Fortunately, my teammate - Will - generously offered to play tour guide for the day and show me and another one of my teammates - Anna - around Manly, his neck of the woods and also the starting point of the northern beaches. Being car-less, I took the ferry from Circular Quay to Manly Wharf; which, frankly, was no more or less manly-er than any other wharf I had seen.
I was expecting more questionable body hair,
BBQ, and a greater prevalence of monster
trucks.
Not intending to go in the water initially, I had made the mistake of making the journey to Manly wearing my usual casualwear outfit of jeans, a polo shirt, and regular shoes. 5 minutes of walking down the main Manly promenade was enough to convince me that I needed some less-restrictive clothing, or I was going to collapse in a big soggy pile on the sidewalk, and then promptly evaporate, leaving nothing but my outfit arranged on the ground like a first-grader does just before his first day of school.
Eyeing a store that gleefully advertised 'wholesale prices,' I wandered in to search for an alternate change of clothes. A few minutes later, I walked out in my new board shorts and a $3 pair of sandals. Much better.
Having a bit of time to kill while waiting for Will, we made our way through the 93-degree heat to the beach. While I may have been obstinately resisting going in the water at first, just staring at how inviting it looked made me put all fear of death out of my mind and I went scampering willy-nilly across the sand into the surf.
Despite the fantastic beach weather, the area
never really felt all that crowded. If you look
carefully, you can see approximately 734 things
lurking in the water waiting to attack me.
After an hour or so of body surfing in the waves, it was time to meet Will. He picked us up and took us on a driving tour of essentially all of the northern beaches. It was really great to see them, and each and every one really is unique.
If you're a loyal reader of my blog, you'll recall ages ago my disappointment with Aussie milkshakes. Sure, they're sweet - deliciously so - but they lack the proper consistency. A proper milkshake should be nigh-impossible to suck through a straw. The reason I bring this up is because we stopped at a small cafe for lunch, and I noticed there was something on the menu called a thickshake. Long story short, it was a proper milkshake. Mystery solved.
We continued our grand tour of all the northern beaches, ending with Palm Beach, the northernmost of the northern beaches. By then I was rather tired, so I essentially napped for the remainder of the drive home.
Will, Anna, and yours truly. A word of warning:
rather than risk severe eye damage, I strongly
suggest you turn down the contrast on your
monitor. You have been warned.
The cliffs along the coast near Shelley
Beach, where, consequently, I just went
diving today. Good times.
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