Surfing Tsunamis while flying kites
July 27, 2005Byron Bay, NSW, Australia
12:22am
This is the pool in our complex.
This is our living room.
This is me driving Steph crazy.
Just banged out 3000 words into CMSG. Feel pretty good right now. Either it’s the euphoria of accomplishment or the six-pack and bottle of Pinot Noir, not really sure.
Today was a weird, good day. Steph found her yoga class, leaving Hud and I to muster about the apartment, popping out for a quick dip in the frigid pool. Steph came back and took Hud to investigate some of the smaller towns south of Byron. I lollygagged about, reading heaps, and then dipped into the novel as the sun went down. I had a beer and then a glass of wine which starts me a thinking’, gives me some gravy to start pounding out crime drama, starts me thinking like a boozy ex-cop. Good times.
We booked our surfing lesson. Thursday some time in the afternoon. High tide. I am so pumped. I am also wary about how much stock I am putting in enjoying it. I told Steph right off, that even if I were only 10 per cent good at it, I would spend money to spend the next couple of weeks getting better. Sure I am not the best swimmer, or the most athletic dummy on the planet, but if I can stand once, and have the inkling that I can stand again, then I know I will be hooked.
Yesterday, after the early morning city shenanigans, we went to the beach and I swam in the coarse water. It was rough and it tossed me, big fat me, all around with the rips and the big swells. It was chilly but I loved it. I loved the power and the helplessness of it all. I loved that you could watch the waves, watch the strength of the rip beneath and manage it a little, see where it could take you, guess where it would toss you. I came out of the water like big bad Neptune, imaginary trident in my hands, smile as big as a whale, feeling so fucking alive again. Steph warned me about placing too much emphasis on actual surfing, that trying it is what it is all about, but I can’t help picturing myself getting thrown off my soft board, smashing my shoulders into the sand, wincing, but still popping out and screaming out in pleasure. I am a giddy geek just thinking about it.
So I am starting to relax here in Byron. I should stop being amazed on how quickly all of us adapt at a new location, but it still takes me about three days to feel settled, and to stop worrying about the small things that could go wrong and to start being optimistic about the great things that well, could go great. I know I should live for the moment, but I am starting to think about NZ and how it will feel to be somewhere for two whole months. The idea of settling in somewhere for that long is so appealing to me after being so scattered in the last little while.
Anyway, the computer is almost dead after all my writing tonight. I feel spent and relaxed getting so much fantasy down on “paper”. The novel comes to me in blurts and blasts and fitting it all together will take some time. Especially the past tense, present tense problems that I encounter. It still reads back pretty fucking cool and I know I am bias, but some of the sentences almost make me giggle they are so good.
That’s enough of me feeling good. Tune in tomorrow for more appropriate angst.
Love to all,
J.
July 26, 2005
Byron Bay, NSW, Australia
7:49am
He was about my age, a couple of years either way; it’s hard to tell these days. He was scruffier and shorter than me, and had a great tuft of hair he was here to get rid of. He wore boots and big socks with old shorts leading me to believe he was a gardener or a construction worker or something outdoors. He had a good face, earnest, friendly, nothing too buried. Twice people popped their heads in to say hi as the female barber snipped away at his too long locks. He was local for sure, a hobby surfer if I had to guess, probably good at it, not afraid of the big ones. He also did not seem affected by the new age bullshit that strokes this town with an earthy hand. The barber, although I hesitate to call a woman a barber, was chatty. She talked this guy up and down, re-familiarizing herself with his life, while occasionally reminding him of hers. These two people, barber and customer, knew each other faintly and I listened to their conversation openly. Hiding eavesdropping in the store the size of a shoebox is useless.
The shop was narrow, with two chairs, but only she was working, her partner up the coast doing something unimportant. He’ll be back on Saturday she said, I assume their busiest day. She asked if he had been away. He said he had. He was in Thailand when the Boxing Day Tsunami hit.
I placed the magazine back on the rack and listened as he told this story:
“I was there with my wife, at a resort about an hour and half away from Phuket. We were taking some time off after she had just finished her last treatment for breast cancer”
“A celebration of sorts” said the barber too flippantly, like cancer was similar to an anniversary, or a child’s birthday.
