Holiday Daydreams

After a night of cockroach infested toilets, we rose early and made a beeline for the quiet beach town of Coral Bay. The bay looked like a turquoise color swatch from Bunnings (the Lowes of Australia); only the hues blended seamlessly with the changing depth. It was visually intoxicating. The water was calm, creating an ideal environment for snorkeling and swimming, though a soft breeze threatened to break the tranquility.

We took our time making French toast, unfortunately we were out of the fresh loaf we had used in Broome. The tide had inched its way in, and Looci went to lay on the beach while I set out my yoga mat in the shady patch of grass overlooking the shore. The wind came in short bursts, challenging my balance as I flowed through my routine.

It felt like we were on holiday…I mean we were on holiday, but when you drive three plus hours every day, it tends to take some of the relaxing out of the vacation. On this day, despite the hour drive to the beach and the two-hour drive in the afternoon, we had made no plans other than to chill.

I hired a snorkel from one of the little shops and set off to investigate the reef. The woman helping me recommended heading to the point and letting the current carry me back to the beach. Underestimating the power of the ocean I swam against the flow and found myself exhausted and back on land after only forty-five minutes.

The reef was lovely, with coral that resembled bouquets of giant roses. Fish congregated in dense conclaves, though there were times when the corals were utterly deserted. Unlike in the Great Barrier Reef where the electric blue corals were scarce, in Ningaloo Reef they were everywhere. The closer I swam to the point the rougher the waters became, until all I could hear were the ripples of the waves fighting against my progress. A large parrot fish picked at the reef as an assorted group of smaller fish headed towards the sandy shallows.

After my swim, I napped on the beach…well, not right away. First, I walked to the point where a lookout was poised on top of the dunes. I took a quick picture then came down and ventured through the tranquil waves to the other end of the bay where sand gave way to scattered stones. The tide was low enough that I could have continued onward, but fatigue had dug its nails in and wasn’t letting go.

I gave in to the requests of my body and laid down on the sand next to Looci until the sun began biting my body.

Part of the Working Holiday visa scheme allowed you to apply for a second year, but only after completing 88 days of farm work. For people from the US and a few other countries, farm work also included hospitality work in a rural location. As I bought a soy mocha from the little café in Coral Bay I found myself pondering an alternate life, where I had started traveling younger and had time to do a second year. I could see myself living in a place like Coral Bay: a morning yoga session on the grass, work, an afternoon swim, and sunset from the top of the dunes.

For readers who aren’t quite familiar with Working Holiday, it is a visa that allows you to work and travel. The stipulations are you have to start your visa before you turn 31, (36 for some countries) and you can only work for the same employer for six months. Essentially, it’s the perfect way to bring in additional labor, boost economy by increasing tourism, and allows people to actually experience life in a foreign country.

Unfortunately, given that my thirtieth birthday was right around the corner, I had to pick and choose. A second year in AUS meant no years in New Zealand. Not to mention the fact that I had prematurely applied for my NZ visa, which was already active and counting down to expiry.