Small Town Paradise

Imagine your average backpacker in Australia, hopping from one party to the next down the east coast. They might emit groggy groans and possess sleep crusted eyes, occasionally holding a bowl of last night’s mystery meat pasta dish. The place I’m about to share with you strays far from your typical sea side surf town. It has its own catchphrase, one you might find tattooed on the body of dedicated surf bums. “It’s Yamba time.” Picture this…
You come crawling off that big red Greyhound bus that has become so familiar and comforting yet impossibly uncomfortable at the same time. It’s 11:30 on a Tuesday night and upon first glance, the town is dead. Wondering where the local hostel is, you ask the other backpacker standing with his famous Tombstone Surfboard, waiting to board the bus you’ve just left. With a tear in his eye and a warm smile, he points to the only lit building on that street. Bags on your shoulders, you follow the ‘crowd’ of two others to the entrance of the Yamba YHA. Greeted at the door by Shane, of the world famous Shane’s Tour, so begins the swelling of your heart, the crushing of your soul, and the impending fear knowing you eventually have to leave even though you’ve arrived only seven minutes prior.
That was my first night in Yamba. It was at that moment that I knew I had to stay. There was no fighting this feeling. It had me hook, line, and sinker. I’m a firm believer in traveling not only to see the sights but to get to know a place and its people. Now I’ve got a slice of small town paradise to lift me off into Neverland. It’s where I went swimming at sunrise, mingled with the locals and served them their daily I.V. drip of coffee by day, surfed with legends until sunset, and celebrated like a true Aussie by night, with just a little more class since I skip the boxes of goon and juice.
I lived every day on Yamba time, coming and going with the tides, working to afford to surf, dancing to the sweet sounds of local musicians with guitars and didgeridoos, and was having potluck dinners with the locals I was lucky enough to strike up a relationship with. You know you’ve found a special place when you can’t see straight and your cheeks are hot with fresh tears as you board your bus out of town three months later. I don’t just dream of returning one day. In my mind, I’ve already bought my flight.