The Next Week

MONDAY 3.15.12

Today was awesome.

Last night, after only a brief mention, my boss looked at the schedule and realized I was on too many hours and days in a row. He took me off the early Monday morning shift and told me to get some rest, have some fun, come back bright.

I went to the beach after getting off at eleven thirty pm, took off my shoes, had a slice of potato pesto pizza and watched the moon and the sea and walked in the sand and surf and felt my feet and legs return to a normal healthy state.

I walked home and stopped at the bakery to celebrate my first paycheck with a French Breast – like an éclair, with strawberry jam, then got home and wrote a message and fell into blissful sleep, with an alarm set to get up early, have breakfast, and make the morning dive boat.

Morning dawned gray and cloudy, but I plucked up and ate the last apple, finished making and tying in the braided blue yarn strings that suffice as curtain holders for our floor-length roll-up bamboo slat window shades, braided my hair and stretched and went to the dive boat none the less.

The morning was less than successful. I felt like I was constantly in the wrong place at the wrong time and didn’t know what to do; disappointing, since the last time I was there I really felt like one of the crew. We got out onto the water, and everything began to get better. I got into the water, and life was perfect again. I’d  fitted my mask in the shop, and spit into it correctly so it didn’t fog up and barely leaked. The suit was comfortable.

 The wildlife was amazing.

There was a sea turtle, and then another, in a school of puffer fish leading to a manta ray. There was a woebegone shark larger than a person, and a leopard shark the size of a person. There was a cloud of fish brilliant and bright and shimmering, and I remembered why I’d come, what I love, why I’m here. A school of gray silver fish hung just below the breaking surface of the water, the colorful fish glittered in the light, and I was utterly happy. The waves crashed, the rocks were tangibly close, the birds loud and white. There in the trench leading up to "the cheese grater" - a narrowing gap in the rocks that often harbors sea turtles and causes a bubbling, foaming current where the gap narrows and waves smash through, causing clouds of bubbles  and a current that rises and falls with the swells in the trench- were two more turtles, one smaller and quickly disappearing into the bubbly foam of the high tide waters breaking through the cheese grater. The other, larger, swam below. I followed him from just above, and saw two silver clips on the outsides of his front flippers. Scattered throughout were amazing fishes, one a triangular/diamond shape with black outlines and brilliant thin blue, white and black stripes, angelfish, damselfish, fish of many colors, fish schooling in brightness and in patchwork, a sea turtle followed along the ocean floor, starfish tucked among the rocks. I had no one to keep tabs on, only myself and the other divers and the sea to explore. The current was moving but not frightening, the waters surface was fairly calm, and I was feeling strong and at the ready – the ocean was my oyster, and I explored it’s surface and rocky depths, at least as far as my ears and nose and mask could go.

It was amazing. I was filled with happiness and calm. I realize now people here, at least in that dive subculture, talk and compare notes fairly little. There's very little "WOW that was awesome, what did YOU see?" after. A little, sometimes, but mostly it's just, "yeah, it was pretty good." Everyone just keeps coming back, and that’s all that needs to be said.

On the boat on the way back, I knew what to do. I knew where I ought to be, I was able to do it quickly and well, I needed little direction and was a capable, though still fresh, part of the crew. I was welcomingly invited out again, but satiated and wanting to rejoin with Ben as per the plan, I happily declined for the day and made my soggy way home, hungry for pizza and broccoli lunch. I had a slice at the table with one of our roommates and chatted, then went outside for a few minutes before washing my damp clothes and jumping into a deliciously hot shower.

Cleaned and all my motivation peacefully washed off, I dressed back into pajamas and Ben and I watched Finding Nemo, a highly thematically appropriate choice that continued to bring up scenes that looked so immediately familiar that  felt as though I was seeing parts of the film anew, and enjoyed its heartwarming delight to an almost embarrassing degree.

Post film, we went back into town to the post office, as Ben had been advised by our longest-term roommate to arrange safe mail delivery there for anything important, as our“mail box” is a rilled metal tube under a large red number, scenic but not secure. On the way, we were waylaid by a dim-sum yum-cha refridgerator case, a split a red bean cha siew paow. Yum. Business at the post office concluded, apparently you just have it addressed to you care of the post office with the branch address,  we went to Woolies for barbeque sauce and green apple shampoo, then on to the hardware store for rope to string the hammock.  

