A Visit to to Neal and Kaitlyn, and Avalon Beach

Another day of blue cloudless skies, temperature in the high 80s.  What to do? It's Sunday and a perfect beach day.  In January it is almost always a perfect beach day. And Sydney has perfect beaches in abundance.  They stretch for many kilometers along the Pacific coast to the north and south-- Manly, Bondi, DeeWhy, Curl Curl, Freshwater (which is not), Bilgola, for instance--- and along the inlets within the harbor.  You might think that with so much sunny weather and the endless beaches, Australians would tire of frolicking in the surf and working on their tans, but you would be wrong,   The long lines of cars are the same long lines of cars that crowd the Michigan roads to Holland State Park on hot August weekends. 
This is holiday, that is, Holiday. It's serious. School is out, for two months. Businesses close:  "Closed for the holidays from December 19-January 24" .  Barbershops, bakeries, jewelry stores.  I have yet to see a closed pub or travel agent.  The travel agents are flying the vacationers to Bali or Thailand, the pubs are consoling those who can't make the trip.

But first we go to visit an old Grand Rapids friend, Neil Mercado, his lovely Australian wife, Kaitlyn and their three children, Kieran, Lauren and 5 month newbaby Indie, who live north along the coast in Mona Vale, where the ocean beach is only blocks away.  Neil was my son Brennan's best friend back in their elementary school years, and they have stayed in touch. I do have a few pictures which I will add just as soon as I figure out a few things with Susie's help. We toured the headlands which look out over a summery heaven of bays, islands and immense ocean with sailboats skimming and yachts parading across the turquoise water.
Then off to a large outdoor pub, the Newport Arms, where we and a thousand other dry and hungry vacationers were queuing for Coopers Ale and squid salad or hamburgers.  We had a grand time catching up, learning about the comparatively laid back life in Kaitlyn's Adelaide, and the difficulties in teaching an american husband to like lamb stew.
Then off to a little beach further north that Neil had recommended, which I will call Avalon Bay for lack of more precise memory: there are so many lovely  beaches they run together in my sun blasted brain.  We jumped into the surf with the other bathers and waded out to wait for the big wave so we could body surf back to the starting point.  It is a violent ride even with these mild waves.  I am hurtled in so fast I know I am going to knock some hapless swimmer flat or carry him in a tangle all the way to the beach.  Standing out in the water waiting for waves is a peculiar society. Here as everywhere, up to your neck in saltwater, thinking about sharks and strands of stinging jellyfish, you hear conversations in many languages: German is big, French, Turkish, broad Australian, which to my thick ear might as well be another language, and others I would not dare guess at.  All pleased as ducks to be bobbing in swells and blissfully unmindful of any lurking dangers like teeth, tentacles or rip currents that could make you vanish.  But the beach is well life guarded. The guards take their work seriously, intently scanning the horizons, counting the far out swimmers and occasionally roaring aroound the perimeters in their high powered rescue raft. While recovering on our towels, we get a call to the cell.  It's Susie's  son Trav and his girlfriend Lin.  "Where are you?"
"At Avalon Beach. Where are you?"
"At Avalon Beach. Where are you sitting?"
"Near the flags."
"So are we"
And sure enough there they were, a sandpail toss away.
Sydney at times feels like a small town.