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5 Tips for Booking Your Byron Bay Blues Festival Accommodation

If you’re planning to come to the Byron Bay Blues Festival for the first time – or even if you’ve been before, there are a few things you should keep in mind as you’re looking for your ideal place to stay. Before we get to the ‘tips’, the thing to remember is that Byron Bay is a small town – the larger annual festivals do attract more people than the town can accommodate… particularly when you take into account that the festival’s artists and crew are also staying here. Plus many people who come every year – re-book the same place each year. Here are my 5 tips to booking accommodation for the Blues Festival;

1. People : You need to know how many people are staying with you. Accommodation in Byron is very strict on maximum numbers… sneaking a few extra friends in to sleep on the floor won’t be tolerated and could result in loss of bond &/or eviction. There are places to stay that sleep one to a limited number of places that sleep up to 10 people. Most places have 1, 2 or 3 bedrooms.

2. Duration : It’s a five day festival, most of the accommodation has a minimum stay of 5 or 7 nights. There are a few properties with 3 or less minimum night stay – if you can only come for a few nights, grab one of these ASAP.

3. Location : For 2008, the Festival has moved back to Belongil Fields – which is located on Ewingsdale Rd (the road you take from the highway into Byron Bay) about 2.5 km from the centre of town. Shirley St and Belongil offer a 2-3 km walk to and from the festival, all of Byron Bay is serviced by shuttle buses, with accommodation in the hinterland and nearby villages offering their own charms.

4. Price : The Easter long weekend is just about the most expensive time of year to stay in Byron Bay. As a rule of thumb the closer to the festival or Beach and the shorter you stay – the more expensive it will be. In Byron Bay expect to pay $75-$125 per person per night – more for luxury, less if you stay out of town.

5. How to Book : The sooner you start the wider choice you’ll have. You will have to secure your booking with a deposit (often 50%), and you may loose it for a late cancellation.

The 4th Annual Fatherhood Festival

will take place Aug 31 – Sept 2nd, and Sept 8th, in Bangalow, NSW. Please check the web site for the huge program of nonstop concerts, panels, workshops, exhibits, activities, resources and more! Attached you’ll find the press release about the first event – the Fatherhood Concert on August 31st featuring LIOR & KEV CARMODY.

Keep your eye out for info on the special panel on September 8th featuring 2006 Father of the Year TERRY HICKS.

On Tallow Beach

Going down to my local beach always reminds me of being born. I’ve been cocooned, writing for ages on the “inside”, when suddenly I hear the roar of the breaking waters, the contractions begin and the big push to get out into the wider world is on. The birth canal is the path cut through the big entrance dune, which I enter through a shady tunnel of tuckeroo trees. I emerge on the “outside”, wide-eyed, wet, salty or licked alive by the wind, reborn into any one of myriad scenarios, for this beach, like all beaches, has its moods, its changing casts and hues.

These alter, subtly or dramatically, from hour to hour, from moment to moment. If I come down morning, noon and dusk on the same day, I can be gobsmacked by the awesome manifoldness of creation. I may find myself invigorated by an early splash in a choppy, overcast Pacific, burnished by midday’s merciless rays, then swaddled in sunset’s rubescence. When I can retain the raw receptivity of infancy, the innocent eye of childhood, these are votive scenes. They’re precious gifts and just the jolt to get me breathing deeply.

Cresting the dune one autumn morning, I crane my neck for a quick preview. A long clean streak of space, it’s unpeopled, for the Easter break is over and the tourists have departed, but it is far from a subdued natal setting. It is all airy animation and effulgence down here. The sky is a glistening jellyfish blue (some jellyfish actually manufacture their own light); the light is crystalline, flowing down onto the beach in a white confluence. The salty, sybaritic smell of freedom, like a heat-seeking emission, flies straight up my nostrils.

