Unlike the rest of the world, I had never laid eyes on the beauty that is Byron Bay. That is, until today and my goodness have I been missing out.

Like always, roadtrips with my boys tend to lead to slight detours, a lot of male bonding and almost always a whole lot of trouble. This time though, they were actually relatively behaved and this time I was over the moon with where we ended up.

Even at first glance Byron Bay was like a little slice of heaven. Imagine ‘Hippy meets Classy’ in the most beautiful place on earth. Which, considering deep down I’ve always, always wanted to be a Hippy girl, the ‘love at first sight’ feeling kind of explains itself. Well with the exception of drugs, alcohol and the whole ‘let’s not wear shoes idea’. Unless you are completely broke then you should always wear shoes, always – no exceptions.

All shoe issues aside though, standing there overlooking that brand new town or new to me at least, I was the happiest girl in the world. That smile wasn’t going anywhere.

Everywhere I looked there were countless little hippy Chico babies and as I’m sure you already know, second to being a hippy, I would give anything to be a Chico baby or well, to be honest, I’d be happy being any kind of brown really. It’s okay though, because once I move to this place called Heaven then I’ll be sure to blend in with the rest of them. Eventually.

Maybe not so much with the girls riding skateboards like they just stepped out of a Tony Hawk commercial, because I really don’t think my coordination skills couldn’t handle that kind of stress. The bike riders though, those I can definately work with. Not a mountain bike though, it would have to be one of those cute little vintage push bikes, the ones with the giant basket on top. Now those I could get use too.

I mean who doesn’t want to ride down to the beach on a bike with a basket? If that isn’t on your to-do list, then I’m not sure what is, because I know it surely made mine:

First investment: push bike with basket.

Second investment: do everything possible to become a Chico baby.

Third investment: find a Cafe that sells salad. Real salad, not the fancy kind.

Fourth investment: open own salad Cafe if investment three fails.

Now that third investment, the Cafe with fresh salad. One would assume that it would be the easiest of the bunch, right? Well you would be wrong.

After what seemed like an hour of walking up and down the street searching for any type of Cafe that could sell me plain meat and salad, I ended up buying 80g of chicken breast from a sandwich bar and a plate of salad from a Kebab shop and doing it myself. Which, coincidently, is what sparked my fourth investment idea, because apparently lettuce, carrot, tomato, cucumber and beetroot has now been replaced by beans and salsa as a salad. How ridiculous.

Me though, I won’t have a bar of it, which is where my ingenius plan kicks in.

After I invest in a beautiful vintage pushbike and become a little Chico baby, well then I’m going to open my own Cafe. Not the fancy kind, but the everyday kind. The kind where beans are called beans and salsa belongs on Nachos. The kind where salad does not have to be served on bread and you can have as much as you like. The kind where meat does not automatically come covered in a marinade, but where you have the option to choose for yourself, because surely I can’t be the only person in the world who just wants a plain salad for lunch.

I haven’t quite decided what I’m going to call my Cafe yet, but I’m sure you’ll know where to find me. I’ll be the brand new Chico baby who is still learning how to ride her fancy bike. I’ll be the girl with a smile from ear to ear, serving real salad and not the bean kind.