I woke up on Wednesday with the previous day’s shorts and socks still on. It was a clear and sunny day, so Spectalkular and I went into Byron Bay to have breakfast at a café. In the process of finding some kitschy gifts for The Fam in town, I stumbled upon some awesomely scenic framed photos of the Byron Bay beaches. They seemed perfect for the new apartment, so I shelled out the cash for 3 of them. It would have been $90 to DHL them, but I had the shopkeeper wrap them up and sent them via sea mail for $30. They should arrive in the summer. No, seriously: sea mail takes 2-3 months.
Spec drove me around to see the views and beaches. Normally, I’m not much of a look-at-this-view person, but a) he was really excited about it, b) there wasn’t much else to do, and c) the views were absolutely (for lack of a better word) spectacular.
We raced back to Spec’s house for a few before heading to Tom and Jerry’s for a bottle of wine. Tom pulled out a print of a beautiful picture of Byron Bay’s beach and told me it was mine to keep! After a few laughs, we headed into Mullimbimby to pick up Spec's boy and Spec’s friend, the Anglican minister, on the way to the Mullimbimby Golf Club for Thai food. Why a tiny town’s golf club had a Thai restaurant was beyond me, but Spec’s boy informed me that it had been written up as a top-10 restaurant of Australia. We walked in to find that it was exactly what you would expect for an old Aussie golf club in the country: nothing special or fancy about any of the décor or the atmosphere. But the food, which we shared family style, was excellent.
On the way back after dropping our dinner companions off, Spec filled me in on the details of what had happened that night that his friend had banned the boy from his house. They had gone to an afternoon gathering, and he had drank quite a bit. Then they went back to his grandmother’s house where he downed a bottle of champagne. Then he insisted that Spec take him to a friend’s party, which Spec refused to do because he had a party of his own. They got to the party, which was at a beautiful house down a dirt road (Spec and I had stayed there last time I was in Oz) and the boy made a pretty large ass of himself there. Then he demanded cigarettes (not that he couldn’t bum one off someone else, but he wanted his own brand). Spec had drank too much to risk driving, so he offered to drive him to the end of the dirt road. Something happened where the kid didn’t get his way, and he threw a rock at Spec in his car. Luckily, the window was down.
Me: “Wait, he threw a rock at your head!”
Him: “Yeah, he did.”
Me: “And you’re still with him?! I mean, I don’t care how drunk the kid was! If you’re capable of doing something like that to someone you supposedly care about, you just don’t get drunk!”
Him: “I guess you’re right. I mean, he didn’t mean anything by it.”
Me: “Dude, you sound like a battered wife. A guy you’re dating shouldn’t be trying to do you physical harm in any situation. You’re too good of a catch for that.”
On Thursday, Spec took me back into town to run a few last-minute errands and to see more of the surrounding area, including Wategos Beach and the Byron Bay Lighthouse. Spec had to run, so his friend the Anglican minister took me to the airport. 45 minutes with a stranger could have been torture (especially since the radio wasn’t on... something I’ve noticed with my Aussie drivers), but we actually had a pleasant ride. Even if I was inadvertently cursing up a storm in front of a preacher.
Thursday night, I landed in Melbourne. Although the Skybus took forever (mostly because it left right as I was buying my ticket and I had to wait for the 2nd fleet of mini-busses for the hotel transfer), it was half the price of a cab and dropped me off at the hotel door. I dropped my bags, changed, and asked for directions to the nearest bottle shop.
I’d decided that my first night would be spent in Collingworth, which I took to be more like The Village of Melbourne. It was quite a hike from the hotel, but it was nice out (and I had a good buzz). My first stop was Sircuit, and when I saw the long line at A Bar Called Barry across the street, I figured it was a good move. Sircuit reminds me of Rawhide in Chelsea, but about 4x as big (and that’s just the first floor) and not quite as full-on with the leather/grunge. And the staff was much more, er, service oriented. A large bar was towards the front, and a bunch of pool tables were in the back. They were playing Bugs Bunny and Marvin the Martian on the video screens.
It was pretty sparse. My first thought was that it would crowd up later, but it was already after midnight. I basically had a drink, took a piss, and left.
In the 20 minutes that I had been at Sircuit, the line at A Bar Called Barry had shrunk significantly. When I got to the front, the bouncer looked at my New York ID and told me I needed my passport. He went into some story I really didn’t want to hear (I really hate it when people who aren’t close to me give unsolicited explanations as to why I’m not getting what I want: all their further talking does is delay me from getting to a better situation). I figured I’d head down to Peel and see if they were being as strict. When some people I passed on their way out told me, “It’ll be good in another hour.” I figured my best course of action was to take a cab back to the hotel and get my passport.
Once I got into A Bar Called Barry, it seemed like everyone was dressed exactly the same! It was almost like I had walked into Sugarland, except more uniform. Everyone had a base of a loose tshirt/tunic/singlet (aka tank top) with dark skinny jeans. I started to get really self-conscious about what I was wearing until I remembered that even if I had worn the skinny jeans I had packed, I would still stand out like a sore thumb. The great thing about the dress here, though, was the accessorizing. Everyone seemed to have very unique details that set their iteration of the uniform apart from the crowd.
I got a drink (and soon learned that Aussies aren’t that big on drink specials, especially with liquor) and wandered around the main dance floor. I spotted a few guys doing the “Bad Romance” dance, so I jumped in on the second chorus. I talked to these guys for a bit before wandering to the upper floor where they were playing some hip-hop-sounding music that I wasn’t familiar with. On the way out, I asked and was informed that this was a gay night at a straight club and not a gay club.
I strolled down to Peel, which seemed to be largely the same crowd, though it didn’t strike me as being as severely uniform as Barry’s. It had multiple dance-friendly areas, and a large, walled in smoking area that was taken up by smokers (of course). As I tried to get a feel for the place, I ended up making eye contact with a twinkish hipster-looking guy. We ended up buying a couple of rounds of drinks by the back bar before he straight up asked if he could kiss me. It literally made me laugh, but I guess it worked.
Did I mention that I will take a cab across town to avoid using water-based lube? Yeah.
Click here to check out my first night with the Aussie ex... and his boyfriend.
Image borrowed from carlisle.k12.ma.us
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