Diary of a Surfer Moll

Canada and snow

2010-10-19T19:28:00.000-07:00

Dear moll diary,

I'm sorry it has been a while between drinks (I always presume my readers have are drinking while reading my posts - I sure am) I have been very neglectful of my blog but I am now returned and swear I will be more diligent with updating my adoring (or indifferent) public on my moll discoveries.

Our second last point of call on Mr Bodyboard and my trip around the world was Canada. This experience went as follows - 4 months. Winter. Snow!

There is one place with no ocean access that you can take a surfer without them becoming alarmingly suicidal. The snow. While in Mexico I learnt about the migratory path between there and Canada that thousands of adrenalin hungry surfers follow every year looking for that ultimate rush. And where the surfer treks, so does our moll.

My first time on 'the hill' (a giant snow covered terrifyingly steep mountain of danger) I learnt how the snow complicates the natural relationship between surfer and moll. There is no sitting and watching! It's a (see above description re 'hill'), and if you find yourself at the top of said mountain physical participation is mandatory ( unless you stop at the bar at mid station and spend the day drinking. This is an excellent alternative but 4 months would be a little tough on the liver).

This forced involvement for molls is every surfers dream. Secretly they wish that they could drag us out the back of the ocean and make us stay there until we suddenly develop a raging and uncontrollable passion for all things surf. The snow gives them this opportunity because the chair ride up is deceptively enjoyable, and once you are up there is only one way down (I know this seems obvious but when you are there it is quite a confronting reality!) .

Previously when Mr Bodyboard had coaxed me into the ocean on a board it had been on my terms. I would go out as far as I wanted, take on the waves I chose, and if I felt like the teacher (Mr B) was being an annoying asshole I could paddle in and give him the finger from the safety of the shore. Up the mountain, things are different. No amount of swearing at your partner is going to change the fact that between you and the bar there is a giant, tree covered, icy, snowy, mountain.

Friends said that they could tell from miles away when I was up the hill with mr B. 'Stay the f--- away from me you f---ing ---- why the ---- did you ----- ------- ------ that!'

and so on

I cried, I screamed, I may have slightly overacted to certain suggestions, but at the end of the run I would sit on the chair lift to go back up top and do it all again. Why? Because it was really really fun!

Racing down (OK so maybe that's a bit of a stretch but 'sliding down on your bum' doesn't quite have the same ring to it) a snowy slope surrounded by a winter wonderland with your (sometimes) beloved partner is a supremely enjoyable way to spend the day.

True to his promises Mr Bodyboard turned out to be a fantastic teacher. He would take my abuse with a smile, and then calmly unwrap me from around a tree. While I was crying, stuck in a wall of snow (Oh it happened, and yes it hurt) he cheered me up taking photos to commemorate the event. And best of all, when I was at my absolute lowest face down in the ice as children under the age of 5 used me as a ski jump he would reach into his bag for yet another delicious sandwich full of the chocolate magnificence that is Nutella. He sure knows the way to my heart/sanity.

Does this experience mean I will now follow mr Bodyboard into the ocean to frolic in the surf? Not on your life. The snow doesn't have giant blood lusting sharks or vicious blue bottles, and when you fall over snow is like a lovely powdery bed, not a sand filled washing machine of death.
Does this mean I will become a ski bunny? Not on your life. Time spent in the summer heat at the beach is bliss

And what have I learnt? To always pack Nutella sandwiches.

Mexico

2009-11-16T10:54:00.000-08:00

'This is your moll reporter coming to you live from the international Zicatela pro 09, in Puerto Escondito, Mexico'.
That's what I was planning to write a few days ago, when the competition was actually on. But things kept happening (mojitos) and one thing lead to another (cuba libres) and this report ended up being a little late. Anywho, here it is in all it's glory, the report with all the details only a moll can notice.

The day before the comp began we were told by an ex-pat Aussie that the surf conditions were the worst he had seen in his 4 1/2 years of living in Puerto. There was some talk of delaying the competition by a day or so, to ensure big waves to do tricks on (not a direct quote). Instantly all the surfers freaked out and spent the rest of the day staring out to sea, praying for a swell to appear.

I (of course) was determined to take the monitoring of this crisis one step further. To ensure that I had the most accurate and up to date reading of exactly what was going on in the ocean, I dedicated hours of my own personal time to go out into the front line, and float in the ocean. Only from this key position was I able to fully ascertain that there were in fact still waves.

