Cheer Up, Slow Down, Chill Out!

Rise up this mornin’,
Smiled with the risin’ sun,
Three little birds
Pitch by my doorstep
Singin’ sweet songs
Of melodies pure and true,
Sayin’, (“This is my message to you-ou-ou:”)

Singin’: “Don’t worry ’bout a thing,
‘Cause every little thing gonna be all right.”
Singin’: “Don’t worry (don’t worry) ’bout a thing,
‘Cause every little thing gonna be all right!”

Everything is gonna be alright. Bob Marley

Welcome to Byron Bay, Australia’s haven of New Age charm. A place of healing and spiritual inspiration for thousands of years, it continues to be famous for its alternative and holistic lifestyle. A magnet for surfers, hippies, new agers, and the well-to-do alike. And then there’s me.

I’m a bit of a skeptic when it comes to New Age stuff. Sure, I’ll read my horoscope, but don’t count on me to take it seriously (unless it’s predicting good news!). I might entertain the idea of a good omen, but I kicked out that little lizard from my shower the other day, even if it supposedly symbolized good luck (I prefer my showers lizard-free). I tried a crystal healing session at the local hair salon: yoga mats, candles, and flashing colourful lights. But all I got out of it was a sore back and a chuckle from hearing one lady scream “Cockroach!” during our guided stillness, disrupting the whole energy flow. And just the other night after work, as I sat on the beach tired, a young man approached me, offering to practice sound healing. Though the thought of him swiping my wallet while my eyes were closed did cross my mind, I couldn’t deny the soothing mix of ocean sounds, the evening sun, and the resonance of the crystal bowl. Still, I didn’t buy into it. A can of coke probably would’ve given me the same kind of joy and energy.

I don’t dislike it. I just don’t buy it.

Yet here I am, at the Crystal Palace, the spiritual getaway in the Hinterland Heaven of Byron Bay, ready to be healed.

It’s a hot Saturday morning – hard to believe it’s the beginning of autumn. Deep blue skies, bright sun, and a gentle breeze rustling the lush rainforest leaves around me. I decided to escape the drama of work and life in Sydney for a weekend getaway to Byron, prompted by a friend who suggested that going to Byron would bring instant relaxation and chill.

Except, well, it didn’t quite do it for me. Maybe my expectations were off. Maybe I had envisioned something different. Or maybe I was just disappointed not to bump into Chris Hemsworth, aka Thor, at the local health store.

Don’t get me wrong—this place is stunning. The endless stretches of white beach, the crystal clear ocean, and the iconic lighthouse perched over the Bay. The shops, cafés, and wellness centers. Musicians serenading you at every corner, struggling to be heard over the chatter of people and the cacophony of birdsong. Byron Bay is camper vans, and picnic blankets, bare feet and surfboards, with the sweet scent of weed lingering in the air. It’s breathtaking sunsets by the beach and sunrise vistas at the lighthouse. It’s lively, liquid, and loads of fun. It’s just a bit much for me.

Which is why, on my first evening, I retreated to my cozy Airbnb rather early. I set my alarm for 4:30 am to hike up to the lighthouse at dawn, well before the surfers, hippies, and linen-clad riches would descend upon it. Or so I hoped.

Now, I’ve done my fair share of foolish and naive things while exploring this beautiful country. Like getting lost during a bush walk behind my school, losing both my sense of direction and phone reception. Or posing for selfies with a poisonous snake in the school playground. Or mistaking deadly box jellyfish for laundry pods (no, I didn’t put them in the washing machine).

And now, hiking through the rainforest to the Byron Bay lighthouse in the dark.

Again, not entirely sure what I was thinking—things can be pretty eerie before dawn. Especially in an unfamiliar, dense rainforest. But there I was, wide-eyed and bushy-tailed, determined to witness the sunrise from the top of the lighthouse. Armed with my iPhone torch and GPS, I navigated through the pitch-black, until I finally found the trail. Or better – the trail found me. Fell right over the first step (of what felt like a hundred) leading up the hill. Face planted and momentarily overcome by a sense of profound aloneness – a feeling that lingered throughout the day. Brushing off the blood and tears, I picked myself up and climbed the staircase towards heaven. Above me, only the dark night sky and stars; around me, the soothing sounds of ocean waves, the occasional guiding light of the Byron Bay Lighthouse – a beacon of hope for ships and lost souls like mine since 1901. As I walked the path, my senses heightened, I savoured the occasional song of cicadas, the distant thump of a wallaby (I hoped), and it was beautiful. So quiet and serene. Just me – alone but not lonely, solitary but not lost.

Until, after an hour’s trek, I reached the lighthouse, only to be greeted by a boisterous group of youthful travellers, louder than the sunset birds from the night before. I stayed for a while, marvelling at the dreamlike atmosphere of the lighthouse bathed in the glow of twilight. The closer we got to sunrise, the more people arrived, eager to be part of the spectacle. And so, I left before the sun had a chance to peek above the horizon – I knew it would be fine without me watching. Descending the hill, against the incoming tide of people, I felt oddly liberated and free. Finally, the promised relaxation and chill had reached me.

Next stop: The Crystal Palace. Still in a zen state, I was curious to visit this mysterious place. The idea of leaving behind the bustling hubbub of Byron and retreating to the pastoral lands of the Hinterland appealed to me. Rolling hills covered in macadamia plantations, rumoured to hide numerous cannabis plots. Landscapes reminiscent of rural Ireland, perhaps Tuscany, or even La Provence. Cows, brought over from Europe, grazing peacefully on the land that not too long ago was covered by rainforest and eucalyptus trees.

Turned out, the cows weren’t the only imports from distant lands. Arriving at The Crystal Palace – a private botanical sanctuary and ethereal haven cultivated over four decades by the adventurous Naren King – I encountered a multitude of crystals, including the world’s tallest crystal geode, the Guardian. Towering over five meters and weighing 20 tonnes, it took three massive trucks, two cranes, and a considerable investment of energy and capital to transport these natural monuments from Uruguay, South America, to Mullumbimby, Australia. The owner of The Palace and visionary behind all things crystal, deemed them “beacons of hope” and “human charging stations imbued with immensely powerful energies, ready to rejuvenate anyone standing in their midst.” A lot of energy wasted to give energy, if you asked me. For me it was more likely the caramel slice at the nearby Lotus café that did the trick. But as I said – I’m a skeptic.

What truly revitalized me and gave me a sense of peace, however, were the Shambhala Gardens themselves. And the lack of visitors. I enjoyed a peaceful rainforest stroll and visited the Wishing Tree. I sat with the gods Garuda and Vishnu in the Bamboo Avenue and received a crystal blessing nestled within the enchanting embrace of the Dragon’s Egg.

As the hot Saturday morning unfolded, with its blue skies, hot autumn sun, and balmy breeze rustling through the rainforest leaves, I found myself sitting in the stifling heat of the white plastic Peace Dome, experiencing my first proper Crystal Sound Healing Meditation. The resonant tones of the Crystal Singing Bowls filled the air and me, bringing with them relaxation, inner peace, and introspection. Or perhaps I simply dozed off, exhausted from my early-morning adventures. Nevertheless, for the first time since arriving in Byron, I felt a sense of inner calm. Refreshed and rejuvenated…and ravenous!

I was ready for some farm-to-table fare from one of Byron’s local farms. Ready for a delicious meal at The Harvest Restaurant. Ready to “Cheer Up, Slow Down, Chill Out!” as Byron’s motto prompts. And who knew, perhaps Chris’s brother Liam would drop by for dinner as well. Peace out, Byron! And bon appétit!