A lenient sou’easter has the clouds doing some stunning shapeshifting. Overhead, the cumulus have pearly white crowns and distended underbellies of pale taupe. Down at Broken Head, they’re draping whole ravines in dark nebula. Up towards the Cape they are pure ivory, backlit, trailing diffuse streamers of light. Banked in holy masses, they look like religious postcards drifting towards Queensland. This sky, like every sky, like a finger print, is unique. The clouds the clouds the clouds I say, a reflexive daily mantra. The cumulonimbus out to sea are storeys high, their slate foundations fat with rain and hung low enough to graze the horizon.

I look and look at that blurry hyacinth line which the dictionary calls “the range or limit of scope, interest, knowledge”. For a short while, I project my thoughts beyond it, directly -- give or take a few islands -- to Chile. The Chileans, I assume, revere their land and seascapes, too. There must be literature, art, to attest. Some other time I might ask at the library; right now I’m up to my limit on the borrowing quota.

In a library book I once happened upon an extract from Charles Lyell’s Principles of Geology (1830-3) which said : “We know that one earthquake may raise the coast of Chile for a hundred miles to an average height of about five feet. A repetition of two thousand shocks of equal violence might produce a mountain chain one hundred miles long and ten thousand feet high. Now should ... one of these conclusions happen in a century, it would be consistent with the order of events experienced by the Chileans from the earliest times.” That made the survival tactics of Mother Nature and the Chileans sound pretty impressive. But Chile is a momentary idyll. The true, magnetic compass of my interest is here, latitude 28:41, longtitude 153:37, and now, 11am-ish (I don’t wear a watch anymore).

Most natural landscapes, even those which superficially appear barren or bland, are, I believe, rich, multilayered and idiosyncratic. Initially, their surface lines form a pattern of immediately obvious attractions and deficiencies. But since most of them have survived colorful histories that are longer than we can comfortably comprehend, they may also harbour less apparent qualities -- such as antediluvian wisdom, ingrained contradictions, unalloyed compassion, buried vulnerabilities. They may hum with hidden powers and stream with serpentine stories, dark mysteries, magic, myths, poetry and parables. They may cradle deep energies from which may flow either or both of the twin tributaries of delight and tribulation.

These interred treasures cannot instantly be detected or grabbed at by the greedy or the casually curious. Rather, it seems, they may unfold themselves, their portents, promises and higher purposes when we are in the right frame of mind. My own (adult) receptivity to these disclosures developed very subtly, very gradually right here in my own locale. My experience is that place is an active force, capable of a cogent interaction with us, capable of carving a deeply meaningful intaglio in our hearts.

* * *

Straight ahead a couple is fishing. She has just caught something. A white flash flails desperately on the sand until she smothers it with a weighted covering. I am a fish-eater. I avert my eyes, and thank that creature for its life. The fishers have picked a good spot. Half a dozen gannets circle overhead and suddenly one dives so ferociously, so ... vertiginously, it must surely smash itself on the aquamarine tube below. But no. Although a diving gannet hits the water at 96 kilometres per hour, this plunge was, as usual, aerodynamically perfect. It is hard to tell if the bird has caught something because gannets seize fish in their serrated bills and often swallow them before surfacing. In any event, it rises effortlessly from the wash. This dazzling routine is one I’ve seen often, yet each time it affects me the same way. My feet take root like a mangrove in the wet shore and I bear a marvelling kind of witness to the sheer risk and dare of that life-supporting manoeuvre. Of course, the gannets, who need neither affectation nor applause to get them through their days, are not being grandiloquent. It’s all just breakfast, lunch and dinner to them. Or is it? Blind instinct, you might say. Or, watching all those perspicacious encores, you might perceive that the airborne artistry is so effortlessly and immaculately blended into their lives that the two are inseparable. Wo am I, grappling to express and assimilate my own creativity into my life, to deny them that brilliant merger?

