Tag Archives: shark

Gus’s #Singapore.

Friday, 30 August

4:37 p.m.

Marmalade Toast. Orchard Road. Singapore.

I went to PS. Cafe for the coffee. Well, I went once this morning in Ann Siang Hill. For the coffee. But they weren’t open yet. So I called it a miss. Later, I decided to stop off in Orchard Road between the S.E.A. Aquarium S.E.A. Aquarium(evidently, the world’s largest) and the National Orchid Garden, and I vaguely recalled that PS. had another location in the area. An area that, for the record, has been torture in my hangry, broke-ass state. Every store you could possibly wish to visit is probably here, including Christian Louboutin. And I’m painfully aware that having the desire to buy things in a store does not equate to having the means, which is one thing about Orchard Road that’s frustrating: The tease. 

Another thing is that there’s very little life on the actual road, as most of the boutiques, restaurants, etc. are housed in massive, immensely disorienting shopping malls with powerful-sounding names. Like Paragon. Which is where I found PS. number two.  Continue reading

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Sunday morning at BR. Finally, a break in the “devil wind.” I manage to drag myself out of bed before dead high, even though I worked until a few hours ago. Every other stir-crazy surfer in the vicinity has the same idea. Some of them wear spring suits and tops, but they seem superfluous. (As usual.) Knee-high and pretty clean. We’ll take it.

Sunday morning at BR. Another lull in the horrendous wind that’s been blowing without fail for days. It pushes with such mighty force that it creates a wind swell on the creek. This morning, it is still. I manage to drag myself out of bed before dead high, even though I watched tele until a few hours ago. At first the sun seems benevolent, but after an hour, we realize that it’s got bite. Tan lines appear on already tanned, sunscreened skin. In 60 minutes or less. The water is cool and green. Which is better than cold and brown. Last week, the water was so brown, you couldn’t see your feet dangling below you. In an area that MSW calls “lonely and sharky,” this was not comforting. It didn’t help that sharks were apparently snapping birds from the sea’s surface in Byron. Today, thankfully, I can see my feet. There is a mini swell. Four foot. The sand’s not perfect. The crowd’s not perfect. Not perfect. But close. There are about 20 guys (and girls) in the lineup, which feels like a lot at a spot I’ve heard described as “still relatively undiscovered.” They’re all clumped at the one peak. I have much better luck down the beach with the other people who aren’t really interested in fighting over waves. I inevitably kook out once or twice: blow a takeoff, botch a turn. Fouls aside, I get some of the better waves I’ve had in a while. It’s amazing what surfing more months of the year does for your surfing. Anyway, clear-ish water, fun-sized waves, like-minded people.

Where would you rather be on a Sunday morning?

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The Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing

On Friday morning, I received two wake-up texts from my human buoys. (Thanks, guys.) Unfortunately, the earlier one didn’t wake me up. The one that did said, “2 foot grab ur board.” By the time I got my wits about me, low tide was hours gone, but it was still glassy, not closing out, and the water was w.a.r.m. So warm, actually, that it was flooded with jellies.

“The stinging kind? Or the disc ones?” my friend asked me later.

“The disc ones,” I said, ” and a lot of those ones that look kind of like this.” (I held up one of the beaters from an electric mixer.)


“I don’t know, they weren’t stinging me. But they were everywhere.”

It was like surfing in a murky, green Jell-O bath. It was awesome. It was shark week. Continue reading

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