As we drove in it became immediately apparent that this was a big city.
(Thought this could be attributed to the fact the GPS sent us round the houses in an effort to avoid any form of Toll road.)
We ‘rocked-up’ (Deeds hates me saying that,) at a place in Woolamaloo (spelt something like that). On the way the polite English woman from the GPS softly speaking directions at me seemed to get a bout of Alzheimer’s and sent me criss-crossing back streets and alleyways and "No Right Turns: in a f***ing maddening game of Satellite cat and mouse. After that and a few redbulls, I wasn’t in the mood for messing about and the hostel listed among the lonely planets bunch looked a bit skanky –so we moved on.
Much as I feel like a pussy saying it; the city was overwhelming us a little after our country retreats, so we headed for the beach in search of more relaxed surroundings.
Bondi YHA was our first port, a cool little hostel by the ocean- (Sounds tropical but again it was freezing!)
A few drinks from our classy "box" of wine soon warmed our cockles and we headed out in search of the "mad" bondi nightlife- but it was actually more like Portrush in the dead of winter! So Deeds went hell for leather on the gin and tonics and got pissed enough to entertain the both of us and even skank some free drinks from a the Bondi locals (probably the only other people out that night!)
The next day we moved to Noahs. The cheapest of the hostels around Bondi, and not in the Lonely Planet guide (It seems to me like the hostels in the lonely planet are able to charge more due to the popularity resulting from their listing.)
Deirdra was suffering this day and we didn’t do much. Come the next day: Saturday, the sun was out and all was well again.
We went for a great walk along the beach side pathway and soaked up the atmosphere of the apparently fitness mad area- seriously the place was swarmed with joggers, women running along with their "designer" dogs and dripping wet surfers running back into the ocean with their surfboards under-arm. Deeds started to feel the guilt about all the doughnuts I'd been feeding her and spent the whole time wailing "im sooo fat!!"
Having read the back story of Bondi Icebergs in the LP (so called because people swim in its freezing seaside pool even in winter,) the temptation to take a dip was proving a powerful force.
$4.50 was my entrance fee and $2 to have Deed at my side as support.
“It couldn’t be that bad” I thought –look at those old boys in there (some in wetsuits, some not). “If they can do it –I can.” -I’ll do 2 lengths –that’ll be enough to say I tackled it and put it in the diary. I’ll do it good and quick. Head down –freestyle –good and quick!
I stripped down to my bathers, stood on the edge of lane 1 (-the one where the waves were crashing over the wall and into the pool) –and dived.
“Oh my holly god, mother, jesus, fffffffffiiinn chriisssssss….”
It felt instantly tight around my stomach –I felt the chilblains protruding like aliens in the film, I felt a mad sense of shock –like I’d just woke to find my organs removed, and I was in the proverbial ‘bath of ice’.
“Head down –keep going”
I swam like f***. After my windpipe contracted and my lungs could no longer contain air –I broke into breast stroke.
I don’t know how I did the length back but I needed to keep moving or I’d die!
Sod swimming the channel!
I dried off and headed for sunlight. Job done.
Bondi was preparing for the City to Surf run to take place the next day and accommodation was drying up so we ate some lunch by the van and headed back into the city.
