The Beaches...
One morning after breakfast, while walking through the lobby of Wake-up! I strolled past a swarm of souls and voices congregating near the front doors. I slowed my pace to see what was going on, when a thick Nova Scotian accent buttered the ambiance from just behind me.
“Hey, is this the free beaches tour?”
I turned to find an eager-eyed kid, sporting a pasty complexion and branded attire that told me he might spend a good amount of time on a snowboard. Whether he actually did or not, I’m unsure. I guess I should have asked him. Either way, he was a genuine, outgoing, and all around good guy, and I’m glad that I got to know him a little during my travels.
“I’m not too sure.”
“A bit strange, but okay, I’m Steve.”
“Ha. Well played, sir. I’m Preston.”
The pleasantry was succeeded by a pleasant surprise as four dolled-up college cuties stepped to our sides.
“Do you guys know if this is the free beaches tour?” questioned the curly haired brunette in front.
Steve and I glanced quickly to each other to make sure we were both on the same page. Subtle smiles confirmed that we were.
“Yes it is,” I assured with a--now far from subtle--shit-eating grin on my face. “I’m Preston.”
“I’m Nicole. Nice to meet you,” she beamed back with a bright and innocent smile.
If this isn’t the tour, you’re really going to expose yourself for the scumbag you are.
“Alright!” a voice boomed from near the doors, “everybody for the beaches tour head this way.”
Lucky me.
I shot a quick text to Kevin to make him aware of the situation, and he was downstairs and ready within the next minute. The seven of us hopped on the bus, and were taken about five miles from the CBD to the shore.
We wouldn’t bare witness to the scantily-clad beach scenery that we had imagined. The air had begun to grow teeth as the winter weather had started to set in, and it might have made swimwear unsuitable. We even had to bring our jackets. In addition, I think it was a Tuesday or some other mundane point in the week at eleven in the morning, which made for anything but peak beach hours. Suffice it to say, the beaches were deserted. Even so, for the world famous Bondi. The place sees over one million visitors a year, and over forty thousand people alone on Christmas Day, and I could count on one hand, the number bodies that punctuated vast stretches of sand. Of course there was the occasional jogger stringing a mutt along on the boardwalk, but that was about it. And I wouldn’t have had it any other way.
I consider myself lucky at this point to have been first introduced to the awe-inspiring spectacle that is the Australian coastline in the manner that I did. Breezy, and uninterrupted by the commotion that might thrive on better days there. Every facet of the geological process that accounts for its being was brimming with life and color via the sunlight that poured into them. And they were colors like I’d never seen. A vivd continuum of blue that churned over and over through every wave. Sometimes it would crash into the rocks and splash into bright white, or simply spill over itself and fizzle into illuminated white over the soft sand.
“I don’t think I’ve every seen water that blue.”
“I wonder why California’s isn’t like that.”
“I’m going to guess it’s something involved with the sediment... And the sewage...”
Aside from the houses, the shore was accented with thick greens, giant cliffs, and walls of limestone that had been carved for centuries by the liquid gems in that water. There were a few parks along the way that reminded us of home.
“This feels like La Jolla.”
“Yeah, except without all the rich people threatening to evict all of the sea lions with diamond-studded fire hoses.”
Our tour guide announced we could have about fifteen minutes to ourselves to walk around or get some food if we needed. I took the time to fuck off by myself, and get seated somewhere with a nice view. And incase your considering that I might have wanted to get a bit reflective, Chris Carraba style, I did. Maybe it was all the Dashboard I had been listening to. Either way, it felt right, so I went ahead and did it, regardless of the fact that I might have looked like a total pussy. I hiked up to the top of hill took a deep breath, and attempted to take it all in.
There’s something about the shore that I’ve always found a bit transcendental. Like no matter how fucked up my thoughts or mood proved to be, or how chaotic everything else in my life seemed to be, I could always head down to the sand and feel all of the bullshit filter out from my brain. Not a goddamn thing mattered. Kind of like that moment I had on the Harbor Bridge to a smaller degree. I think I found something soothing about the consistency of it all. The movement of the water. The sound. It was unrelenting. Those waves were pounding on that shore long before I came to see or hear them, and would continue to do so long after I left. I could find peace in that. It’s a shame to consider I didn’t spend more time at the beach when I was in San Diego. I could have used the therapy. Unfortunately I had a knack for letting the flood of all that bullshit I filtered out, return like a fucking cyclone after I vacated from those soothing sights and sounds.
And I didn’t script a sonnet on that hill, or write some banal ballad that’s bound to get me laid thirty times over. The moment was far from revelatory. But it was pleasantly affirming. It was reassuring to try and put things in perspective, and realize how awesome they were, and how lucky I was. I had made it down here on my own accord and be it a small victory for some, it was a huge one for me.
I am on the other side of the world staring at the same ocean I used to stare at back home. And I just put my feet into the same ocean I used to put them in back home. Awesome...
We all met up a few minutes later, and hopped back on the bus. Rush hour traffic swamped our return to the hostel, but on the bright side, it gave us all some time to push past the formalities and get to know each other. At least as far as the girls were concerned. Steve had been hanging out with Kevin and I for most of the day, and would continue to do so until he left Sydney a few days later. Long enough for us to discover that he was a twenty three-year-old graduate from Halifax, who had taken some time to travel, an avid fan of booze, hockey, and women, and that the three of us would get along swimmingly.
The girls were four, semester abroad students from Purdue, and might as well have stepped off the set of one of those college, sex comedies. Midwest to the max, they gave off a vibe that let you know they were something your mom would be proud to see you with, but had no problem going a bit Lohan during the weekends. Or in another country on vacation before school starts.
After minimal persuasion on behalf of the boys, the girls decided to join us for a few drinks at Side Bar. Because after all, we were on holiday.
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