DAY ONE - 6th Nov

There was a meeting at 6am on the beach and as a reporter keen for details I made sure I was momentarily conscious when mr bodyboard left, and that I vaguely listened to him blather on when he returned at 7. It was quite a complex and in-depth report so I have simplified it as best I can for the average reader. 1) the competition was still on 2) His heat was at 8. Exhausted after processing so much information I let my (still razor sharp) mind rest for half an hour before walking down to the beach to begin my day of molling.

The waves were still crap and mr Bodyboard couldn't get a break and struggled to get even a few waves, unfortunately he was eliminated in that heat. I did my job and consoled him (patted his back) to seemingly little effect. Then, one of his friends (who is generally known to be good at wave tricks) was also eliminated in his first heat. This seemed to cheer up mr Bodyboard way more than any of my back pats (molls - take not for future ego crisis, find them a buddy to share the pain, and then walk away slowly....)

The official opening ceremony was held at 10am and despite all the speeches being in Spanish I payed careful attention and managed to glean these key details -
1) This was a surfing competition
2) It's hard to concentrate on Spanish speeches while floating in the ocean
3) I wanted a margarita

Mr Bodyboard had been invited to dj that night at the 'Sol' (beer sponsor) stage, which was surrounded by bars (which strangely only sold one brand of beer). I brought along 3 friends to introduce to 'dj molling' (my part time occupation). Much like surfer molling you sit around waiting for your partner to do their thing. The best part is that this includes drinking (often for free) and talking to your friends. My novices took to the challenge with dedication which brought a tear to my eye. They even stepped up to the plate and drank Micheladas which (to me) is the devils own concoction of beer, hot sauce, salt and lime. Ugh. Sadly the music line-up got jumbled and mr bodyboard didn't actually get to dj that night, but half a case of beer and the promise of a set tomorrow seemed to cheer him up better than my vague efforts (dj molls take note).

DAY TWO - 7th Nov

Mr bodyboard was up and gone before 7am. The night before my moll team and I had discussed the situation and come up with a daring new angle re reporting on surf comps. Everyone gets so caught up in what's happening at the event that they miss what's happening elsewhere! And let me tell you, there are some highly important things to discover. Firstly, there is a beautiful little beach called 'Carazillio' just a 15 minute drive from Zicatella. We monitored this location for hours and came to the conclusion that it would be very difficult to hold the competition here as there are no waves, but that the guacamole and excellent pina coladas more than made up for this.

Exhausted from our days research we returned home, only to begin another rigorous set of dj molling.

Mr Bodyboard got to play some great tracks, AC/DC being the surprise hit with the mainly Mexican crowd. The only down point of the evening was the occasional performances by the Sol girls. These very beautiful bikini wearing girls were all masters of the 'incredibly bored and disdainful of you and your friends' expression. Every couple of hours their manager would prod them on stage, to promote Sol. They did this by occasionally gyrating to reggaeton songs while maintaining a pained expression. Drunken guys would rush up to the stage with their cameras, but eventually even they returned to their seats after experiencing a Sol girl's glare.

DAY THREE - 8th Nov

I turned up at 8 for the bodyboard finals, luckily in time to cheer on mr Movember, who was staying at our hotel. After going for a swim to prevent heat exhaustion ( molling can be a hot occupation, in more ways than one, nudge nudge wink wink ) we saw a large crowd gathering around the small stage next to the judges boothes so we headed over thinking it was the award presentations.

It was actually the bikini competition (I am so proud to announce that no molls were involved) and the Sol girls kicked things off. As they walked up the catwalk their expressions left us in no doubt that this was part of their contract, or else they would probably prefer to shove pencils into their eyes. The only other contestants were a Brazillian with an ass made out of jelly, a Brittish stripper with inherited Turkish tanned skin, and some weird girl who danced with her sarong. After a few professional moves the stripper won (and also introduced a new generation of boys to puberty).

As the crowd began to disperse the officials began announcing the winners from the finals. I only really remember the bodyboard ceremony as mr Movember came second. In first place was a 16 year old local who looked like he was about 10. With winning the kid also received a glimpse into adulthood as mr Movemeber poured a beer over his head and the Sol girl's nestled in for a photo.

That night the feeling at the Sol tent was definitely of fatigue. Surfers and molls had both been on duty for 3 days straight, and it was time for us all to go to bed and wake up feeling refreshed and ready for more heavy duty days of sun, beach and cocktails.

