Nothing prepared me for the strangeness of the village that is Nimbin, nestled in the middle of the mountains of northeastern New South Wales. In fact, I told Fabio that I wish he had told me where we were going so I could have looked it up beforehand and prepared myself for the shock of finding such a strange strip that is Nimbin.

The street starts in the middle of nowhere and ends abruptly. It is colorful, lined with emporiums, strange shops, and filled with people that in other places might have been shunned. One old man with unkempt long white hair and an equally long shaggy beard actually just dropped in the middle of the sidewalk after Fabio spoke to him, and some locals rushed to give him first aid. A father and two kids jumped out of their truck, all barefooted, and walked into a nearby shop. A lady with a nearly naked baby sat in a stool next to a shop door. A tattooed, emaciated-looking woman whispered almost to no one, “Cookies? Brownies?” as she walked by while a man sprawled on the pavement looked up to us and said, “You need anything mate?”

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