red rock ocean sounds
I fell asleep last night to the sound of ocean waves.
Oh, it was so good. I'd spent the evening listening to Nat's stories of travel, the more I asked her about countries, the more I learnt. She had done so many amazing journeys, such as cycling around Cuba and Mexio City, camping and trekking in the Yukon, a boat journey in Mozambique... but it was probably the cycling that most impressed me, that she'd travelled around Central America on a bike. Felt very very lucky to have befriended her, and inspired by the scraps of fabric and photographs she had brought back from her journeys. The holiday house was a perfectly preserved 70s shack, with white walls, brown cupboards, vinyl lounges and lots of retro containers and throw wool covers and the most amazing patchwork bedspread cover that she'd found in Perth. For ages we looked at it, trying to choose our favourite square of fabric. It reminded me that the reason you leave town and travel to other places is in the hope of sharing a meal with new people and eating together and swapping stories whilst you walk around. The town has a population of 240, she made me laugh by describing her row of neighbours in this out of season holiday town: they include Skinny Ian who is emaciated (the opposite of emancipated, her misnomer) and Marilyn and Rob, retirees from Bondi with strong opinions about SBS shows.
We sat down at the headland chatting, and walked home from dinner by the full moon. When I drove home this morning I kept admiring the seascrub trees, windswept and gnarled, silky white or black, depending on the light, reminiscent of other trees in other holiday places I've been too.
Spent the morning attempting to surf-I think Pixie Boy had the best sum up of my board ("it's awesome to body board wtih"), we pushed ourselves past the breaks (PB giving me lots of encouraging yells of "paddle!" and enjoyed the serenity of being far from shore. The headlands bordered a smallish bay, but the breaks heading towards each other at a 45 degree angle, making it hard to find a suitable (ie not scary) wave to catch. Both of us got dumped by four footers, but i had a great time in the whitewash, powering myself back to shore.
Oh, it was so good. I'd spent the evening listening to Nat's stories of travel, the more I asked her about countries, the more I learnt. She had done so many amazing journeys, such as cycling around Cuba and Mexio City, camping and trekking in the Yukon, a boat journey in Mozambique... but it was probably the cycling that most impressed me, that she'd travelled around Central America on a bike. Felt very very lucky to have befriended her, and inspired by the scraps of fabric and photographs she had brought back from her journeys. The holiday house was a perfectly preserved 70s shack, with white walls, brown cupboards, vinyl lounges and lots of retro containers and throw wool covers and the most amazing patchwork bedspread cover that she'd found in Perth. For ages we looked at it, trying to choose our favourite square of fabric. It reminded me that the reason you leave town and travel to other places is in the hope of sharing a meal with new people and eating together and swapping stories whilst you walk around. The town has a population of 240, she made me laugh by describing her row of neighbours in this out of season holiday town: they include Skinny Ian who is emaciated (the opposite of emancipated, her misnomer) and Marilyn and Rob, retirees from Bondi with strong opinions about SBS shows.
We sat down at the headland chatting, and walked home from dinner by the full moon. When I drove home this morning I kept admiring the seascrub trees, windswept and gnarled, silky white or black, depending on the light, reminiscent of other trees in other holiday places I've been too.
Spent the morning attempting to surf-I think Pixie Boy had the best sum up of my board ("it's awesome to body board wtih"), we pushed ourselves past the breaks (PB giving me lots of encouraging yells of "paddle!" and enjoyed the serenity of being far from shore. The headlands bordered a smallish bay, but the breaks heading towards each other at a 45 degree angle, making it hard to find a suitable (ie not scary) wave to catch. Both of us got dumped by four footers, but i had a great time in the whitewash, powering myself back to shore.
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