“Yes, something like that. Anyway we were all standing on the beach, my wife and my friend Anton who was also there on holiday. The water was very calm, not what we were used to compared to here and then very quickly the water began receding into the ocean.”
“How far?” asked the bespectacled barber.
“As far as we could see, we figured later about four kilometers”
“Holy shit” I added, letting the two of them know I was really listening to them, not fake listening like the lady reading the magazine next to me.
“Yeah, well, as I stared out to sea, I went cold, I looked at Anton and he was staring as well. It was like watching the tide going out right before our eyes. This beach was so calm before, never a swell, never a wave. We realized right then what was happening and began running back through the resort yelling at everyone to get the hell out of there.”
“What did they do?”
“Well, the resort was full of Europeans, Danes, Fins, French, and they began running, not away from the beach, but towards it, their digital cameras high in their hands, wanting to capture this wave forever. The worst part was, it was boxing day, so lots of kids were already down on the beach digging with their spades and buckets, and at this point who knew if we were right, it sounded pretty crazy”
It would have sounded crazy, I thought.
“We had rented motorbikes so we just hopped on and started driving as fast as we could”
“Where was your wife?”
“She was on the back with me, Anton was alone on the other bike,” he stopped to look at himself in the mirror. “We heard the wave hit and could almost feel it sweep across the land, chasing us as we drove down the road. We stopped at a waterfall and scaled up the side, pulling ourselves up on vines until finding a spot we guessed was high enough. We spent the night up there, and in the morning we decided to go down to see what had happened. I thought things were just going to be really wet, but when I saw a French guy from our resort covered in blood, wandering around in his underwear, I knew something had gone terribly wrong.”
The barbershop went silent. The passing crowd outside became a silent curtain of no one.
“The Frenchman had lost his wife and daughter. He had watched them be carried out to sea. He was on top of a three story building holding on to his daughter, until he could not hold on anymore, he let her go and she drifted away from him screaming.”
“Jesus” I muttered.
“At this point the army had just started to arrive, they were piling dead bodies up in pyramids, and every pick up truck we saw was full of bodies. We made the decision right then to get on our bikes and leave,” his voice changed. “We wanted to stay and help, but in this country, at the best of times, the diseases you can catch….” He trailed off.
“You had enough petrol in the bikes?”
“Yes, just barely enough to get back to Phuket. We left everything, our bags, our passports; we just wanted to get the hell out of there. My wife had just been through breast cancer and the smell, I will never forget the smell.”
“I guess not,” I added. “Do you know how many people died?”
“In the area we were in 5,000 died, with still over 3,000 missing”
“Holy shit”
“And only 24 survived. We were three of them”
The statistic hung in the air like a noose. The barber whipped off the bib and he stood up, brushing away his old hair. He paid her the $17 with an easy smile and they resumed chatting about her recent sailing trip to the Whitsunday’s.
And then he was gone, telling us to have a nice haircut, the lady beside me next up in the chair.
Later that day I was flying a red and yellow kite with Hud and Steph at Tallow Beach.
An occasional eye on the ocean.
Shaking my head on how lucky I have it.
Love to all,
J.
July 25, 2005
Byron Bay, NSW, Australia
7:27am
So 100 pages of writing looks like this. How about that. Two months and three days. 47,000 words.
I think I am starting to come out of my funk. Today feels different for some reason. The coffee is weak sure, but I think I am less so. Maybe it was all the rat-faced kids running around with their canned bourbon and sodas making me nervous. Maybe travel day hit me one day late and my lemony remarks and general malaise will be gone. Maybe the urban skids with their greasy hair and dirty palms out are ruining my Byron experience. I did not travel halfway across the world to spend three weeks at Queen and Spadina. If one of them tries to clean our windshield I will snap like a dry twig in winter. I still at some point will venture out to some bar and sit on the end waiting for one of these skids to talk to me. The skids always want to talk.
