Ah, Byron Bay. You're just what I wanted

So I left the rain of Brisbane behind me, to walk smack into the rain of Byron Bay. Seriously, Australia, seriously.

Having convinced Tom (totally did no convincing whatsoever) to both stay in Aus and come with us on our trip basically by just talking about it around him, I was happy to step off the Greyhound into the hug of my giant buddy. He had suggested that I stay at the Arts Factory hostel, his favourite place in the world, and once I'd confirmed my intention to head that way, he decided to come with. We both booked into the 'small tee pee' for 2 nights - the Arts Fac is made up of normal dorms and wierd little places like a tee pee, a love shack and all manner of sleeping abodes. We thought ours sounded like a great idea, until it rained everywhere, was freezing at night and we realised we were situated right next to the busiest bar bit. Not even ear plugs helped, but then I guess we should stop being old and boring.

One of the many friendly water dragons just wandering round the Arts Fac

There's heaps to do at this hostel, especially when you're down for sitting in hammocks reading. Taking advantage of $3 schooner happy hour was excellent when we walked into their fantastic pillow cinema with a beer in each hand to watch a movie for only $5, and I dragged Tom out for an amazing 3 hrs surfing on the second day. I'm sure I was a terrible teacher, but the hire was cheap, the sun wasn't too scorching and the water was perfect for some mad funs in the waves. Thanks Byron!

On xmas eve, David and Vadym stepped off their terrible and overpacked Greyhound bus (this should have been a harbinger for the terror of our later Greyhound journey, but it wasn't heeded, of course) to join us at the Arts Fac. We'd abandoned the idea of camping, thanks to the totally shit weather, but the guys brought 2 tents with them, just in case. We managed to snag the last 4-room available and set about arranging a great xmas eve and xmas day. This mainly involved buying 75c reduced but delicious muffins and titting about in the pool.

Xmas day was pretty phenomenal. Since leaving the UK this is my third xmas without the family, and when all is said and done, it's better. No worrying about offending any family members when you open their shoddy presents and have to feign pleasure, no arguing with said people, no forced overeating and ending up watching the Vicar of Dibly at 9pm wondering if its too early to go to bed. We started the day off with Irish coffees, ate a pretty mad breakfast of cereal and croissants, then headed to the beach for surfing or messing about the in the sea with a ball, if you're David and Vadym. We then headed back to the hostel and made a meal (haha! punnage) out of cooking an immense and fantastic stirfry thing, the most work falling to Tom as chef in residence. The sweat pouring off that man was testament not only to the heat, but to the effort put in by all. Cranking up the festive tunes while cooking, then sitting down with cheap champagne and guzzling the whole expanse of food followed by a massive pannetone was the highlight of my trip. We had drinks, crackers, balloon animals and presents. Thanks guys for a great xmas day :)

As was tradition, we then headed to the pool, decided against a rain-soaked rave in a quarry (which apparently was terrible, thankfully) then got a bit drunk and watching David get angry as he repeatedly lost at Shithead.

Merry Christmas indeed!

Boxing day was somewhat more adventurous - we hooked up with the guys running the Happy Coach (THC - punnage!) to go to Australia's Cannabis Capital, Nimbin. A torrent of terrible jokes and a tour guide with a beer in his hand by 10am told us we were going to have an interesting trip, but nothing could have prepared us for the hilarity of some humourless Germans also on board. The first stop was at a pub where you could crack your own fresh macadamias (which I did with inherent glee, and literally filled my pockets), and the only boy German with a group of po-faced girls approached our great driver Tony to ask when we were leaving: "I am a very impatient man". Now, this fellow was dressed like a Cambridge reject from the 50s - beige shorts, sailor boy shirt, over-organised satchel and one of those beards that's made to make it seems as though you've got a jawline, even though he was heaps skinny. This mesh of outrageous outfitting was topped off by a boater, and after hours of quietly hating him, this headgear had given rise to the nickname Pat Rafter.

Funnier though, was his and his posse's reaction to AC/DC being played back on the bus at ear-splitting volume. I don't know whether this was Tony's quiet revenge for the pub episode, or whether he really couldn't see the reactions his music choice was eliciting, but as the fun amongst us sang along at the top of our voices, Pat and his buddies put ear plugs in and literally cowered away from the rock, pulled disgusted faces at each other and making fresh attempts to push themselves into the seats every time a new song came on. I haven't laughed that hard in ages.

The fantastic Tony

Anyway, we eventually made it to Nimbin, which is less of a town, more of a strip of street with weed-themed shops and cafes lining it. Dodgy-looking dealers are everywhere, and the whole shebang seems a  bit too much hassle for a place which is famous for selling weed. I never really feel all that great about place which are too much into the green (I'm talking marijuana-themed merchandise and whatnot) but we had a great veggie sausage sizzle courtesy of Tony, bought some amazing 50c cupcakes, and Tom was mad pleased with his hemp wallet. It's definitely a strange little place.

THC - The Happy Coach (unless you're German)

Pat amused us all on the way back again, and we reached Byron just in time to watch Tron Legacy, which I totally bummed in all respects. Desperate to watch it again, just for the unbelievable visuals!

We later said goodbye to Tom who was headed home, and caught a late Greyhound bus to Coffs Harbour on a whim. The rain had got even more hectic as we headed out to catch the bus, and we were all soaked as we got on. Vadym was getting dripped on even inside the cabin, and poor David was getting so drenched that he and his friendly American seat buddy had to create a water-catching device out of a curtain and a rain coat, which didn't stop him from getting soaked yet again. By the time we stepped off the journey an hour late in Coffs, we were all ready just to catch a cab and bitch for half an hour before falling asleep.

Coffs Harbour

It turns out that like most of Aus, there isn't a lot to do in Coffs when its raining, and we exhausted all its possibilites in about a day. One thing it does do well though is cafes, and we had the best breakfast of the trip at a place called 'Art. Surf. Eat' or something, had wicked fish and chips (or potato scallops if you're me, which I am) then a pretty phenomenal bowl (yes BOWL) of chai throughout the day. We also had a picnic feast of fruit and threw financial caution to the wind to buy hundred-dollar train tickets for the overnight back to Sydney in the evening. Breakage of seat; excitement from Putin; oranges; ginger beer; fun; sleep; back home.

A fabulous little trip, all in all.