A swift scan of the sky reveals no sign of a brahminy kite, but a wedge-tailed shearwater is dynamically soaring on the prevailing winds. Suddenly it parachutes with its wings spread to the max. Devilishly it dips, catches another updraft and soars statically (its tail feathers fanned out and flapping furiously), before gliding, then dropping, then beating the force of gravity at its own game one more time, and lifting higher and higher. Is it scouting for food or is it trying to get somewhere? Is it testing the wind direction or is it – here’s that curly one again – just having fun? On a scintillating, red-letter day like today, wouldn’t you?

The tide is way out, the sand still moist from the previous night’s rain and the ocean has sculpted afresh the long bleached shoreline to the south. I start towards Broken Head, paddling in the shallows. A young kelpie up ahead runs withershins around the clear, kidney-shaped lagoon that wasn’t there yesterday, chasing a white-faced heron, scattering the silver gulls who’ve gathered on its seaward bar. I wonder how old they are, for I’ve heard that gulls, aside from being masters of thermodynamics, can live for as long as thirty years. They lift off, soar in a streamlined circle for a few minutes, then descend like a deluge of white teardrops, their harsh, plaintive cries tempering a sanguine sky which, this morning is giving the turquoise waters a run for their money in the universal beauty stakes. Or seen in another light, the ethers and the ocean are not competitors at all, but a smooth double act, moving and gliding in a curvy dance of their own devising. However you view things, it’s quite a scene down here. My bare feet trip lightly along the shore. I step out in a chest-filling faith that a grand choreographer is at work.

* * *

I think about this place, my home, and how it has seduced me, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, into marrying the Muse; how it has enticed me to put down roots in Joseph Campbell country – following my bliss, trusting the garden path of organic creativity to lead me through some fresh green fields along the way. During this, my own organically home-grown “Course in Miracles” and “Creation Time,” I have gained some priceless experience and understanding.

If -- and there is “much virtue in If” -- for just a microsecond, I allow myself to be enlightened, I can feel in my bones that, finally, it does not matter where “time” takes me, or any of us. One day – who knows? – I may check out of this coastal coven. Somewhere, sometime, I’m bound to say my fond farewells to the flexings and fumings of whole restless planet. But on another plane, I remain convinced that a part of me has been abducted and bound (but not gagged) by the spirit of this place.

This text is an extract from Love Letters from Mother Nature: A Meditative Journey, available from Byron Books, Fletcher Street, Byron Bay or online from Bruce Sims Books. Email: brucesims@ozemail.com.au

 

To The Lake Once More

Near where I live is a ti-tree lake, known in local Aboriginal lore as the women's lake. It's believed that before white settlement the lake was frequented by the Indigenous women, the Arakwal clan of the Bundjalung nation. In particular, it's said that the pregnant women bathed in it because of the therapeutic properties of the ti-tree oil.

An unspoiled place, surrounded by bush, steeped in tranquility, and one white-winged morning in mid-winter I set off, via the beach, to spend some time there. En route I hoped to spot whales, for the Humpbacks were on their annual migratory path from the Antarctic to the tropical waters off the Queensland coast to breed. I was in luck. A mother and calf coasted just beyond the breakers, blowing spume and tail fluking. Seeing this play gladdened me, although it was neither my first nor my closest sighting of those lurching leviathans. My friends Trish and Wally Franklin, who have spent as much time in close contact with Humpbacks as any researchers on the planet, say that such glimpses satisfy "important human needs" which cannot be quantified in economic or political terms. The inner growth resulting from such encounters does not show up in the gross national product, or in the sterile bottom line of the economic rationalists.

In the 1950s Byron Bay was one of Australia's major whaling stations. By 1959 the Byron Bay Whaling Company was granted a quota of one hundred and fifty whales (who in those times averaged ten tons). But by 1960, the whalers had almost wiped out the humpbacks and the barbaric practice was finished. Attitudes, thankfully, have changed and these days the only whales being shot around here are those sighted through the telescopic camera lenses of the whale-watching tourists who cluster around the Cape during the migration season.

