It’s holiday time. It’s hot. The beach is pumping.
There’s a sparkle in the air. They’re here.
The people who work in shit jobs that are killing them, with people they hate, to save for this two weeks of Byron.
To relax. Have fun. To spend money.
To get photos for Insta.
This is the ‘experience.’
When you live in a place where other people take their holidays it’s a conundrum.
Where do we go for holidays? Somewhere not as good as where we live?
Where can, we who live here, turn up to annoy people trying to live their non-holiday day-to-day work lives?
Northcote? Surry Hills? Paddington? Can we swim with the hipsters? Run with the suits?
Go belly up in a bunch of baristas? What’s our holiday experience?
Chilled at everyone being here
And is it possible to have a ‘holiday’ at home?
I’ve tried it. And the short answer is no. Everyone comes here. And then they say, ‘it’s not like it used to be’. And we think yes that’s true. It’s mainly because two million holiday makers turn up each year, and that’s pretty impactful when it comes to failing to retain the ‘chill’ vibe.
We’re not chill. Sorry. We’re cranky. We’re cranky because we can’t afford to live in the place where we work.
We’re cranky because even a house that flooded in our coastal villages can cost over a mill.
And we don’t always love seeing houses that our kids or friends could be renting, be used for a party palace.
But we get it. Holidays are cool. And Byron, is still a pretty awesome place to be.
And we must continue to perform ‘chill’ even if we’re very, very far from ‘chill’.
Homeless thing
We love that you are having a good time, even when we’re not. We do have this homeless thing. Did you notice? People sleeping on cardboard, or under a sarong. Just like in the city. Try not to look. It really wrecks the holiday vibe to be reminded that we all live in a capitalist society where structural injustice means some people can afford $10,000 a week for a beach house, while some people end up sleeping on the actual beach and don’t even have $10.
But they know how to chill.
So a lot of us are slogging it out. People on holidays, when you’re trying to work, are annoying. I’m the middle-aged woman in a Byron Bay supermarket shaking my head at a couple of young women in Brazilian bikinis, saying ‘put some pants on’. I’m trying to buy goats cheese and batteries.
But why should they?
Pantless vacay
They are on holidays, and apparently, you don’t need to wear pants when you’re on vacay!
I imagine myself in Northcote at Aldi wearing a G-string on my next inner city Melbourne getaway.
Then I see myself being arrested. Which to be fair, is one way to make a holiday ‘unforgettable.’
Roman holidays
Apparently the Romans were the first people to have a holiday. But they didn’t go away for a few weeks. They went away for two years. That was pre Jetstar $89 flights. When you had to travel via chariot or foot, you ain’t coming home in a hurry. Probably took six months to even get there.
Holidays weren’t really a thing for me as a kid.
We didn’t go skiing or overseas. A week at my grandparents in Maryborough, or two weeks in a caravan at Hervey Bay with my mum’s best friend – another single mum. We’d squeeze into the annexe, shower in thongs and if we behaved we’d get a fire engine with our fish and chips at the local pub on half-price kids night.
Holidays were for affluent families. I remember my mum saving for our week at a two-star Caloundra Hotel and someone stealing $150 from an envelope in her bag and us having to cancel and go home.
Living in a holiday spot makes me super sensitive to people who live in the places where I travel. I am aware that while I might wake up with nothing to do but eat and look at stuff, I try not to piss them off, but in no time at all I’m going to galleries, looking at stuff and pointing at monuments.
There’s something bizarrely garish and stressful about achieving maximum holiday relaxation. Because it’s expensive. The more you pay, the more pressure on the stay. Relax. Quick. More relaxing. And see stuff.
Climb stuff. Eat stuff. Buy stuff. Until, you’re not relaxed anymore. You’re stuffed. Dying to get home. To get off the holiday treadmill. To recover.
And to put on some pants.
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