Nimbin is a town unlike any other. We could smell it coming from a mile away. I was feeling quite stoned upon exiting the car, and I hadn't smoked a thing.
And then came the offers. To buy. From just about every person in town. The very same lady offered to sell me some of her shit twice - within five minutes. The whole town is centered around the growth, sale, paraphrenalia, and consumption of ganja. As the story goes, thousands of people came to town for a festival some years back . . . and never left. I could see how the arresting beauty of the surrounding landscape could entice one, or many, to stay. The Marin-esque scenery was as striking as a gavel.
So we doodled around town, checked out the local shops,
picked up a few novelty items, and went to the bar for a beer on the back porch.
Drinking our beers, we noticed what was likely to happen to patrons of that establishment. Most of them were having a very hard time walking, or even talking for that matter. They were stopping and dropping like flies.
We headed over to the town's museum, an overwhelming testament to world peace, brotherly love, and getting stoned. We found, among other things, a fabulous tie collection,
a magnificent mix of eggbeaters,
some stray mannequin limbs,
a toy cop on a tractor,
some very interesting art,
some vintage posters,
and some marvelously moving messages
Our brains nearing implosion, we finished up and decided to get on the road.
And what a drive it was.
Arresting beauty, indeed. Well not quite, but Timmy got a speeding ticket.
We stopped at the Big Banana 
Heh.
("Big" things are huge in Australia), spent the night in Coffs Harbor, where I learned how babies are made
and continued on our way down to Sydney the next morning.
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