When the whales had swum out of sight, I dawdled a while near a colony of crested terns in case a couple of them decided to turn on one of their spectacular paired mating flights. But they were all occupied with what appeared to be their morning ablutions and grooming. A southerly buster ruffled their shaggy black caps so they resembled a bunch of preening teenagers with mohawk haircuts.

I turned inland, following a shallow amber thread of water back to its source. The lake's broad waters were placid and turbid as dark treacle, the perfect inscrutable consort for the faded sky which was dimpled by a white half-moon in the west. The tracks lacing the sandy shore cut through dense scrubby vegetation, a chaotic genius of canopy, understory and ground cover - wallum banksias, broadleafed paperbarks, ti-trees, swamp- and black she oaks proliferated, sheltering grass trees (fetching small fortunes in city nurseries these days), eggs and bacon bushes, lilies, irises, twining snake vines and the tiny ground-hugging and carnivorous sun dews plant which eats ants for breakfast.

Like so much of the Australian bush with its muted, grey-green and brown tones, this was not a place that socked you in the eye with a gaudy or grand beauty. But, alive with the croaky calls of wattle birds, the startling flashes of yellow on honey-eaters mid-flight, the thin notes of red-backed fairy wrens in the undergrowth, the murmurs of a zephyr through the tall, dry reeds, the bush radiated its own vibrant appeal.

That morning it was not a panorama I wanted (although the human eye naturally sees in panorama, in sweeps of roughly one hundred and forty degrees), but the intimacy of a sunny nook, so I retraced my steps to the seaward neck of the lake and, loose-limbed, all eyes, all ears, nestled against a grassy bank. A Welcome swallow flitted back and forth across the water, deftly skimming within inches of its surface. To my ears, its song was a long quiet, rambling twitter, but another bird would have heard the swallow's song as a much more complicated rendition. Such birdsongs often feature a detailed pattern of melody and rhythm, but they are broadcast so fast that humans can only identify them as a twittering, like a tape of our speech on fast forward. Although we hear sounds over a similar range to birds, they can hear ten times faster than us. Who then lives in the richer world, stereophonically speaking?

From the upper branches of a casuarina tree, a brahminy kite lifted off, performing a series of slow, fluid arabesques over the channel before cruising north on its solitary hunting rounds. On the opposite bank, the shallow water's slight ripples were mirrored as silver ribbons of wavy light on the pale, flaky trunks of paperbark trees. With a softened gaze, I watched those light waves. Time passed. I closed my eyes to help the entrenched, eagle-eyed observer in me, the one who always has to apprehend, to gradually let go. I allowed my shoulders to drop and my mind to be carried along as if by the water’s current. An image of my backyard heliconias came to me, bringing to light a dream from the previous evening. In that dream, the heliconias had "spoken" to me.

"See how we're always sending up new shoots? We let them all come up to the surface, to grow tall and stand together in a supportive clump. That's why we're beautiful." As psychological metaphors go, this certainly made sense to me.

I sat very still, breathing and listening, until the flickering light behind my eyelids faded out, until the place's serenity began to permeate me, until she and I grew seamless.

* * *

That evening, in my garden I sat on a rock and arranged around me a semi-circle of citronella candles. Under a fine spread of stars, I inhaled the candles' lemon scent and exhaled my thanks for all the beauty I'd encountered and absorbed in my time on this plane. Beauty, I realised, had informed and directed large tracts of my life, much as the stars have always done for mariners and for certain migratory breeds of birds.

Since childhood, my perception of beauty had been principally and inextricably linked to nature. Like a doppleganger sparking the embers of cherished memory, it lingered, even decades after the original physical formation had been obliterated by a dam, a freeway or a new housing development. In quest of beauty, I had variously moved house, borrowed money (to renovate), fallen in love, created a garden, travelled afield.

