Dear diary, Japan part 2

I started the day in a less than good mood (of course usually I arise goddess-like and glowing). We had experienced a mini economic downturn combined with a general financial crisis in the form of an unexpectedly expensive hotel bill. For this reason I was perhaps a little surly when reminded by Mr Bodyboard of my promise.

The previous day during my onsen time (he's learning - I'm barely conscious mid-bath ) Mr Bodyboard requested that I spend some time capturing his image for all eternity tomorrow as the 'swell' (moll terms, big plus lots of waves) would be especially good.
'But of course whatever you want light of my life' I mumbled 'Just pass me another delicious grapefruit canned cocktail'

In the bleary light of day I sighed with disappointment, I had agreed too easily (usually such a request would be time for bargaining, I probably could have gotten a six pack of canned cocktails or at the very least a mystery packaged something from the very exciting Japanese supermarket).

Photo taking is my least favourite moll duty, it is grade seven behaviour and I shirk it wherever possible.

But, as the agreement stood (I figured there was always a chance for post bargaining and was in the mood for something with an overly excited brightly dressed character gesturing wildly on the packaging) I trudged off the the beach to do my lonely work. I say lonely because in Australia we molls generally are. Gone are the pack-moll days of puberty blues when molls would gather in solidarity to while away the hours and enjoy intellectual debates ( 'Shaz your perm looks ace, I reckon a side pony would be really exotic, kind of tribal?'). Now we sit, alone at the bottom of the beach food chain. I think other than surfers it often feels like tuck shop ladies, lifeguards and scantily clad backpackers playing volleyball are all above us. Each moll is isolated, observing the others, and often competitively judging them ('her perm looks friggin sh*thouse and what's with the side pony? Tribal Hussy.')

When I arrived Mr Bodyboard informed me that his friends Y & A were lunching and would be back soon to take some photos with me. I had my doubts as I knew they both surfed and assumed that they would actually join him. However as Mr Bodyboard was about to enter the ocean Y & A arrived, settled down next to me, and asserted their permanence with beach mats and a packed lunch. Embarrassed at my task I glued the camera to my eye hoping to quickly capture the 'moments' and be done with them.

Mr Bodyboard wanted at least five waves worth. That's like five times up and down the catwalk, only the catwalk is liquid and rather than outfit changes they do different wave trick thingys.

As I snuck a glance around I noticed many others with cameras pointed out to sea, and was startled as they met my gaze with proud smiles and nodds of encouragement. I heard Y & A cheering not just for Mr Bodyboard, but for the other surfers as well as if we were watching a sporting match and everyone was their favourite player. Over the next hour our little group grew, as did the others dotted along the beach.

I realized I was in the midst of a Japanese moll pack.

When a really big wave came everyone would whistle and yell out to the surfers, cheering regardless of whether they caught the wave or crashed. Taking photos was suddenly an important job. If Mr Bodyboard was on a wave they would all call out to me and point, then rush over to compare photos with me to see who had gotten the best shot. Y was especially interested and I detected a definite man-friend crush, confirmed when he said 'I crush!' and giggled pointing to Mr Bodyboard.

Suddenly there was no food chain, just a Utopian and symbiotic relationship where surfers and molls were equal & both praised for their work. At one stage I was distracted by a spontaneous baseball game, and my pack molls called frantically to me to let me know there was a great 'trick move thing' about to happen which needed my attention. When I went to the toilet they took turns with the camera, thanking me profusely on my return as if I had allowed them to experience my glory, if only for a moment.

For those few hours moll was no longer a dirty word, it was something to be proud of.

The tiny island of Niijima has put Australian molls to shame. The next time you see a lonely moll go and sit next to her, cheer her on, and maybe even offer a delicious canned cocktail. Remember we are an important (and very good looking I might add) part of the beach circle of life too.