Wednesday, March 9, 2011

Out of Place in Byron Bay

Note: I have captioned the pictures in “Australia: Sydney and Surrounds,” and uploaded and captioned the pictures in “Australia: Up the East Coast.”

  • Wednesday, 9 March: Borrowed a boogie board and went to beach in the morning; spent a few hours alternately sunbathing, reading and swimming; dark clouds sent me back to hostel; showered, had lunch, drank a hard cider, read; wandered around town; attended afternoon session of Byron Bay Film Festival, viewing three Latin American pieces, 2 shorts and one hour-long; bought Great Barrier Reef day trip; had “free” dinner at backpacker; chilled out for the evening.

Byron Bay is a party and surf scene. While the people at my backpacker are nice, with several Japanese girls in my dorm room, I know that it’s not really the right place for me. I’ve heard there’s an artsy place nearby, where they have didgeridoo lessons amongst other perks, and even though it’ll be $14 more expensive I may check it out for tomorrow night.

Today was a lazy day for me. I think I’m fighting something off, maybe the cold which started creeping up on me in Sydney. I feel tired and lackadaisical, with a slight headache threatening a various parts of the day. The bar downstairs is blaring music and the DJ is screaming bingo numbers into his microphone. I’m going to be that annoying girl who goes to bed at 9pm in a ten bed dorm, but oh well.

One of the things I managed to get myself to today was an afternoon session of the Byron Bay Film Festival. I saw four Latin American films, of which the first three were cute and enjoyable, and the fourth serious. First there was "Manual Practico Del Amigo Imaginario,” a twenty-minute film about a twenty-something guy who has an imaginary friend. It was well done, including bits where his imaginary friend Captain Kiloton speaks at a convention of unemployed imaginary friends.

The second film was a little too cutesy for me, about a guy who sees a mermaid and becomes enraptured by her, turning from being a failed drug runner to a world champion swimmer. The ending was very predictable. The third, “El Cortejo,” was a lovely love story about a gravedigger and the flower-bringing widower. Very sweet.

Finally, there was the hour long film, “Land,” about the land development of Nicaragua. The Americans portrayed were greedy and evil, or cow-pokey, or a bit crazy. I would have enjoyed the film if it had been more chronological. It tried to be a documentary but, like Michael Moore’s “Capitalism: A Love Story,” it never coalesced and seemed to follow a string of thoughts linear only in the mind of the authors and directors.

I realize that this blog entry is a bit scattered. It’s a bit indicative of my mood (varied, but tired), I suppose… perhaps tomorrow will bring better weather, better health and possibly a surfing lesson, if I decide to splurge!

--Z

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