Chris Hemsworth.
Ripped abs.
Adaptogenic herbal blends.
Peace signs.
Açai bowls.
Chris Hemsworth’s ripped abs.
Attractive people on surf boards.
Tie-dye.
Blonde, salt-crisped hair.
Am I still talking about Chris Hemsworth?
Yoga mats.
Crystals.
Beach.
As a Brit abroad, these are all the things that came to mind when I thought of Byron Bay. Friends in Melbourne and Sydney didn’t have bad things to say about Byron, but they weren’t exactly effusive with praise, either. Like so many institutions whose heydays I would never be a part of, I got the sense this hippie headland had forfeited much of its popularity by gaining too much of it. Like a surfer who had, at some point, lost hold of their wave.
And yet, the Byron Bay I meet, blue skies persisting in the height of an Australian winter, is still very much That Girl – the kind I’d assume would be protected by some grand UNESCO status for Outstanding Contribution to Aussie Chill. It must be the off-season’s special kind of magic, I surmise, that has restored this sense of a pre-developed Byron.
It’s the reason we get whole stretches of the Cape Byron Lighthouse walk all to ourselves and slide into tables at the town’s most popular restaurants (hey, Bar Heather) without a reservation. And why we would be the only guests at tours of nearby coffee farms and gin distilleries, moving in tandem with the town’s trademark tranquillity as if being guided through it by a barefoot yoga teacher with a too-slow voice.
But, like a trust fund baby with an unfair advantage, we were handed a spectacular head start in Byron Bay. After all, it’s really hard not to love a place when you’re staying somewhere like 28 Degrees.
I’d found this adults-only crash pad through my trademark brand of *too* much online research – stalking Instagram posts and ‘Best Places to Stay in Byron Bay’ listicles until I felt what true Byron-ites might call the right frequency, that unmistakable urge to slap it on a vision board. It looked, from afar, like the beach house of my dreams: a soothing spread of doughy cream sofas, billowing sheer curtains, rattan furniture and cottage-white wood panelling, with jungle green plunge pools and thick kentia palms just beyond the king-sized beds.
And while it might look like the super cool hotel love child of Gwyneth Paltrow and Zoë Kravitz, it’s actually the passion project of fabulous interior designer Deb Garske, who named it in tribute to her childhood home on Norfolk Island, which just so happens to share the exact same latitude – 28 degrees south – as Byron Bay.
Don’t you just love a coincidence?
Upon arrival, Deb’s right hand woman, Clancy, welcomes us in person, directing our car helpfully into the private parking garage – a rare luxury in the centre of town. The lack of a reception desk or automatic email with a lock box code is not lost on me. “Do you welcome every guest in person?” I ask. “We do,” Clancy replies with a warm smile, “we just think it’s a bit more personal.” A sneezy Meg Ryan in You’ve Got Mail springs to my mind: “Whatever else anything is, it ought to begin by being personal.”
As for Deb, 28 Degrees couldn’t be more personal. The main house (originally four rooms) was once her very stylish home, an earthy haven in which to recover from chemotherapy and the place she raised two children. Deb’s sixteen-year-old daughter already has designs on Room 8, our room, should the family ever move back to Byron, she tells us later that day. “If there was room service, I’m sure she’d be ringing the bell every five minutes!” Deb laughs. I spend our entire chat hooting at her wicked sense of humour, silently lamenting that my own mother never opened a chic guesthouse by the sea.
Not long after moving in, Deb would buy the neighbouring property, turning the whole shebang into a seven-bedroom guesthouse – somewhere more women could rest and recoup in health-simulating surrounds. Only last year, she would extend again to create a new wing with five private plunge pool rooms. In the courtyards of both, mighty baobab and palm trees shoot up through the wooden decking. This is how I learn, without a hint of shock or surprise, that Deb is also a feng shui consultant. “These trees break the energy and make the flow so much nicer,” she tells me. Flow is one thing 28 Degrees isn’t without; I can barely find a hard corner to bump my suitcase into.
As for our deliciously photogenic plunge pool room, Clancy had already told us everything we needed to know. We’ve got thoughtful discount vouchers for local hot-spots on the coffee table, a conventional do-not-disturb sign replaced by a darling string of shells, and a fridge full of local market berries and yoghurt (the perfect accompaniments to Deb’s homemade paleo granola – practically a separate enterprise in itself). A Chemex coffee maker and ground beans from Byron’s Moonshine roasters set the requisite speed for our mornings, which, dare we need to tell you, is slow.
At night, we fill up the hot water bottles (it’s winter, after all), and cosy up with one of the many books Deb has arranged throughout the space. I eye up the plunge pool, glistening through the curtains, knowing it’s the first thing I’ll slip into come morning; the giant palm fronds shielding me from the road beyond, swaying in the breeze.
Deb – like the well-heeled crowd she attracts – wants the very best, and she spared no expense curating it. From the Sealy Posturepedic mega beds (regularly heralded the best in Australia) and the Hale Mercantile linen bedding that tops them, to the signature loveseats from Maker & Son, who claim, we believe correctly, to make the cosiest chairs in the world, luxury infuses every surface. This includes the recycled French oak floors beneath your feet.
Its sustainability credentials, too, haven’t seen even an inch of corner-cutting – Tesla chargers, eco-friendly Hunter amenities in the bathrooms, a rainwater harvesting system that means even the shower water is filtered, not to mention a solar panelled energy supply and free bikes for guest use. It makes sense that 28 Degrees was born out of Deb’s recovery – a place so non-toxic, even the air somehow feels like a fresh start.
28 Degrees is a celebration of living slowly, intentionally, and well. It is also, I can’t help but notice, a celebration of women. From artwork and ceramics made by Deb’s childhood friends on Norfolk Island to the designer partnerships with female-founded brands – sustainable swimsuits (Innes Lauren), beach bags (The Dharma Door), beeswax candles (Queen B Candles) and linen robes (Deiji Studios) are just the tip of the collaborative iceberg. Deb bought the clay bead chandelier in the main house partly because it’s gorgeous, and partly because it’s handmade by women in South Africa, with all proceeds supporting food and HIV medication in their community. Back in the rooms, Italian glassware is blush pink and the countertops a rose quartz – a persistent touch of the feminine, without leaving my boyfriend feeling out in the cold.
Besides the maintenance man (who coincidentally likes to appear when Deb is making granola – I can’t knock the hustle), there is another gent in the operation – Deb’s husband, chiropractor Lindon, who can be booked by guests with aches and pains. He’s just one suggestion in a long roll-call of wellness services – infrared sauna sessions, facials, holistic massages – that the 28 Degrees team will arrange. I skip them all. If I get any more zen, I might just outright collapse.
That’s the thing about 28 Degrees: the only real stress is knowing you’ll have to leave.
To book a stay at 28 Degrees, visit their website, or to live vicariously through their Instagram feed, follow them here.
The writer of this article was hosted by 28 Degrees for a complimentary stay. All opinions expressed are based on the author’s personal experience.
