Reefer Madness

A wizard draped in a very stylish purple cloak handed me the fattest spliff I've ever seen.

I had to hand it back - it was early in the day, plus the place was swarming with coppers.

Some of the heavy-handed police presence was in your face, like the eight police vehicles blocking the road out and conducting 'random' drug tests.

Just as obvious were the plain clothes coppers trying to mingle in the crowd. (Note to police - if you're going undercover at a drug festival, perhaps dress like a Rastafarian, not a Rotarian).

I didn't have a designated driver. The last of my travelling companions bailed somewhere east of Daylesford, and I haven't heard from her since. So I was travelling alone, making it certain I'd be sharing my bodily fluids with the drug-testing police as soon as I left town.

The Age of Aquarius

This was in Nimbin of course, birthplace of Australia's first real Green movement

And if Nimbin is Australia's Mecca for weed-lovers, then I'd hit town in Holy Week - the annual MardiGrass.

MardiGrass dates back to the early 70s, when a crowd of hippies held a bong-fuelled Aquarius festival in the town. Some of them haven't left (or exhaled) since.

Nowadays, MardiGrass is a big crowd-puller, and not just hippies. 

Obviously you'll find the full range of alternative folk, ranging from acid-fried flower power people right through to feral forest faeries. But there's also plenty of bikers, surfers and former hippies who've turned to the dark side (got a law degree, bought an Audi).

Everybody was having a good time, except the undercover coppers, who on second thought looked like they were dressed for a Young Liberal conference.

Even the stoner passed out on someone's lawn, clutching a plastic tricycle, was smiling.

Just in time for Mothers' Day

Back to Highway 420

I wasn't in Nimbin for the drugs, just a quick look around. So after knocking back a cheeky schooner of Stone & Wood Cloud Catcher (a reasonable $7.50 at the Nimbin Hotel) it was time to hit Highway 420 and head back to camp.

The police road block had stopped half a dozen Kombis and a string of rusting Daewoos, but disappointingly, they waved me through. All that abstinence for nothing. I toyed with the idea of going back to find my new wizard friend, but thought it's probably best not to push my luck.  

I was staying in Murwillumbah (population 7,326 or thereabouts) for a couple of nights. It's a lovely little town - on the banks of the Tweed River, and just a short drive to the coast. Last year, the remains of Cyclone Debbie trashed the town. People died in the floods, and the cleanup is ongoing, so I though it was a decent place to hang out for a while and spend some cash to support the locals.

I went to book into the showgrounds, one of the few camping areas in the region. I gave it a miss because it was packed with grey nomads and their $100,000 camping rigs. I picture these people sitting in a circle at night, sipping mugs of tea, and swapping old Noel Whittaker newspaper clippings.

Instead I found the local caravan park, described in Trip Advisor as the worst in the country. Negative ratings don't worry me much - I'm not as fussy as most, and anyway, I like living on the edge. So I paid my $20 and found a shady spot under a tree to pitch my tent.

Camping, schooner style

It’s places like this you meet the really interesting people – people like Al (name changed so he can’t track me down), a professional muso whose best days were a long time ago.

Al’s most valuable possessions appeared to be his blue heeler, a Fender acoustic and an endless supply of cheap bourbon. Of course we bonded immediately. 

His career might have faded, but not his talent. Actually, I'm guessing he's the best singer/songwriter I've ever heard play in a squalid camping ground. He sang and told stories for hours, only pausing to choof on a petite Mickey Mouse bong he kept between his feet.

I collapsed into my tent sometime after midnight – Al had wiped out all my Tooheys’ New, and I wasn’t game to try his bourbon. When I left the next day at 11am, he was still asleep in his van.

Murwillumbah, actually the entire Northern Rivers region, is glorious. If you haven’t been there yet, then you should make plans. If you bump into Al, ask him to play some James Taylor.

I’m heading back in a couple of weeks to climb Mount Warning, the local landmark. Then I’m going to check out Nimbin again. If the coppers have gone back to Lismore, I might even sample the local produce.