The feel and lovely weather of Port Macquarie, and the NSW Fire Brigade Band, though the majorettes have some misguided loyalties.

I'd chosen Port Macquarie as a destination because it lies halfway between Byron Bay and Sydney, and was reputed to be more relaxing than Byron. I purchased a ticket from Premier, a competitor to Greyhound, and when setting up my itinerary, learned that schedule I'd been working with was in fact out of date (stupid hostel guy!), and I was in reality dealing with a choice of three different night buses. Hey, I'll save money on accomodation, right? The option I chose had me arriving in Port Macquarie, or "Port", at 1:20am when nothing would be open. I wasn't sure what I would do, but went for it anyway. As I mentioned, I now had a 7'2 surfboard, a 10-pound didj, a 70L backpack, 30 L front pack with a straw cowboy hat roped to the front, and two reusable shopping bags. In the few hours I had to transport all this stuff without a car, I knew I was in trouble.

After a seven hour stretch, where I managed to sporadically sleep despite lying across bum-contoured seats (when not watching a flickering version of that movie where Vin Diesel is a special ops guy charged with looking after a family of bratty kids), I was shaken away by the driver at 1:15. I had arrived in Port, and realized that my prospects for accomodation hadn't gotten any better. Grabbed my carry on stuff, and was soon alone at the bus station with a mountain of gear, only to realize that I had snagged the straw hat of the lady in front of me. I hope she likes mine, I thought it was cool (see Whitsundays pix). I stashed my stuff in some bushes, and headed out for some recon. Found there was a little park in behind the bus station, and since it was a clear night, thought it might do. I retrieved my stuff, found a little grove, and hunkered down for the night on a bed of pine needles.

The next morning, I discovered that I was in the Kooloonbung Creek Nature Reserve, and had slept in an area that is usually roped off from pedestrian traffic to promote revegetation. That's right Conrad, travel to faraway places, find exotic flora, and kill it. Thank god I didn't light a fire. It would be a while until hostels opened, so I trooped my equipment back to the bus station, getting a few quizzical looks from early morning walkers. What, haven't you seen a guy with a surfboard and several large bags emerging from a park at 6 in the morning before? I killed time by speaking with a travel agent back home, as well as calling my mom for the first time since leaving Canada. It was good to hear that familiar voice. Despite putting on a brave face and finding the humour in my situation, I couldn't help thinking that better planning would have avoided my little camp out. To add insult to injury, I later found out that if I had booked ahead, there would have been a room waiting for me when I arrived in the thick of night.

Regardless, it looked like it would be a sunny day, so once I finally got into the hostel and had a shower that did nothing to help Australia's water crisis, I went out to check out the town.

Port Macquarie is pretty small, and reminded me a lot of Victoria with its large percentage of retirees. Also back in my life were regular people, not the hordes of good-looking fresh-faced backpackers I was accustomed to being amongst. I was staying at the Sundowner Breakwater Tourist Park, a pretty good facility right on the water and close to a surf beach. It was largely a caravan park, also having apartments, cabins, and the dorms thrown in as an afterthought. I ended up having a room to myself for the entire stay, good for quiet (which I was craving post-Byron), though bad when I wanted someone to talk to.

I took a walk to the surf beach, and found it was really choppy, with jagged rocks sometimes hidden by the waves. Not the best day to be here, but I learned from a lifeguard there were a series of surf beaches which continued to the south. At this point, I noticed a black V-shaped cloud approaching from the north, wispy tendrils hanging from its underside. I rented a little single-speed bike, and went to check out the other beaches, thinking I could just ride with my board once I knew where I was going. Discovered to my chagrin that Port is REALLY hilly, and that the single speed just wouldn't do. It took me about half an hour to reach Lighthouse Beach, apparently the best surf beach around, at which point the skies opened up. I rode back to the bike shop in the rain, wondering whether I could figure out how to carry a board all this way. I managed to upgrade to a mountain bike, but by this point, the weather was so lousy that today's outdoor adventures were over.

That night, I noticed there was a jam night on at the Hotel Macquarie, one of about four establishments in the town. The Hotel M was a cool little place, with a network of rooms for pokies, music, smoking and non. I ended up playing with a guy named Tony, who had studied classical trombone at the Sydney Conservatory and ended up in the symphony, before deciding that he hated all the practice required of a brass instrument and was now concentrating on guitar and singing, with a plan to move to the UK with his wife to continue his music career. From the sound of his buddies (the crowd was essentially locals), he's pretty talented, a natural at any instrument he picks up. I wondered whether the jig was up, whether my eagerness to pull these spontaneous "sit-in" happenings would see me crash and burn, but it turned out okay. Fought my way through a few crazy key changes that Tony threw at me, but once things warmed up, it was really fun. We were joined by Bobs the soundman/organiser on Djembe, and soon a host of bongo players and impromptu dancers had joined us as well. A decent way to start my three day stay in Port. It was the 19th of October, and the first of three nights I was to spend here. Unfortunately it was to be the high point of my stay...