Yet as I pondered, a "modern", dissenting voice inside my head spoke up, playing devil's advocate, denigrating beauty and giving it a bad rap. "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder," it said, trotting out a tired and cynical cliché. I countered with Matthew Fox's claim that this facile and glib dismissal of beauty occurs because "harmony and cosmos are so little dealt with. Beauty alerts us to our cosmic connections." A dyed-in-the rainforest Romantic, I threw in some classic Keats, too: " ‘Beauty is truth, truth beauty,’ -- that is all Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.’ " And a succinct swipe of Blake: "everything that lives in Holy."

The dissenting voice grew a little shrill in its demands for me to recant: You Romantics live in a dream world, eschewing science and the hard, dark facts of life, it said. So I parried with a few insights from Peter Marshall's Nature's Web: "Romanticism not only offers a modern way of experiencing reality, but forms the basis of a truly ecological sensibility." For Romantics see the universe as a living organism, an organic whole. Through their exuberant pursuit of individual expression, they, like most ecologists, esteem unity in diversity. They have a love of unspoiled natural environments, of wilderness and pristine places. They intuit the divine presence in all things and in their desire to interpret nature, are avid explorers of all levels of consciousness.

What a tragedy of our times that beauty needs to be sanctioned, I thought. Fox claims that Westerners lost beauty when we lost the creation-centred spiritual traditions -- in effect, when we lost the cosmos.

And so the dialectics went, until, weary of them, I dropped into meditation... Afterwards, the candles were burning low. It was late and I wanted to sleep, for at first light I was going to the Belongil estuary to bird-watch.

This text is an extract from Love Letters from Mother Nature: A Meditative Journey, available from Byron Books, Fletcher Street, Byron Bay or online from Bruce Sims Books. Email: brucesims@ozemail.com.au

A Taste of Byron 2007 – Byron Bay Food Festival

NORCO PRESENTS A TASTE OF BYRON CARNIVALE DENNING PARK,MAIN BEACH (East Of The Surf Club) SEPTEMBER 22 & 23

The Lions Club of Byron Bay is pleased to announce the return of A Taste Of Byron Carnivale this time over TWO huge days in September. Last year’s event was hailed by organisers stall holders and those who attended as the best yet. Estimates of 10,000 people delighted to the tastes and sounds of beautiful Byron Bay. Over 40 of the Byron area’s finest restaurants, coffee shops and purveyors of fine foods were stretched to the limit as hungry crowds enjoyed a perfect Byron Bay blue sky day. There were cooking demonstrations from leading chefs, great live music, salsa & pole dancing, races for the kids and wine and beer tasting. The laughter in the air mixed with the tantalising aromas of herbs and spices that were lovingly combined to create the signature dishes of the restaurants on display. Because of the outstanding success of last year organisers have decided to extend this year’s event over two days.

Saturday September 22 will be themed as an international Chilli Festival led by our own world famous award winning Byron Bay Chilli Company. Creators of Chilli products from around the world will converge on Byron Bay to compete in the creation of the best chilli dish, sauce or product. The best Margarita will also be judged and sold on the day and there will be Latin Dancing, live music from local area groups and musicians all culminating in the night time with a spectacular fire dance display. There will also be a coffee barista competition where all the local area baristas will be invited to create their best coffee using Byron Bay Coffee. Winners of all categories will be announced on the night. Fresh produce and producers of local food products will also be invited to set up stalls to allow the crowds to sample their wares.

Sunday September 23 will be a huge day of feasting, fun, song & dance all washed down with boutique beers and vintage wine!! This year more than 50 of our great restaurants and cafes are expected to participate creating their own signature dishes and competing for the award of “Best in Show”. Also there will be awards for Best Dressed stand & Best Produce stall. There will once again be an exciting line up of leading chefs demonstrating their art, street performers, games for the kids & more – all in the carnival atmosphere of a beautiful Byron Bay spring day.

Make a note in your diary and book your accommodation now for A Taste of Byron Carnivale Saturday September 22 & Sunday September 23 2007.

