Though the Shire can be a thing of loveliness, fringed as it is by the Royal National Park, I rarely go there. And it is even rarer that I go to Cronulla, I had been there just once one summer when the place was an endless expanse of (mostly white) young limbs on the beach. From the beach, Kurnell was visible lending a certain chill to the landscape. The beach mall was no different from that of any Australian seaside town, if a little charmless. It all spoke of the stifling boredom of the worlds described in coming of age novels like Puberty Blues or a movie like La Spagnola. I have rarely felt as out of place as on that day. I was in no particular hurry to return.
After the moderate weather of the week, today was blustery and overcast. Though I prefer the dramatic atmospherics of cold, windswept beaches, overcast suits me fine. I have never taken to the intense Australian sun though elsewhere I cannot get enough of the sun. This morning on a whim I therefore decided to go there, Cronulla is distant but still reachable and I felt like being near water. It turned out to be a pleasant day. There are vestiges of the past in the suburb; the station still has a milk bar, the fish and chips shops haven’t entirely moved out. But something of the inner city has diffused to the suburb; there is Berkelouw, organic coffee shops, buskers and a bookshop that I remembered from my last visit. Of course this exists alongside the suburban nature of Cronulla, at the beach there was bad music and even a few dismal beachside sermons. And plenty of kids decked out in Billabong and Roxy, the ubiquitous surf labels in these parts. As always, in spite of the weather, there were people in the water. The scraggly vegetation of the beach was in bloom, even if the weather has been inconsistent Sydney’s flora speak of spring. The sea was tinged grey but becalmed. Perhaps it was the day, but the characteristic lugubrious silence of Australian towns lay over the suburb even though there were plenty of people around on a Saturday morning. But the silence was friendly, not lonely as it sometimes can be.
On the way back I bought a few jonquils (or perhaps daffodils). Then on the train a lot of old people headed elsewhere, all friendly smiles. Back home, the jonquils go quite nicely with a vintage vase I bought. Now the melancholic darkening late afternoon, the jonquils, the slowly approaching end of another day are as tranquil and simple as the morning stroll.
After the moderate weather of the week, today was blustery and overcast. Though I prefer the dramatic atmospherics of cold, windswept beaches, overcast suits me fine. I have never taken to the intense Australian sun though elsewhere I cannot get enough of the sun. This morning on a whim I therefore decided to go there, Cronulla is distant but still reachable and I felt like being near water. It turned out to be a pleasant day. There are vestiges of the past in the suburb; the station still has a milk bar, the fish and chips shops haven’t entirely moved out. But something of the inner city has diffused to the suburb; there is Berkelouw, organic coffee shops, buskers and a bookshop that I remembered from my last visit. Of course this exists alongside the suburban nature of Cronulla, at the beach there was bad music and even a few dismal beachside sermons. And plenty of kids decked out in Billabong and Roxy, the ubiquitous surf labels in these parts. As always, in spite of the weather, there were people in the water. The scraggly vegetation of the beach was in bloom, even if the weather has been inconsistent Sydney’s flora speak of spring. The sea was tinged grey but becalmed. Perhaps it was the day, but the characteristic lugubrious silence of Australian towns lay over the suburb even though there were plenty of people around on a Saturday morning. But the silence was friendly, not lonely as it sometimes can be.
On the way back I bought a few jonquils (or perhaps daffodils). Then on the train a lot of old people headed elsewhere, all friendly smiles. Back home, the jonquils go quite nicely with a vintage vase I bought. Now the melancholic darkening late afternoon, the jonquils, the slowly approaching end of another day are as tranquil and simple as the morning stroll.
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