To Bon-Di For

To Bon-di For

Having lost my trusty tour guide, drinking buddy, and friend to the wiles of the workforce, I headed down to Bondi Beach to meet some friends and have a go at surfing. The instructions were clear, and yet somehow vague: they were at North Bondi. It truly is a different world without a mobile phone. I flagged a cab and uttered the destination. Arriving, I headed down to the packed sand, over the crowded beach toward the largest pod of surfers. Squinting like a bat just given sight, I surveyed the distant wet-suited bodies for a familiar face, back, or bum. I had just about given up when I came across Mason, a guy I’d met last night, and one of the blokes I was to rendezvous with. Having found the pack, I went a rented a wetsuit and board, along with Saul, my friend Tina’s son.

Saul made straight for the top of the lineup. I hung back a bit, having been conditioned by years of surfing in Santa Cruz, to sit back and take the scraps as they rolled in and were passed on by the better surfers. Saul laughed at the fact that I had a wetsuit on (but, come on, the water was 17.5 Celsius / 64 Fahrenheit, just barely warmer than the chill of the Northern California Pacific coast, and I am not one to mess with the shivers when I’m trying to act coordinated) until about ten minutes in when he started to numb up, shortly exiting the water for the sunny beach.

I stayed out for a while, had a go at a few waves. Nearly got run over by a hardcore body surfer with a front rudder in hand. Almost ran over a couple of foam-top surfers. Took a short break. Went out again. Eventually my friend Catherine showed up, followed shortly by Saul and Mason. Mason had just started offering us pointers when a very loud siren started screaming from the beach. Shark alert, Mason told us, but damned if he felt like going in. Catherine, Saul, and I were well up the beach before he even considered getting out of the water, a move prompted by the stern warnings of lifeguards on jet skis.

A helicopter showed up, and made a rather large production out of searching the shallow waters with the lifeguards. Eventually they left, and everyone took to the water again. And I mean everyone, 300 strong.

Exciting? Yes. A bit of a let down for my absent beach buddy, who I’m sure would have paid good money to see me get maimed or fully eaten by a shark? No doubt. But it was a good bit of fun, even if I never even got to see a damn shark.

BackBlogged

I must admit I’m feeling a bit back-blogged right now. Since I last wrote, we’ve been from Noosa to Byron Bay, down to Sydney, and up to the Blue Mountains. The kids have left me all by my onesies, so off I go. Headed to Melbourne tomorrow, where I hope to catch up on some writing and the cataloguing of photos. Until then, thanks for checking in. A few highlights from the last couple of weeks: living like a king in Byron Bay; getting out of Nimbin alive; surviving the drive to Sydney; getting my ass kicked up, down, left, right, and center by Catherine in backgammon; some very fun nights filled with music, dancing, kite-flying and billiards with fun friends in Sydney; rock climbing in the Blue Mountains with Maya and Tim; a sunset water taxi ride through Sydney Harbor, complete with champagne, and followed shortly by oysters, more champagne, strawberries, yet more champagne, whipped cream, and yes, you guessed it, more champagne; and a fuggin’ fabulous time at Spearhead last night with Catherine. More to come soon. Until then, hold on to your knickers, and for the love of God, go ahead and do something I wouldn’t do…