A BEACH TOO FAR

A Dumper

 

Water turns me on, not in a sexual sense but in a making me feel alive sense.  As soon as I see it my spirits lift in a way that a landscape can't affect me.  I don't know if it's because I grew up near Sydney's Northern beaches and, from my home, had a beautiful view of Pittwater, an inlet of the Hawkesbury River.  Whatever the reason, I am never quite complete without a water-scape to fill my senses.

The view of Pittwater from Church Point

Australia is surrounded by water, which makes it an island, but there is so much interior that living near the water, or with a view of it, is both sought after and expensive.  Of course a person could buy a cheaper property overlooking water on some barren southern cliff but, in general, the most sought after water views are near cities or coastal towns.

There are plenty of barren and inhospitable beaches on an island continent whose mainland circumference measures almost thirty thousand kilometres.  This measurement does not include Tasmania or the many islands that make up Australian territory.

One thing they all have in common are sharks.  Of course there are sharks in every ocean save, I believe, the Mediterranean, which has smaller, mostly harmless sharks. Nonetheless in Australia few people are taken per year and this is because most know where and where not to swim. When I say few, I mean at least ten to twelve, and to those poor souls the statistics are meaningless.

My parents taught me that swimming inside the breaker line meant that you were less likely to be taken by a shark.  Sadly I'm shortsighted and every large cluster of seaweed was mistaken for a Kim-eating shark.  To this day, though, I have all my limbs.  Waves disturbed me almost as much as sharks.  Australian children learn how to be 'dumped'.  How often did I emerge from the water with a crotch full of sand?  Plenty.

It's quite embarrassing having your swimsuit hanging between you thighs laden with wet sand.  You try to extricate it hiding your lower half under the water but its not easy.  Chances are another wave will come along and force you face first in the water.  It's all part of growing up at the beach but it doesn't seem to happen as much when you grow older.  In my case it's simply because I hate getting my hair wet and having to wash it afterwards.

My first experience of the surf was of being walked towards a breaker on the shoulders of my not very tall father as he jovially assured me he would let no harm come to me.  The approaching wave was taller than both of us put together and I quickly formulated that it would break over the top of us.  I freaked out and now can't remember the outcome

This lovely, fatherly attempt to help initiate me to surf has stayed with me all these years and had the opposite long term effect to giving me confidence.  Bless his heart though for trying.  Nonetheless I was soon confronting waves and have since done my share of diving under a curler to avoid a dumping.

There's nothing like the thrill and terror of seeing a dumper, a wave that curls from the top and begins to form a cylinder within.  There is but one thing to do and that is dive and hit the sand, lay flat and wait for it to thunder down, over and past you.  Often however, if big enough, it will pick you up from the bottom and take you with it, rolling you around like a dead fish so that you don't know which way is up when it starts to subside and you can try and surface for air.

Describing this scene is like reliving it all over again.  You never forget the experience but you will still return to the sea as if the primeval part of your brain draws you there to better, simpler times that are hidden deep inside your brain's inner cortex.

When I see an expanse of blue water it is as if my soul, which has gone into hibernation from the sheer repetition of the everyday, wakes up and thinks heaven is in sight to release it from its physical confines.  It really does feel like that.  Something deep within me stirs and feels the hope and possibilities I am missing these days.

While I love the beach, not all are equal.  In its vast circumference Australia has only a small percentage of really good swimming beaches.  Some of the reasons for this are the quality of the sand and water but for others, no matter how perfect the swimming possibilities, you only venture in at your peril.

Above the Tropic of Capricorn exist crocodiles and, in the summer, deadly Box jellyfish.  The stings of this creature are so painful they are likely to kill you before the venom.  Those few who have survived them have the scars to show for it.  The long, stinger covered tendrils leave dark, permanent welts all along the lines where they have touched the skin.

Scars left by the tentacles stingers of the Box jellyfish

Box Jellyfish

The islands of the Great Barrier Reef are where people swim, scuba and snorkel and are supposedly free of stingers.  This is because the jellyfish breed in river estuaries and remain close to shore.

Sea snakes don't seem to kill anyone even though they are capable of it.  They are a gentler variety than their land based cousins and don't attack.  Another danger in the ocean is the Manta Ray with its venomous tail spike but this is only a defense mechanism.  The only death I have ever heard of from one of these gentle giants is the tragic one of Steve Irwin.  The great environmentalist and exuberant, infectious character was killed by one.  It was almost a fitting end for the great man as a warrior for nature to be speared in the heart.  I almost see the hand of God in his ending.  There was no surer way to ensure his work would never be forgotten and its effects continue long afterwards.