Bangalow Markets near Byron Bay

The Bangalow markets just west (about 15 minutes) of Byron Bay are held on the 4th Sunday of the month. Pretty much the same stall holders as the Byron Bay markets (on the first Sunday of the month) – with more shade (plenty of big old trees around). Here’s a short clip.

Super Bowl Sunday in Byron Bay

I’m from USA, and I’ve enjoyed watching the Super Bowl for the past few years at the popular Beach Hotel here in Byron Bay… In Australia the Super Bowl is on live on TV Monday morning. With so many international visitors in town, there are always plenty of NFL shirts and American accents to be heard. See you there next year.

New Years Eve 2006 – Safe Community Event

The Byron Bay Safety Committee has been formulating the program for a safe community event for this year’s new years eve in Byron Bay.

“With the success of last year’s low key, community based, alcohol free, new year event,  the same formula is planned for this year to ensure a safe night” said Chair of the committee, Mayor Jan Barham. “Council has sought an approval from the Minister for Local Government for the alcohol prohibition again as this was a key factor in providing safety for everyone.  This year it has been decided to not close off Lawson Street and focus the event on the beachfront reserves and minimise the impact on local businesses”.

“The event will commence at 3pm with childrens’ activities and market stalls at the beach front. The popular parade will feature again and there is a request to the community to join in by starting to prepare costumes and group presentations. The committee is also calling for stallholders to make an expression of interest to have food and craft stalls on the night and an opportunity for community groups to have free stalls to showcase their work and activities.” A grant application has been made to seek support for providing workshops to offer training in music and the performing arts to allow them to engage in the night’s event.

The committee thanks those local performers who have offered their talents for the night and buskers are invited to apply to perform on the night.

The Safety Committee also appreciates the generous donations from businesses for prizes for the parade and is hoping that there may be other support offered to assist in the provision of necessary infrastructure for the night.

Byron Bay Farmers Market

I did a quick walk through Byron Bay’s weekly Farmers Market last Thursday (19 Oct ’06) These markets are on every Thursday Morning in Byron Bay.

Brief History Of Byron Town, Council & Bypass

I arrived in Sydney in 1972 to work for Avery Scales for 2 years. One of my first trips was to see the Queensland manager in Brisbane. He wanted to show off his area he brought me to Byron Bay! (There are a number of people in this town who would like to see Byron come under the Queensland State Government permanently!) What I found blew me away. The view from the lighthouse, 40km of unspoilt beaches, hardly a house in sight and a great wave off the Pass. Houses in Lighthouse Road seemed to be closed up and only used for holidays. The town itself was extremely well laid out in a grid pattern. All the houses were neat and tidy, obviously blue collar, the result of 90 years of really hard work. We went to the Abbatoir and discovered why the town had not been yuppified! The northerly wind blew an amazing smell across the town.

The first settler arrived in 1881. Prior to this, the region had been a timber gathering, shack and tent area. 1885/6 town lots were sold and two hotels constructed. (One, the Great Northern, managed to be burnt down in 1897 and again in 1936. The Pier Hotel didn’t suffer a fire until 1949!). The Cape and Bay had been called Byron by Captain Cook in 1770 (After one of his Captains). The town itself was called Cavvanba, some say aboriginal for “meeting place”. If its not, it is still appropriate for the town today. The building of a jetty for 8000pounds in 1888 saw the population grow. Shipping, farming, fishing the main occupations, even gold mining along the beaches. The jetty stretched 400m out to sea, was 8m wide and had 66 piers. At high tide there was 7m of water at the end, enough to take very large steamers. Several shipwrecks in the area led to the building of the Lighthouse in 1901. As the town grew, a Town Council was elected in 1906 (Perhaps as a portent of the disasters to follow, they named the roads after poets; Dryden, Burns, Ruskin, Tennyson etc. silly mistake!) The town had a rugby team, brass band, maypole dancers, all very english. In 1907 they started a surf lifesaving club. By 1917 the town had grown to a population of 1500. There was always work, butter factory, fishing, farming etc. In 1928 a new jetty was built at a cost of 57,000pounds, a considerable sum in those days. There were 2 railway tracks and a diesel electric train called the green frog that pulled jetty carriages (These are now in the Sydney transport museum). Byron prospered with lots of industry, sand mining, abbatoir, piggery, the Norco butter factory, even whaling from 1954-62. Obviously this industry didn’t please the gods, a huge cyclone in 1954 flooded the town centre, took 180m off the end of the jetty and wrecked 22 fishing boats. The boats now operated out of Brunswick Heads and Byron was no longer considered a port. About the time of my visit, Byron Bay and the hinterland was being “discovered” by hippies and surfers. Some backpackers found this paradise, went home and told the world about it. 

