Terra Incognita Australis Post XI: A Beach Called Manly and a Sunset

I ended my last blog post with a thought on how much I love water and how much Australians do, as well. Despite my affinity for all things aquatic, I have spent a strikingly small amount of my life on or around boats of any shape or size. So, when the opportunity arises, I am immediately enthusiastic.

Perhaps the most famous beach near Sydney is Bondi (bahn-dye, people. Believe me, I got it wrong). Bondi, though, seems to be famous for all the wrong reasons. Thinking of beaches that I have been to (or near to), I guess it is more like Daytona or Miami than say the Outer Banks. Most Sydneysiders suggested that, unless I felt inexorably drawn, I should avoid Bondi for the quieter beaches to the North of the harbor. In fact, nearly all suggested that I visit Manly, instead. Being an ardent supporter of all things 'manly' for four years as an undergrad, how could I sensibly pass the opportunity? When it was further posed that I go there by ferry from Circular Quay, I was sold.

Both Bondi and Manly are known for being tourist beaches (predominatly because they are the only two beaches accessible by public transportation). The Manly ferry was jam-packed with tourists, but that was hardly a deterrent. While most people I know would use their weekend to pursue hobbies like golf or gardening, in Sydney it would seem the pastime is sailing. Therefore, the ferry run to Manly was a trip through a forest of sailboats; what I can only hope was typical of all Saturday afternoons in this beautiful city.

One begins to get a feel for Sydney's topography from sea level. To say it is hilly is an understatement. I always used to joke that there wasn't a flat piece of ground anywhere near Charlottesville; one must go further afield from Sydney to find something plain. It just makes the winding coves and cliffs of the New South Wales coast even more striking and beautiful.

When we arrived in Manly, I wandered my way up the pedestrianized mall called "the Corso" (presumably not after Lee) to the bay. All I can say is, what a beach. Gorgeous white sands ringed in by cliffs. It was my first view of the Pacific from the beach and I nearly went into the water. I say nearly because: 1) the beach was closed, and 2) the Surf Lifeguards were promptly issuing an announcement upon my arrival that bluebottle jellyfish had been spotted in the area. For those of you not familiar with the finer points of Australian biological slang, a bluebottle is a Portuguese man-o'-war; one of the most venomous animals on the planet. A single sting will cause searing, almost unbearable pain for 45 minutes to one hour. More than one sting may be fatal. So, despite the surfers' cavalier flouting of the rules, I was staying on shore. Manly, indeed.
While I tucked into a magazine and enjoyed the sunshine, I decided that I would rename Manly Beach to Self-Consciousness Shore. Australians have to be the most favored race of people on the planet. Ample sunshine means an almost year-round beach season; no time for 'fat-pants' then, if you know what I mean. I already have commented about my run in Melbourne and how dedicated Australians seemed to be to fitness. Sydney was no exception. Everybody was well-tanned and well-built. I managed to isolate myself well away to avoid the embarrassment of my UK fluorescent light tan.
Speaking of the sunshine, though, "punishing" takes on an entirely new definition. You have never seen sunshine until you have been in a country with no ozone layer. Spending the entire day outside was really starting to wear on me by the time I got to Manly; I would wear the consequences well into returning to Britain. What sunshine I lacked from the dark depths of English winter were more than made up for in the time I was "down under." Yeah, I was loving it.
About 45 minutes after I arrived at Manly, the most bizarre thing happened: an air raid siren went off. At least, I thought it was an air raid siren. While I considered scrambling for cover and searched the horizon for Japanese fighter-bombers, the Surf Lifeguards came over the P.A. system again; sharks had just been sighted in the water. Immediately, four red zodiac rafts zipped off into the water to round up all the surfers until the sharks had been cleared or decided that a "man-snack" wasn't on the menu. Two surfers whose towels were in proximity of my hearing started chatting. It went something like this:

Surfer A: "Yeah, you know, it just isn't worth it staying out anymore, mate."

Surfer B: "I know. Especially after last year being such a 'sharky' year."

The implication being that, prior to 2009, when the shark alarm sounded it was worth it to risk one's life to catch another wave or two. In 2009, though, it seems the sharks started biting.

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My host kindly picked me up and we drove up the coast (with the labs!) to Fisherman's Beach. The North Beaches are a part of Sydney that few tourists have the opportunity to visit; Sydneysiders want to keep things that way. There is no public transport up to this mostly-residential part of the Sydney region. The beach crowd starts to thin the further North of the city you go. Fisherman's Beach was all but deserted when we arrived. The world's most beautiful public golf course was hosting a wedding on their terrace that overlooks the Pacific. From Fisherman's Beach, a footpath runs up to Long Reef; a point that offers fantastic sweeping views of the entire coast north of Sydney. It also happens to be one of the most beautiful places on Earth for enjoying a sunset. Some people thought it would be cool to do this while hang gliding on the constant Pacific breeze blowing up to the point; to each his own. As the sun set on my last full day on Australia I couldn't help but feel a tug of longing for what might have been. I managed to run myself ragged on this one day in Sydney, to the point that I had exhausted both myself and my sparse list of things to do. I knew, though, that there wasn't time enough to see everything and that I was only scratching the surface of this phenomenal country. The sun was setting on my Australian adventure, but I knew that this would only be the beginning.

Radar, the Labrador, also enjoyed the view, drooling his assent.