been sitting doing puzzles in the hostel lobby, and i’m so glad i went over. the shirtless-guitar guys are now freestyle rapping to a recorded beat, and the cynic in me is pained that i have to keep that to myself. but to be fair, they’re also quite good. i hope you are well.
reading i’m currently reading jacob’s room by virginia woolf. virginia, i love that i will never understand your books on a first reading. there’s so much more to uncover for my future self, when the time is right.
watching i watched aquarius at the byron cinema this week - a found footage doc about the 1973 festival of the same name that was nimbin’s equivalent of woodstock. nimbin has not changed, but it still made me sad to know that the world has.
listening i’ve been on a reggaeton grind recently. that and surf rock, which make for a weird combo on my december playlist, along with all the kirtan chants from last week. eclectic!!