Tourism was still in its infancy. The population of Byron was around 2500. Goods were brought by train. People came on holiday by train and camped. The train was well used and long enough to block the only road in and out of Byron, while passengers and goods were unloaded!. Talk of a bypass was started. In 1980, Mullumbimby Council was forced to merge with Byron Bay. A total disaster for both towns. Traffic was increasing, a firm was commissioned to do a study in 1987. They recommended a ring road,crossing the railway line at Browning Street,(behind the present Mitre 10). In 1989 the Council purchased land here ready for the ring road entrance/exit. After a couple of local lads made Crocodile Dundee movies, some scenes filmed in the old meatworks, Australia was launched onto the world map. When John Cornell and Paul Hogan opened the revamped Beach Hotel in 1991, Byron became swamped with visitors. Dundees hat in the bar and the chance to glimpse the great man changed Byron Bay forever. We now get 1.7 million tourists a year. The sudden desire to holiday here caught everyone by surprise. World class hotels were few and far between. Locals started to let their homes, buy second homes to let, put in cabins, studios, Bed and Breakfast places grew like mushrooms. Soon Byron was a giant building site. Club Med bought a 79h site to the north. The town said “stop”, its all too much. Prices of real estate were now matching Sydneys. Fortunately for Council, our sewerage plant had reached capacity. A moratorium on development gave us some breathing space until developers found a way around it. What had been a sleepy working mans town, suddenly became the best debating place on earth. You had to have two opinions on everything, just in case some bastard agreed with you.

There have been 16 major traffic studies, development applications, environmental impact studies, species impact studies, aerial photographs, government grant for a transit station on the new bypass… still no bypass. Meanwhile, traffic at peak season piles up, it can take a hour to enter Byron Bay. Not much of a problem for the tourist but a nightmare for people trying to go about their work. Byron Council Offices were relocated to Mullumbimby in 1995. In 1996 Council was investigated by ICAC and Local Government Inspectors. The General Manager was sacked. The new Council Chambers virtually bankrupted the Council. The rancour created by the forced merger of the two Councils can best be illustrated by this memo sent by a Mullumbimby Councillor when told everything was ready to go on the ring road; “I do not support a bypass, I do not support paid parking funding a bypass. I do support Council selling the land that is held for this proposal. ”With the closure of the railway line, the debate has widened. 

Parking out of town could be provided with a light rail service backwards and forwards, cars could be made to “Park and ride” out of town the railway line could be used as a bypass, the present entry into town could be closed to traffic, all cars coming in or leaving beside Mitre 10. This takes them away from pedestrians and allows a pedestrian friendly CBD. Traffic can also be funnelled off to many different routes.(Guess which option I favour!). Traffic aside, this is still the best town to live in, it has everything anyone could possibly want. 100 restaurants, 3 great pubs, 3 nightclubs, 2 cinemas, a magnificent golf course, the best eclectic mix of people on earth, airs and graces are not allowed, there are active community groups, any religion or belief tolerated, fantastic beaches, surf and walking trails. Our community radio Bay FM matches the people who live in the region, colourful, interesting, fun. The markets and music festivals are world class. What more could a person want?

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