But back to beaches.  I once lived in Melbourne on Port Phillip Bay in a bay side suburb.  The water was still and shallow and I needed shoes to wade into its tepid water.  In my mind it wasn't water at all.  My husband and I went to the coastal beaches near Portsea, the so-called back beaches.  These were not attractive like those in Sydney and look positively dangerous.  We never went back.

A Back Beach of the Mornington Pensinsula south of Melbourne, Australia

I now live in Brisbane which, to my horror, when I arrived, I discovered had no surf beaches.  I was so eager to get out of Perth I didn't care.  The surf beaches lie an hour to the north and to the south.  The southern Gold Coast boasts the most famous beaches in Australia.  I think they are inferior to Sydney's, but they are a tourist haven.  The beaches are long, unbroken by headlands and surrounded by skyscrapers.  People drown there every summer because foreign tourists simply can't read the sea.  It looks tranquil but there are rips, undertows and sandbanks.  The life savers do their absolute best or the numbers would be much higher.

The Gold Coast

Some people prefer the more natural beaches of Noosa and the ones on the sea side of Fraser Island.  Those around Noosa, apart from the one of Noosa town itself that is not a surf beach, are hard to get to without a four wheel drive.

There are also great beaches off Stradbroke Island that lies off Brisbane.  Unfortunately it is a forty minute ferry trip from the mainland and you may need to travel up to an hour to get to the ferry depending on where you live in Brisbane.

When we lived in Perth we were at first excited at the sight of the white sand beaches and surf.  Sitting upon one just before midday one Saturday we saw people begin to vacate the beach and looked at one another puzzled.  Then it happened.  A breeze picked up and became stronger.  The sea became choppy and sand began to pick up.  We left.  We had experienced the famous Fremantle Doctor, the breeze that comes in every afternoon and makes the beach impossible to enjoy.  Our earlier idea of an evening beach barbeque went out the door.

Myself, son Asher and Bruno on a bleak winter's day at City Beach, Perth, WA

In the afternoon the ocean becomes a glassy mirror as the sun begins its journey down to the horizon.  I was very glad not to have a view of this from our house, which was within a kilometer of the beach.  It explained why, up until then, the nineteen eighties, Perth had no really prestige houses with an ocean view north of Cottesloe.  Things changed while we were there, but I wouldn't have paid to look at that hot, silver strip.  The ocean is on the West and facing in that direction in Perth is hot.  The word humidity hasn't made its way to that city yet and never will.  Hot means very hot and dry.  It is also very cold in winter.

My parents moved to Perth against my advice, stayed two years and moved south to the beach holiday town of Dunsborough.  This is where the West's beaches come into their own.  Dunsborough is situated on Geographe Bay.  The bay faces North West and is protected from winds at its Southern tip by Cape Naturaliste.  The sand is white, the water blue and there are no waves.  The water is shallow then deepens gradually.  Sharks don't bother coming in to such warm water without enough depth.  It is absolutely ideal for families and those of us who have been terrorised by big waves.

The gorgeous beach at Dunsborough, WA on Geographe Bay

The only problem here are small and vicious little stingers that come when the water flows from certain directions at swimming times of the year.  They can vary in size annually as well and the sting can range from an irritation to painful as my son discovered one year when he was the first in the water and ran out covered in painful welts.

Further around from Dunsborough come the little cove beaches that are deeper and with some chop.  These are in secluded and protected headlands and grass and trees line the the area down to the sand.  Moving a little further south you come to Margaret River and Yellingup beaches.  These are famous surf spots.  Yellingup is surrounded by a steep hill on which perch the holiday homes of Perth's wealthy.  You can't call it a pretty place but the beach is great.  There is major surf area and a lovely protected lagoon on one side for swimmers.

Lagoon at Yellingup Beach, WA

I am fond of this southern part of Western Australia now that I don't have to live in there.  It's partly because my parent's remaining years together were spent there and partly because it has a lovely atmosphere.  I shall go back as I must to place my mother's ashes with my father's.  His lie in the memorial garden of the church he helped design and build - Our Lady of the Southern Cross.  That's another very good reason I have great fondness for the place.  It really is a little slice of heaven.   

