by FREYA NOBLE
Nostalgia. That’s the feeling that washed over me as we approached our destination. I could smell the salty air, see the sand, and feel the sun beating down on me. And I had that familiar feeling of anticipation.
My earliest memories of Manly Beach are from my early high school years. I must have been 14 or 15 – which is really not that long ago for me, but it sure seems like it. Every weekend in summer, the girls from school and I would jump on the 9am bus, always sitting in the back seat, new members of the group joining us as we travelled closer to the city. By the time we reached Circular Quay there was usually at least 6 or 7 of us. From there we would board on the ferry over to Manly, excited to be on an adventure without supervision.
We would spend all day at the beach, with whichever group of boys one of the girls had a crush on at the time. It was as if every Sunday, every single 15 year old you knew was there. A stroll down the corso at lunchtime to one fast food chain or another was mandatory, and someone was always left watching the bags. Often me.