The very helpful woman at the hardware store directed us to an inexpensive length of orange outdoor rope of an appropriate weight and to the thirty foot specification we’d guess-measured earlier. We also picked up a Greek basil plant in a great little purple plastic bucket that looks incredibly healthy and smells amazing. I’ve been wanting a basil plant, Ben felt he could go either way, and I was willing to wait. We tossed a fifty cent piece, and it came up heads. Our basil plant is now living on the deck, making me happy. Nothing to make a girl feel at home like having fresh herbs growing outside.

With some degree of effort, a series of half-hitches, two camp knives, the assistance of the Book of Knots to tie a bowline with an anchor, a stick for giant spider removal, a few scratches and ant and mosquito bites, a deck chair for access to high places, one tree climb, two knives, half a box of matches (thank you, George!) for welding the cut ends of the rope back together, one tree climb later, we had the hammock secured between to palm trees with two orange ropes nicely tied up with loops on either end for the caribbeaners. Then one of the beaners broke. The metal actually bent out of the loop, and Ben went crashing to the ground. Thus, a few little bites and scratches, one minor molten plastic burn, and one beaner-breaking abrasion later, we have the hammock ropes completey up and ready to go. All we need now for the actual hammock are real beaners.

While taking stock, I realized that the slight ‘abrasion’ on my knee from earlier in the day had faded to a rose color, and is I am fairly nearly certain my first jellyfish sting. There were quite a few small jellies out by the rocks today, and I thought while swimming I might’ve kicked one, but then chalked the red knee scratch looking thing to an accidental kick of the boat or mats or truck or something. Retrospectively, to my delight, I’m pretty sure it was aquatic.

Hammock roping up accomplished, we came back in and went to dinner. The Aquarius Hostel hosts a backpacker dinner.

It is awesome.

The beef is juicy and tender. The fries (or hot chips, here) are hot, crispy, perfectly oiled, and excellent. The tomato sauce is saucy and fruity and sweet. The salad, though tiny, was populated with excellent mesculin and crispy sticks of carrot and other garden yumminess. The water was free, clean and cold and in clear glasses. It is a highly prudent feature of this country, in this town of serious physical activity and little food and lots of beer, that water is freely available nearly everywhere, in bars and restaurants and outdoor drinking fountains.

Anyway, the patio was excellent, the music clubb-ish but entertaining, and the dinner to die for. I nearly died of happiness and satisfaction, in fact, burger juices running over my palm. I’d make a terrible vegetarian these days.

After Aquarius, we happily walked to La Playa, the local balcony tapas bar with highly appealing and charming outdoor track lighting on their balcony surrounded by palm trees, open to the stars, and dressed with a white table umbrella and white sign. It was still live piano music, being played by a New Yorker. We went in, ordered exciting Spanish wines (and accidentally switched glasses – Ben had an intensely described but lightly colored desserty wine, and I enjoyed the heck out of an Orange wine, a recipe apparently guarded by Andalusians since the middle ages called something Naranja from a place with an abbreviation I assume stands for Navarra. It was dark, complicated, sweet, and delicious). We sat at the railing of the balcony under the palms and the stars and listened to a black man from New York sing and play the piano, and quickly realized we were in the lucky and Monday-night-small audience of a very talented musician indeed. He sang, he played, he was spell binding. In that moment, in that place, I was no where else but there, sipping wine and listening to the music and being, in that piano bar.

We stayed far longer than we’d planned, and he sang and played.

When at last the set came to an end, we went to the bar to pay our tab. The piano man was just coming around the bar, so we happily were afforded the opportunity to tell him how amazing he was, and he was very friendly and engaging and seemed glad to hail fellow Americans. Apparently he calls New York home, right up until the cold weather hits, and then he high-tails it to sing in warmer climes, and recently had been living in Sydney until making a contact in Byron and returning to perform for a few weeks at a time.

We went on to Cheeky Monkeys to play pool, and made it under the wire for free cover by just minutes, only to find that the table was being waited for, there was a twenty dollar deposit for the cues, and it was three dollars a game, a one and a two dollar coin (different sizes, the two being smaller), just to be annoying. We repaired back to Aquarius, where we weren't carded at the door, the cues were out and available (although they were shorter and lighter, but this bothered me not at all, especially given the proximity of a few of the pillars to angle shots), the game was still three dollars but all in the same size coin, and apparently it’s possible to play ping-pong there as well.