END

BEST DRESSES IN HISTORY

Oh dear!

 

 

I'm beginning to think that there should be some uniformity to clothes even if bodies come in all shapes and sizes.

Walking through the city these days you see such a hodgepodge of fashion choices it can almost make you giddy.  Well it does me.  It has made me think about which dresses I consider to be the most attractive and wearable in the history of clothing.

I think that there is something in the brain that seeks a reference point with which to make judgements.  We know this is how the brain works in regard to facial recognition and it may do the same when we observe fashion.  Perhaps we're seeking a theme.  After all that is exactly what fashion designers work at creating when they bring out a new collection.

Of course they can't just come up with one of their own themes unless they are famous like Versace or Dior, so designers must come up with themes within the current year's accepted Parisian and Italian generated trends.

As I observe people en-masse, with women in particular in mind for this post, I can count the well dressed ones on one hand.  I must be specific about 'well dressed'; it is a combination of well chosen clothes, shoes, hair and, if there is make-up, that too.  It comes down to simplicity and elegance.  It can vary from a pair of jeans and a shirt to a suit, but it's how it's put together.  It can even be eclectic or outlandish but if its done right it can work.

It's also who is wearing it.  A woman needs good posture.  She can be slim or huge but she needs to carry her clothes well. 

Some fat girls and women in Brisbane actually wear shorts God bless their deluded sense of style.  Do they have a special 'thin' mirror at home?  Do their mothers tell them they look lovely wearing anything?  Have they ever looked at their rears in the mirror?  In fact this is a must if you check yourself before you go out.  Even the sleekest can get a shock when they take a good look at their rear.


OK let's get down to business starting chronologically.  These are my choices for the best dresses in history.

The Greco/Roman toga:

Well there are no actual photographs of course but the picture above gives you the idea.  It looks as if the man just got out of bed and took the sheets with him, quite reasonable when people rose with the sun and went to bed a couple of hours after it went down.  What a great way to save time.

If you read about the students of Aristotle you discover that his young students left home in the dark and walked with an oil torch to school so that they could learn in the daylight hours.  I took Latin at school for four years and I picked up this little historical titbit in the process.  Natural light dictated life in those times unlike the extended night life we have now.

In Roman times, women, being delegated to the home, no doubt took a little trouble with their appearance and fashioned the cloth to enhance their female forms.  Their only real asset in those days was their ability to attract a mate who would look after them.  It is interesting that throughout history clothes have become the currency of female attractiveness.

The woman's toga is simple and comfortable yet, although it is long, the fabric lies directly against her breasts and her legs are outlined as the folds fall loosely over them.  As she walked they would also be apparent.  Quite a sexy garment altogether.

In spite of women now being independent, they are still inclined to dress themselves to attract a mate.  It's no use bleating that this isn't true.  We compete with each other at this level and that remains a fact to this day.

The Cheong Sam

Take, for example the Cheong Sam pictured above.  It arose from a much looser garment that was redesigned by courtesans and high society women in Shanghai in the 1920's.  "Let's show off our assets" it said in so uncertain terms.  Our model looks as sweet as a honey pot but that's not the idea of the Cheong Sam.  Most of these dresses have a split up one side of the leg as well.  They can be either long or short but are designed to highlight a curvaceous figure and to attract a man.

Try putting an older Tai-Tai in one of these.  A Tai-Tai is an older Chinese woman, who is the matriarch of a family.  She will wear silk pants and a top that is a loose version of the Cheong Sam.  She has done her child bearing and no longer has to squeeze into the silk come-on dress.  She may also sport a couple of gold teeth.  'Tai' means 'big' in Cantonese.  Translated, therefore, the Tai-Tai is the 'big big' and the head of the household.

The Chinese respect the matriarch's position as opposed to Westerners who have not traditionally respected the housewife/mother.  The Tai-Tai rules the home while the father rules the business and money earning side of the family.

A dress can mean so much more than fashion.  It is tight in youth and comfortable in later years when she has had her family. The Chinese are a wise people.

That brings us to another culture as represented by India and the fabulous sari.

What a wondrous garment this is!  I bought one in Fiji when I was eighteen and spent days trying to wear it correctly.  It came with instructions.  It is one very long piece of material that is wrapped around the body, pleated and folded in a way that makes a Rubik cube look like child's play.  Surely, I thought, the Indian women must secure it with pins or clasps when they get it right so it doesn't come undone.  Somehow I doubt it.

