drugs Keyword
Good Advice
I visited Amsterdam during the start of the week, and while I did indulge in some of the city’s many vices I did not invest of the services of the many beautiful women in the windows of the Red Light District. I would like to think it may have been because of this bit of advice I found in the official Amsterdam tourist guide.
“If you visit one of the women, we’d like to remind you, they are not always women”
I think there’s a take home message for everyone right there.
Nimbin
My hire car is proving to be a boon to my travel situation. On Friday, gathering a group from the house, I loaded up the little Hyundai Getz with Crystal, Julianna, Antwon, and Jamie and headed south to New South Wales. “To Nimbin” was the call from the car as we pulled onto the motorway.
As we moved south, thick, lush rain forest bushland gave way to rolling, cleared farm lands. Rain, as it has for most of my adventure, bucketed down in torrents, at one point almost forcing us to stop the car. One-way bridges were covered over by the rivers they were traversing. The wipers couldn’t move the water off the windscreen fast enough and misting windows obscured my vision. We pushed on. The rain cleared as we pulled into the infamous town of Nimbin, leaving behind a thin mist and slick streets.
Nimbin, once considered almost a Utopian town by the hippies that resided there, is a small rural community with a population of around 350 “official” residents. While Nimbin originally began life as a dairy farming town, its main drawcard now is the fairly relaxed marijuana laws that exist there. Drugs such as various varieties of pot and hash, acid and mushrooms are sold relatively openly in the street. The heady aroma of grass and incense mingles with the sweaty, “haven’t showered since Malcolm Fraser” stink of the bums and druggies that wander the main strip. Large groups of stoned tourists shamble along, bleary eyed, talking shit and browsing hemp themed souvenir stores. Aging hippies sit behind street stalls selling shiny nicknacks and new age books. If it could be tie-died, it was tie-died.
While the utopian nature of the place may have gone, the druggies have not. The “free love” ideal brought to the town by the hippies that transformed it so long ago has been lost to drunk bums and modern meth head junkies.
I wandered the main strip, stopping into the local pub where loud music played from an old CD jukebox drowned out the caller on the TAB racing screens. I found the rest of the group chatting to some aboriginals busking in the street for booze money. I picked up one of their guitars and with Antwon grabbing the bongo we busted out a few tunes on the street. One of the buskers repeatedly yelled Superman while I played, in reference to my tshirt.
My time in Nimbin was a pretty surreal. While it made me a little sad to see what could have been a nice place turned bad, it was still an experience I have now crossed off my “things to do” list.
On the way back Jamie directed us to Mount Warning the highest, most eastern part of Australia. If you wish to catch the first rays of light hitting Australia on New Years, the top of Mount Warning is the place to be. The forest was lush, helped in part by the heavy rains and the running creeks and dripping foliage were very peaceful.
We crept back into Brisbane with its twinkling lights around 7pm. Just in time for some dinner. I sat listening to the creaking and popping of the car as the engine cooled in the moist night air. I decided that I would hit Surfers Paradise the next morning.