Straighthander

Christian Gibson
Ah, winter’cold sou’westers blowing crossy/offy (Editor’s note:  surfing term for cross shore/offshore winds) into the bay, the front window of Ravesi’s has empty seats at 5pm and you can snag a park on Campbell Parade any time of the day.

Just make sure you feed the meter because the council Ranger numbers won’t drop, unlike the temperature.

Bondi smells different this time of year. Maybe it’s the wind. The humidity of summer is gone, replaced by dryer, fresher air pushed up from Antarctica by huge cold fronts.

Maybe it’s just that the woofy wiff of the poo pipe up behind the Golf Club is being blasted offshore instead of being directed up our noses.

At this time of year, for sun lovers, our thoughts turn to warmer climes and a little break from Sydney. My family’s perennial favourite is a place close to the hearts of many in the eastern suburbs – Bali.

I know a bloke who first ventured there in the early 1980s – a time when Poppy’s Lane was still dirt and if the wonky bamboo ladder into the cave at Uluwatu didn’t scare you, wiping out on an Outside Corner 8-footer without a leggie would.

I will never forget leaving the aerobridge at Denpasar Airport for the first time. The first body blow came in the form of Bali’s heat and humidity; it slowed my natural rhythm right down, as if my body was adapting to a slower pace with every step I took.

The second hit was the crush of humanity in the arrivals hall. Anyone who has been in that joint, particularly if you arrived mid-afternoon and were gagging for a wave before sundown, will know what I mean.

You folded yourself into an uncomfortable seat for six hours, endured interminable episodes of the hilarious Gags and Friends on the tiny screen, listened to a group of 20-something or 50-something blokes drink, fart, burp, swear and fight (I saw two guys nearly get into a stink one year), craned your neck at the window to check if any swell was bending into Uluwatu (it usually is..yeeoww!) and started frothing only to have your plane disgorge its 300 passengers at exactly the same time as four other aircraft.

Human traffic jam. Your mind races: ‘If it’s half an hour, I’m out at Ulu for the late, but if it’s an hour Legian beachies will have to do..’

But that first splash in tropical water washes it all away. Can’t wait till July..