How on earth someone managed to take a rather sumptuous bed sheet and manipulate it in this way is beyond comprehension.  Perhaps a guru on drugs came up with the idea.  Well that's one explanation but that isn't fair to women's ingenuity.  As someone who sews I can almost imagine how the sari came about.

A woman came across five metres of fabulously woven fabric and tried to decide how to make it into something she could wear.  The fabric was so beautiful, with borders and gilt embroidery, that she couldn't bear to cut it.  What could be done?  She spent hours, days, weeks, months, perhaps even years trying to wrap it in such a way that she could conserve all the material and also make a feminine gown that enhanced her figure.

She only had to make one concession and that was a top to cover her shoulders and breasts that she could wear beneath it.  The woman who came up with it deserves a Nobel Prize in design.  Of course some man probably took the credit.  I suspect the only credit a man deserves however, is figuring out how to unravel it to get a woman undressed.

We move on to my last great dress, the Flapper of the nineteen twenties, which arose in Western society.  Of course in previous eras in the West there were voluminous dresses with huge skirts, lace collars and tiny waists.  I suspect these were a tribute to the fineness of the manufacturing process that created such materials and the quantity of fabric that the wealthy could afford.  The wealthier the woman the larger the skirts to show that the cost of the fabric was of no concern to her.  They were encased by corsets made of whalebone, another expensive and rare item, and stiff lace collars made by hand. In those times wealth was displayed by the quality of clothing and not only reflected how advanced was the manufacturing process of woven goods but how effective was their trade with foreign lands.

The Flapper

A Modern Version of the Flapper

It's post WWI and a whole new world rose from from the ashes.  Massive progress has always been made in technology by governments spending huge amounts trying to win wars.  All kinds of remarkable innovations grow from what is a terrible and negative event.

The greatest casualty of war, however, is a way of life.  WWI saw the demise of old class systems but also the growth of women's emancipation.  Because I'm writing about fashion I won't go into why these things happened, but fashion reflects these changes.  Hemlines suddenly went up and morals went down, at least compared to the rigid Victorian times.

It was as if the twenties became one big post war party.  Naturally lives went on as usual and people got back on with the business of making homes and families.  Yet there were other repercussions from the huge carnage of WWI and these had the effect of making some people live as if there was no tomorrow.  Adding insult to injury was the great Influenza epidemic of 1919 that killed as many people as the war had.  Can you imagine the effect these events had on youth?

No wonder some of them started to party and from this arose the Flapper, one of the first signs of the newly independent woman.  Aside from the negative events that help precipitate fashion trends, the results can be uplifting.  The sight of women exposing more of themselves has to have a positive effect on the psyche of men no matter how serious the reason for the change and especially after so much suffering.

The Flapper dress is beaded and short but also loose and, at the same time, slimming.  Of all the dresses of history this one speaks of women's new found freedom of expression.  There is no corset, the bra hadn't been invented and legs finally came into view.  The lady probably had a cigarette holder and smoked as well.  Although smoking is frowned upon now, for a woman to smoke in public showed her equality with men. This woman had arrived and for the first time ever she cut and bobbed her hair.

If you look at nature you will see how all creatures use colour and shape to attract mates for the purpose of reproduction.  Humans with their evolved minds try new ways to do so instead of just leaving it to nature.

As our intellect grows so too does our creativity to compete for sex.  Fashion is our ever changing display.  We are really more fascinating than we realise but, while butterflies, for instance, never get it wrong because their method is tried and true and built into their DNA, humans can and perhaps that means that, if your display isn't good enough, you won't attract a mate.  Either that or you will attract one exactly suited to your type.  Maybe that works just as well.

Nature aims for the best.  Humans, it seems, with their blossoming intellects, may be evolving new standards that will either succeed or fail.  I guess that's the risk in evolution.  You get it right, you endure.  You get it wrong, you don't.  Dresses are a woman's display as we have no feathers or fur.  The beauty of fashion is that we can vary it to suit our moods.  What butterfly can do that?

My last tribute isn't to a dress but I couldn't resist it.  Who could forget Raquel Welch in a fur bikini in the film "One Million Years B.C."?

Raquel Welch in a fur bikini

Now if you wore this down the street, oh, and borrowed her figure as well, it wouldn't matter what any other woman within a kilometer was wearing.  No one would be looking.

These a just my choices.  I'd love to have my readers comment on their choice of History's Best Dresses.

END.