Bronte Beach. Photo courtesy: Cookaa — Wikimedia Commons
I hiked to Tamarara Beach followed by Bronte. Around the cliff face wind swooped as if it lingered in one of the hollows it carved out, waiting for me to pass, waiting for the next wave so it could send up another layer of sea spray.
How could these shrubs display leaves that looked like they’d been polished when salty air rolled in? Banksia robo thrived as I rounded the bend. Below two solitary figures roamed the tiny beach, their footprints circling the shoreline.
Bronte on the other hand was lively. I sat on an aluminium bench listening to the surf, watching one solitary swimmer fight to free himself from the ocean. Further out, a few surfers took their chances with the unpredictable waves. Behind me, families played football. I walked by cafes loaded with customers and took the return hike over the hill, through lanes, past houses, until Bondi loomed below.