I remember...

(A side Australian travel note):

14 yrs ago I woke up in a sub-standard hostel in Byron Bay, Australia. When I say sub-standard, let me better clarify, that I shared a small room with 4 other random guys, which had two bunk beds with no sheets and no pillows provided (we used our towel as a sheet and a rolled up pair of jeans as a pillow), one singular hanging light in the middle of the room, and there was this smell that was quite undefinable, but not too pleasant. In other words, a nice place for strangers to crash after a heavy night of drinking.

The lodging wasn't too important. We were in Byron Bay. The most Eastern point of the Australian coast. Beautiful beaches. Gorgeous scenery. A place that you permanently walk around with a smile on your face. And, most importantly for me, there was great diving to be found. A little off from the coast was Julian Rocks, a marine preserve and a convergence of two currents, which meant there was a lot of life sputtering about down there. Of course, where there's a lot of fish, there's usually a few sharks patrolling the waters as well. Good diving.

I spent my mornings under the water, waking early each day in the emerging light of dawn, as my roommates continually snored away the previous nights transgression. The afternoons were free to explore the surrounding area on bike or hiking, relaxing on the beach, or discovering new places to drink.

We would always gather back at the room roughly around the same time, to shower and get ready for dinner and whatever else layed in store for us down the line. Sometimes a roommate would leave, being replaced the next day with a fresh face. English, German, Swiss, a Canadian. Always a young, eclectic bunch. Always curious about my early morning departures, and very eager to hear about my diving experiences during dinner and what I saw that particular morning under the sea (especially if I had any run-ins with sharks).

There was a steak house not to far from the hostel. Really good meat, lots of sides, not too expensive (it must've been a pre-cursor or a model to Outback). And there was loads of Shiraz to drink. This was the time when the hype of Australian Shiraz was just beginning to build over in the States (before the Yellow Tail invasion). Big, ripe, full-bodied red with sumptuous flavors and velvety textures, oh yes. Perfect with a good steak. And perfect to share with some new friends.

One particular night over drinks, we were so immersed in our conversation about everyone's different backgrounds and cultures, and their surprising similarities and beguiling differences, that we didn't notice it was closing time. We were walking out when one of my roommates told us that he would meet us back at the hostel, and walked back in. I thought nothing of it until I saw him strolling back to our place with a couple bottles of Shiraz in his hands, both already opened and ready to be poured into some paper cups he had bought.

"I didn't want the night to be over just yet," he said.

We poured the Shiraz into the cups and someone put on a cd of Creedence Clearwater Revival, and we sat outside and drank and talked about everything and nothing. Mostly we laughed. So everytime I hear a song from Creedence, or have a nice glass of Shiraz, I think back to the time I had in Australia, and one of the most memorable evenings of my life.