Byron the last time
Over the years and many visits, I've pondered how I would cope with the final trip to what is probably my favourite place on earth.
A few years back, a South African friend was leaving Brisbane to live in Canada. Once they knew for sure they were going, she and her husband went to Byron most weekends until time ran out. These days, she 'likes' photos posted by those still able to make the pilgrimage. I suspect she left part of her heart on the New South Wales north coast.
It'll be easier for me. I'm only moving interstate. But once you make a big-ish move, it requires that much more effort to return to old haunts. The necessity to travel by air stifles spontaneity. New destinations beckon.
I am, however, talking about something bordering on obsession, not merely places we love. A profound and uncommon connection. The feeling has always been hard to describe: spiritual; uplifting; soul-stirring; heart-warming; serene; soothing; intangible; evocative; sublime; mystical; magical; inspirational; breathtaking; outstanding; glorious…? And I'm supposed to be a 'words person'.
Unusually this time, we didn't stay in town, but at a rainforest resort in Suffolk Park, south of Byron. The reality was so much better than my expectation: spectacular remnant rainforest; peacefulness; quiet, large, comfy accommodation surrounded by paperbarks, Bangalow Palms and waterways; unobtrusive service; a shuttle into town; and many birds.
I have often extolled the virtues of the Byron Bay experience (type 'Byron Bay' into Search), so on this occasion I am letting the pictures – taken on a new camera with vastly superior zoom – tell the story. Over three days, more or less in order…
Never say never, right?