Dropping in for coffee at Byron we see that it still has its hippy charm, tie dyed clothing, dreadlocks and a whiff of incense in the air. On the footpath outside the National Bank there is an old man reading a young woman’s palm, sitting on milk crates he talks eloquently with his hands. Ah Byron please don’t change.
We return a few years later and little has changed. The roads certainly haven’t improved and the tourists, well they’ve
increased but there he is on a plastic chair now just a little further along the street gently imparting his wisdom. And certainly easier on the eye than the old bloke swinging a hula hoop outside the pub singing something to that goes like “dinga ding ding, donga dong dong, have a good day in Byron Bay”.