Siang Lu on tour at the Byron Bay Writers Festival
EAT, PRAY, BRUV PT III
On tour at the Byron Bay Writers Festival, the Miles Franklin-winning author of Ghost Cities and his literary agent embark on the next instalment of Eat, Pray, Bruv.
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Over dinner – fresh oysters garnished with natural-foraged beach herbs and native finger lime, tender Kidman Angus Beef scotch fillets with sides of fries and buttered corn & cheese – my literary agent Brendan “Brendo” Fredericks and I sip on negronis with massive chunky ice cubes.
We are at the Bar & Grill at Elements, the premier luxury destination at Byron Bay for anyone looking for a perfect weekend getaway, enjoying this sumptuous meal, with sticky date puddings and whiskey affogatos to come.
Brendo (my work wife) is seated alongside my actual wife (don’t worry – they get along) and my two kids (12M) and (10F), codenamed Asgore and Smol Bean respectively, who are downing their vanilla ice creams with aplomb.
“Mate that whiskey affogato was great, but I only ordered it because it was a more respectable way of drinking alcohol in front of your fam!”
Over the course of the coming weekend, Elements will be the luxe base-of-operations from which we ruefully depart daily and return to with glee, as part of our involvement with the Byron Bay Writers Festival. The festival location is in the heart of bustling, beautiful Byron, just a short few minutes’ drive away.
Having by now partaken in all the proper touristy things, the lighthouses and beaches, the cafes and trendy restaurants, I’ll admit that Byron’s great.
But Elements – with its luxury villas, its fire pits and pools and yoga and activities aplenty for the fam – is 100% the place to be.
How do I know this?
Well, on my way back to ‘my villa’ (a phrase I will never tire of repeating) after sussing out the pool (another handy phrase), I bump into another Miles Franklin-winning author, checking into reception. This is the author who, years ago – before I myself was the recipient of any such award – I had shaken hands with at a festival green room and had blabbered at so incoherently that she had assumed I was no author, but rather, a publicist. Apologies to publicists everywhere; I have inadvertently impugned your fine profession! The two of us chat in the lobby about secret Miles Franklin business. What, precisely, is secret Miles Franklin business? Never you mind.
Brendo texts me in rapid fire from his own villa:
The room is INSANE.
Bring my A game tonight
I’ll be a super charming ****
There’s a room that’s just got a bath in it FFS.
And oh, the villas! Oh, the luxury! We are in a two-bedroom villa, the highlight of which is the indoor-outdoor balcony where one can relax with a book and a wine, warmed by central heating, but with the smells of the rainforest to boot, the breeze which makes the flowering banksias sway in the wind, the soothing sounds of birdsong.
A bush turkey lingers outside our front door, politely, waiting, it appears, for us to invite it in. Get away, bush turkey! Get ya own villa!
Asgore and Smol Bean take turns soaking in the bath, with amber bubble foam brought to you by skincare gurus LaGaia UNEDITED. I ask for their impressions. I am making notes for the article. “Bubbly perfection,” says Asgore. Not bad! I write that down. What about Smol Bean? “Precisely beautiful,” she says. I put down my pen. “I don’t think so,” I say. “Why not?” she counters. Hmmm. I suppose there’s nothing wrong with that, technically. Okay, fine: the bath is ‘precisely beautiful’.
Next morning, I awaken after the best sleep I’ve had all year. I want it on the record that nobody paid me to say that. Well, First Class Magazine is paying me to say things, but not precisely that. And if, after reading this piece, you, too, would like to stay here and see if you might have the ‘best sleep you’ve had all year’, be my guest. Tell em Siang sent you.
Asgore and Smol Bean play life-sized chess right outside our villa, while I sip on a coffee, handily made in-room on the Nespresso machine. Things are not looking good for Smol Bean. Asgore has taken two horsies – which, I discover later, are called ‘knights’ – two rooks and a bishop and a queen. Smol Bean, though, maintains her own edge, winning in the ways she knows how. Humour, deflections, insults, dance moves. I fear she will grow up to be me.
We’d made plans to play bocce or tennis, to check out the gym and walk the fairy trail that skirts the grounds of Elements, an eight-part treasure hunt which, if successfully completed, will earn its adventurers lemonade slushies.
All that will have to wait, though. Brendo – keeper of the schedules – reminds me I am needed on-stage, in town. Oh. Right. Cue the panic, the stage fright, the green room anxieties.
“We’re not here to **** spiders, mate!”
On our final morning, I round up the family to complete the fairy trail.
Midway through, we spot a bush turkey – perhaps the same one – she is pilfering a roll of plush toilet paper from one of the housekeeping golf buggies. Jeez, I think. It seems even the wildlife here enjoy their creature comforts.
Together we expertly find six of the eight hidden fairy spots, but sadly, the final two elude us. The promise of slushies disappears before our eyes!
Upon checkout, I approach Mitch and Molly at reception, asking for dispensations, for rules to be bent, just this one time. Conspiratorially, they whisper the secret answer that will unlock the free slushies at the poolside bar. We rush there, giddy. When Asgore, Smol Bean and I approach, map in hand, stories fully synced up ala criminal accomplices, we discover – shocked – that the final hint was not even necessary.
The slushies are handed over, with no trace of suspicion, without even a need for the secret code!
We are devastated. The three of us sit by the poolside and sip our delicious lemon slushies.
They are precisely beautiful.