We played two games, and I have begun to play reasonably well. At least, much better. I’ve now won one fifth of our Australian games, and I’m improving. Some shots are beautiful, some are lucky, and many make an excellent sound.

We returned home, another beautiful walk on a warm night with the moon and clouds in the tropical evening blowing a constantly changing sky, painted under the palm trees. Upon reaching the house, I went outside to bring in the mostly dry  laundry I need for work in the morning, and greeted our roommate, just home from work cooking at Aquarius. He told me to come see something, turned out the light in his room, and pointed out the base of his bonsai tree, a soil space now shared by a glowing mushroom he found in the yard bicycling home.

The mushroom, whose cap he handled with great abandon though it was glowing and sticky, appeared to have perfectly healthy intact rills and seemed to be bioluminescing away with great ferocity- though the fungus was no larger than the size of a quarter, it glowed brightly enough to actually cast a little light.

We’ll see what sort of dreams the roommate has tonight.

This is a great country. And it was an excellent day.

TUESDAY 3.13.12

Tuesday morning dawned gray and rainy. Luckily I’d brought my work shirt in off the laundry line last night, in case of drizzle, and so it was nice and dry. We were out of apples, had yet to buy sugar, and were out of milk. This would’ve put a bit of a cramp in my fruit and coffee and granola for breakfast plan, but we live one block from The Green Grocer, rapidly becoming my favorite store in the world. I got up, put on jeans and shoes and grabbed my excellent new four-dollar-on-closeout-special-plaid-tartan-umbrella, which I actually didn’t need as the sun came out during my five-minute shopping trip. Armed with apples, a little bag of raw sugar, and a carton of fresh milk, I returned to our little yellow and white ancient-painted kitchen, prepped my breakfast, and ate at the little wood-slat dining table in the breakfast area/sunroom looking out the glass door at the backyard. Ben sleepily joined me, and we chatted for a minute.

I went to work, and had a great day. I’m starting to really feel like I know and have a place in the rhythm of the pizza-making machine there, and the more I get to know the ingredients and processes and methods and people, the more I become convinced it’s pizza worth making. It’s Slow Food. Something I’d promised myself I’d ‘get into some day’ while listening to podcasts and reading websites and cookbooks in the states after one very inspiring breakfast at the Tupelo Honey Café and the scintillating read of Gluten Free Girl and the Chef, as well as listening to podcasts on long training runs from KCRW’s Good Food. And here I am, in Byron Bay, and in the process of looking for any paycheck at all that would allow me to stay, I stumbled into Good Food, and Slow Food. How lucky am I?

I came back home, washed a spot of pizza sauce out of my shirt and hung it on the line, changed into a swim suit, and was leaving Ben a voicemail message telling him where I’d be on the beach when he got home. We snacked and decided today was The Day to Buy Snorkel Gear. We called Sundive, and the woman on the phone told us she’d be open for as long as it took her to write her last email, so we ought to come on down. We went. We bought snorkel masks. She heard us say we were planning to go out immediately, and squeezed some white paste stuff into the masks for us, and told us to rub it about and rinse it out at the tap around the back of the shop to remove the manufacturer’s filmy stuff, then take our masks to the water, spit and rinse (according to the guys at the dive shop where I’ve been volunteering to go out on snorkel trips, the spit makes a film over the glass and the salt water dries it, so the goggles don’t fog up. I don’t know why it works, really, but boy does it work. It’s gotta be a good spit though. None of those girly little ‘ptooey’ spits.), and snorkel away.

It was low tide, so we walked out on the sandbar to The Wreck, a popular local snorkeling site and surf break. It was nearly sunset, and the waves were small, so the surfers had packed it in for the day and there was much less risk of decapitation than during our last attempt.

The submerged wreck, the bits of it that remain, is utterly one with the sea, and home to schools of silvery fishes with black and white bits on their tails and fins, and one guy we’re calling The BAF – The Big A*& Fish.

The sun sunk below the mountains as we explored the wrecks in the white and turquoise sea. Dogs played with their humans on the beach, the lorikeets flocked and protested the ending of the day, and at last the light fell in the water and we headed to Woolies to answer the call of dinner.

Chicken schnitzel patties on special is good, good stuff. Add to it a pan fried zucchini each, one huge beautifully orange carrot, a BBQ sauce and pizza crust appetizer for me and a side of penne regatta (mixed dubiously with Vegemite and butter) for Ben, and dinner is served. A smashing success.