How I met Bondi Beach

How I met Bondi Beach

In Italy, if you see someone walking around the street holding a paper cup, you might spontaneously put a coin or two in it (if you are pure of heart).
I found out that, in Australia, in that paper cup they keep coffee instead of coins. To be precise, at least half a litre of take away coffee, with the addition of sugar, various caramels and other assorted flavours.
The large paper cup is a constant presence not only on the buses, but also driving, shopping, chatting, walking pushing the wheelchair. If I manage to catch them actually sitting and drinking a regular coffee, I will write a dedicated post.

Of course I had to try one of these take away coffees.

I do not have to push wheelchairs, so I arranged a coffee to be drunk simply by exploring the city, which for an Italian, let’s say it, is still something new, as well as a valid alternative to two millilitres of strong, restricted coffee (and when I say restricted I mean that you have to scrape the walls of the cups), sent down my throat still scalding hot just before racing to the office.
Compared with a pint sipped quietly WHILE you run to the office? Priceless.

Another thing I noticed is that if they aren’t drinking a coffee they’re fiddling with the phone.
At the first chance they get the smartphone and go with exchanging data, even this is done in many different scenarios.
Perhaps this is the reason why every single traffic light has an audible alarm that is triggered by green, similar to the banging of pots that let you know when it’s safe to cross.
Obviously, during the red, you can safely notify via Facebook that you’re at a red light waiting for the green.

Another thing you absolutely must try.

Today’s best, however, is a short visit to Bondi Beach, which is something I really wanted to avoid until the first day there’s actually sun, but since I had to see an apartment right near there, a visit was a must. And actually it deserves the reputation it has.

Practically in the city, the beach makes you instantly forget how close you are to being in the big city. The whole environment simply changes as you approach it, including houses, as in this area they are low and flat all around the beach.

Even if the weather was bad I really liked it.
A strong wind and rain forced me to wear a sweatshirt, jacket and pull the hood right over my face.
I felt much better until I saw a group of girls that were easily surfing despite the fact it was cold.
But let’s move on.

Today a new roommate joined me.

In perfect harmony with the Murphy’s law, he arrives on time at dawn and rightly so, since it is also his room without any care of the other person in that room (me) who was asleep, noisily moving around the room with bags, dispersing in the air that nice smell of 48 hours of travel.

As for me, at that time I was in the darkest folds of a deep sleep, buried under a heavy blanket, another blanket, a sweater, a t-shirt, long pants, socks as thick as a plastered ankle and hood lowered (I haven’t got leukaemia, but a slight problem of drafts coming through the window).

As if in the perfect dream of all virgins (and some housewives), I wake up with a stranger in the room.

The guy who runs the house, smoothly introduce him to me, while I’m still trying to open my other eye and he says with enthusiasm that the guy is Spanish, he seemed to be amused, alluding to the fact that Italy and Spain are close and therefore we could easily be neighbours. Yeah Ok.

I resurface from the darkness from a jetlag sleep more sharply than if someone had opened the coffin in an August afternoon to tell Dracula a joke. I stretch out my arm in the air looking for a helping hand and mumbled another Hi! This time like the hiss of a cobra.

I discovered then his name is Horre, but in that moment I got Horror.

Horre is twenty years old, will be here for a month, he studied economics, does not have a girlfriend; he is tired from the trip and most importantly, has not taken a shower. I find out all these facts while I still grapple with the same aforementioned sleepy eye.

I get up, I pretend to be sociable and get ready to go out.

At this point, Horre has a beautiful idea for us to spend all his time with me. See: how to get a non-friend in twenty seconds while you sleep.

Having to force to fill the silence, I explain how the public transport works and give him a couple of tricks about the area, in a mixture of English-Italian-Spanish-gestures- various mmmmmmmmmhh ehmmmmmm-how do they say this-how do they say that.
The perfect time for an alien abduction.

It could have been worse. See the travel dictionary under: Colombian, 200kg in weight, with silver teeth and craze of rap.

But yeah, Horre is not bad. We just need to do something about going shopping, each of us pushing a cart like a couple, where the two boys in question are lost and have fragile aspect in a foreign land, perhaps not giving the idea of being ​​straight. I’ve grown so much of my hetero-reputation in all my years, I don’t want to see it all fade at the start of my trip.

Pure horror.

This post is also available in: Italian

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