dressing down....

Still struggling with wearing the right amount of clothes (i.e. less) for the hot and humid conditions. This is partly because everyday Coogee-style is basically a very casual cross between swimwear, sports gear and pyjamas.  People seem completely calm about going around in their underwear whilst I have neither the aptitude nor the physique to do this.

So, still wearing too many layers (and carrying a jumper with me at all times ‘just in case’). Even when I walk down to my tennis lesson ( – I know, I am impressed too! -)  in shorts and a teeshirt I feel a bit naked. Who knows how long adaption to new climes is going to take. Probably just in time for returning to London.


As many of my friends will know, I am not a snappy dresser. Happy to lounge around in my PJs for much of the day if allowed. One of the things I like about Moscow is that - inside - everyone dresses down like this, even to visit their neighbours in nearby blocks. But that is inside, and amongst people you know, not on public display. Here my old-fashioned English reticence definitely leaps to the fore. 

more on santa(s)

Keep seeing half-life-sized inflatable Santa figures outside people's houses that look like they have been lynched. Thought it was some kind of freaky joke until I realized that he is meant to be climbing up (down?) a rope.  

The Santa in the photo, though, tells a more complicated and sorrowful tale; is prone on the ground, his arm wrapped around both a cricket bat and an emu, his face buried in the latter. A remaining - and Christmas-themed - memorial to cricketer Phil Hughes, after whose death last month many Sydney-siders put out a cricket bat on their front porch, as a sign of respect.

rough

Meanwhile, the ocean at Coogee  is not behaving as normal. The small island in the middle of the bay usually acts as a kind of breakwater, making the incoming waves friendly and unsurfable. But with a seemingly endless stream of tropical-style storms, the waves are up - crashing into the beach with a previously unseen fury. Surfers have arrived and the usually protected Giles baths is foamy and turbulent. Additional fun for all. 

swimmingly

And talking of 40 degree days. Another of those weekend mass events (with associated, multiple, open-air parties) that turn Coogee into a place packed with nearly naked and often wet people, hundreds happy to swim a kilometre out and around wedding cake island, hundreds jammed on the beach happy to cheer them on – and all of us suddenly buried in a damp sea fog, rolling in off the sea as the high temperature and humidity made its own huge and thick condensation cloud.

not the Melbourne Cup (3)

And then the aftermath. That evening Coogee Beach was packed with people dressed up to the full, and mainly very very drunk.

not the Melbourne Cup (2)

When I say the Melbourne Cup is a pretty big thing here, I mean that lots of people get the afternoon off work or - like us - take time off to watch the action. Ours was quite impromptu - spare bottles of fizz and snacks from some previous event, a spur-of-the-moment sweepstake. I got the favourite - a japanese horse called Admire Rakti..... which ended up last, and then died immediately after the race.

... and there was a prize for whoever got the last horse. So I got 2 bucks back, which was actually not that nice. 

not the Melbourne Cup (1)

The Melbourne Cup is a pretty big thing here (its a horse race, not a yachting competition as A thought or some kind of Australia-rules football, which is what I imagined). My workplace is right next to the Royal Randwick course which runs a race day at the same time - supported by a giant screen so race-goers can also watch the Big One from Melbourne.

So I spent quite a lot of time trying - and failing - to get a photo of a race here (although the smell of horses from the stables is over-powering, a smell I luckily like).

that gym thing

Have never really been a gym person. Severely put off by those serried ranks of peculiar machines; and the whole artificiality of running on the spot and using headphones to block out what little external stimuli there is in a gym - when there is whole wide world to enjoy outside, full of the unexpected incidents you get in the company of real people going about their everyday lives.

In Sydney this seems pushed to an extreme; exercise is nothing if you don't work yourself to the absolute limit. There were a couple on the beach yesterday dragging huge weights on ropes strapped to their chests backwards and forwards across the sand, like some kind of ancient Roman prisoners-of-war, whilst their personal trainer idly texted his friends on his phone. And when I attempted a gym class two weeks ago, billing itself as a pilates-yoga-taichi mix, we plummeted nonstop from one heavyweight move to another - "going all the way" - in time to very loud disco music ( tai chi - disco, who would have thought it?)

But have finally stumbled on the perfect class. It is twice a week for old codgers - the over 50s. We do serious interval training, but combined with idle chat and a lot of laughing; a recognition of both the absurdity and necessity of getting fit as your body begins to get grumpy and uncooperative.



I have just remembered. I also used to hate 'quiet and slow' activities. I thought yoga and tai chi were for wimps, and threw myself around the squash court instead.

hurrah!

It turns out not only that the Rabbitohs play rugby, but that they were playing in the NRL final last night - and won for the first time in 43 years. Big open air screen by the beach, lots of excitement and a bunny or two. 

a sporting life?

It must be obvious that I am much more comfortable with contemporary art than with sporty things. I am planning to try harder. As well as swimming, running, beach volleyball and the like, Coogee also manages to fit - into its valley between 2 escarpments - tennis courts, cricket ground and a bowling green (I won't even bother to mention the various fitness and wellbeing centres). For the spectators, there are sports bars. And, just from the red and green insignia everywhere, I know to support the South Sydney Rabbitohs - and will probably find out what sport they play quite soon.

running, running, running

More good-natured crowds again, both running, and cheering on the running. It reminds me of the first time I came to Sydney, with my mother. We were in a similar state of jet-lag, very early rising, so had gone for a walk through the Botanical Gardens towards Mrs. Macquarie’s Chair, when this swarm of runners – (what is the correct collective noun?)  completely engulfed us for several minutes. We just stood stock still, quivering slightly, as if overtaken by a herd of wildebeest. Much too dedicated, energetic and early for us.