A two piece band assembles in front of the beach as dusk settles, the tide waning in the background. Sarongs form makeshift picnic rugs as the uber-chilled crowd mingles in small groups. Batlow ciders, coronas and the occasional jug of home made sangria bolster the festive atmosphere, an extension of the weekend and a celebration of sun and surf. Plates of cheese, berries and dips are arranged wit
h style on paper plates as wine is poured generously into plastic cups. Skinny Bondi hipsters ogle fake-breasted girls in bikinis, while puppies are the latest accessory (aka makeshift pick up tools) for unshaven surfers. Buff tattooed men flex their muscles as their girlfriends figure out which pose appears most flattering from the pavement. Rows of one speed bikes are parked haphazardly against the railing as trendy locals dismount and stake their exclusive spot on the rapidly filling grass. As surfers catch the last waves of the day, an equally trendy but slightly glossier crowd spills out of North Bondi Italian across the road. Havaiianas are traded for wedge heels, heavy duty lip gloss replaces invisible zinc, and ruffled beach hair is created by hairspray instead of salty waves. The deck provides prime sunset viewing while enjoying summery cocktails of freshly squeezed grapefruit and campari and snacking on unshelled peanuts. Back at the knoll, the guitarist and singer create a Jack Johnson-esque sound, music that floats powerfully over the natural amphitheatre of grass and sand. Dress: sandy feet, oversized sunnies and colourful cozzies, BYO apple ciders and ward off the Sunday blues with the Bondi vibe. Simply another reason not to leave the Bondi bubble.