Yesterday started with good intent, but quickly was squashed by a rapid fight between Steph and I. She stormed out leaving Hud and I to fend for ourselves. Steph and I go in waves. We recognize the best thing to do is leave each other be for a spell, let the opportunity to miss each other kick in, and then make fun of whatever we were fighting about. It seems to work.
I waited for about ten minutes to see if the drama of storming out was just that, drama. I was a little surprised she did not return, but then realized sitting in an armchair, staring at the door was no way for Hud to spend a morning. We walked to Tallow Beach again. It takes about half an hour. It would take ten minutes alone. I did the math this time. I also tried my best to do the whole walk without telling Hud to catch up, or hurry up, or get frustrated with him stopping and kneeling to stare at a leaf that looks nothing like a bug. I got about three quarters of the way there before telling him to catch up out of instinct. Damn I thought. We are not in a hurry. In fact we are basically killing time. So why am I trying to speed him up. Why can’t I be unconditionally patient for 30 minutes. Give him the freedom to walk along a pretty cool path, with birds making sounds so clear they sound digital. With sand so white it looks like snow. With so many different sizes of branches laying on the ground waiting to be used as swords, as big pencils to draw H for Hudson in the sand, as tree whackers. Maybe on they way back I thought.
We found a parcel of sand, again leaning against the flat wall of a dune so I could read while Hud played with his bag of sand toys. It was pretty empty, we saw only occasional black dots of a surfers bobbing in the water, or middle aged women with big floppy hats and bikinis bottoms saying hello to both Hudson and me. I finished 1984 in Noosa, so I have moved on to something more contemporary, Shutter Island by Dennis Lehane. I did like 1984. I have no political commentary to attach to my liking of the book. Just that it resonated for a couple of days. Maybe that was the recent pillow of depression smothering me. I never think anything external and inanimate can affect me like that. Just people. Or me.
So he played and I read. Then we played together. Building our mountain and then digging tunnels through it for the sole reason of wanton Hudzilla destruction. I kept a keen eye for any dark humps in the water, but there were none, making me feel all the more lucky to have seen the whale on Saturday. Around 12:30 we began walking home.
Hurry up Hud I said five minutes in. What a knob I am.
Steph was home when we arrived. We ate the sandwiches I made earlier for lunch in meek silence. Steph had done some shopping for her mother’s and Hud’s birthday. I think we will get Hud a bunch of little gifts and tell them they are from each of our immediate family. We will sell it so don’t worry, he will remember. He does remember everyone, and refers to everyone often. Grampy and Rowan getting the most references. Alice a close third.
In the afternoon we all went to town to find a park for Hud to play in. We found one near the main beach in Byron. What an odd collection of people in this town. I am interested to see how much influence the festival is having. By Monday afternoon they should all be gone, giving a more accurate flavour of Byron. The bars look like so much fun here. The big bars from my youth have the best memories for me. Small bars have small memories. Hud played and we watched. At one point a grandmother lost her three year old grandson. I could feel the terrified lilt in her voice and her bewilderment of why her grandson would just run off was palpable. She enlisted the help of another man and I was about to join in the fray when he was located, sitting comfortable at the other end of the park with the grandfather, safe as a kitten. Needless to say, when Hud disappeared behind the monkey bars for longer than two seconds, I was on him like a hawk.
We got an ice cream and then drove home. I quickly bolted out to post and send some e-mails. When I returned Steph had made this wonderful orange beef and noodle stirfry. It was so good it should have been served on a huge white plate with cilantro scattered around it. I had three servings. It was the best meal we have had so far. Steph is an awesome cook. Who knew?
Hud went to bed around 7:30 and Steph and I made out for a while. Proving that we still love each other. We watched a movie, The United States of Leland, which I liked and Steph fell asleep halfway in.
Today we have some little details to iron out, including the renting of a car for the duration of our time in Australia. We have to do it. Our place is just a little too far to make it without one. I also need my haircut. Steph says there is an old school barber in town, so I am saving my five day beard just in case. We are also doing some mild investigation in enrolling Hud in some sort of class with other kids. He is just so shy and needs some exposure to real kids.
Not a couple of adults pretending to be.
Love to all,
J.
posted by Jason @ 5:06 PM
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