I assure you of my absolute dedication to them all!

x the moll

Peru Part 2

2009-10-22T09:22:00.000-07:00

Dear Moll diary,

My last blog talked about every moll's most hated and defining role - waiting for surfers. I promised that during our road trip to the North of Peru ( ten days of full-time molling in desert landscapes, staying in isolated ghost towns with freezing winds/water. Extreme molling I think I'll call it. ) I would make it my mission to discover the best way to end the waiting game and maybe even reverse the tables, have Mr Bodyboard wait for me.

After an extensive search I have discovered that there is always going to be an element of waiting. Sorry fellow molls but I think it's just part of the job description. However, I did discover that there is a way to lose track of the seconds and minutes a little. Walking. Seriously, the beach can so often be a battle ground that we forget how nice it is to stroll along. That's right, I said stroll, I'm not saying we should do anything drastic like run up a hill or even walk fast! I'm just saying that by the time you've wandered along a couple of beaches, maybe followed a crab or two ( maybe had a conversation with a crab or two if you're in a town of 300 people who only speak Spanish. Except for you. ), when you return to where you left your surfer generally they are either finished, or will be soon.

And of course while you're walking you'll need some music to stimulate that incredible brain of yours, so I have put together a playlist of moll-specific songs. Of course my selection is limited by what's in my ipod, any suggestions of new material would be more than welcome (and of course if you think I have crappy taste feel free to cull).

Fisherman's Woman - Emiliana Torrini - Fisherman's Woman
I don't know who the heck 'Anna Ingun's mum' is, but as 'the gladiator of all fisherman's wives' she is a moll at heart. In fact I would go so far as suggesting this song for a moll anthem. Although Icelandic fisherman may have a slightly different life to surfers, it seems that their partners know what it is to moll - 'and the only thing you can think of is me, waiting for you, by the window, just like Anna waits for her man, how will I learn, I'll wait'. So maybe surfers aren't always thinking of us while out at sea, but it's nice to dream....
Respect - Aretha Franklin - The Very Best of Aretha Franklin
If you don't know this song you've probably been on a rock in Iceland with Anna, although I have my suspicions that even she could hum the chorus. If you don't know what this song could mean for molls then you're a fool. Or a surfer. Or both.
Cowgirl in the sand - Neil Young - Everybody Knows This is Nowhere
So I don't think that Neil had molls specifically in mind for this track, but I'm claiming it anyway. I love the image of a beach-side wild west where molls in leather boots with spurs patrol the sand dunes occasionally shooting surfers who gone done them wrong.
Gettin' in the Way - Jill Scott - Who is Jill Scott? Words and Sounds Vol. 1
We may bitch and moan about our surfers, but ultimately they are ours to bitch and moan about. And when you see a wanna-be moll gazing adoringly at your surfer it's time to saddle up (like in the previous song) and prepare for a moll verbal shoot out. Or maybe you'll just insult the offender in your head. But they'll know mentally damn it!! Anywho.... this song will give you the ammo to knock 'em dead (in your mind). Lines like 'You'd better back down, before you get smacked down' and my personal favourite 'I'm gonna take you out in middle of the street and whoop your tan for all it's worth, $5.99 or something like that' are sure to put that hussy in her place. In your mind.
To Hot Ta Trott - The Commodores - Motown - The Complete Number 1's i
Probably the best song ever to strut your stuff to. That's right, every moll is 'to hot ta stop' and don't you forget it. This song was definitely inspired by molls. Defiantly.
Plasticities - Andrew Bird - Armchair Apocrpha
So this song has absolutely nothing to do with molls or even the beach. In fact it's a little embarrassing, but I actually thought that the chorus was 'Whale fight' (in reality it's 'We'll fight'). But it's a great song to listen to while staring out to sea, imagining whales jumping out of the water and mucking around in a 'food fight' kind of spirit. Good times my friend, good whale filled times.
The Signal - Urthboy - The Signal
I actually had a tough time getting some Australian content into this list which I think is definitely a national issue. We are a country of thousands of molls, what the heck is going on? There should be endless choices of songs. And while I am sure that molls were not the inspiration for this track, we do send out 'the signal' to 'please come home' so really it's very relevant. This track is best played at the end of the walk as you trek towards your towels and hope against hope that you are going to see a surfers smile heading towards you.

So that's it for now, but again if you have any suggestions I'd love to hear them, and you will hear from me next month from our new location in Puerto Escondito, Mexico.

Happy molling

Peru part one

2009-10-09T08:38:00.000-07:00

Dear moll diary,

I thought she was the one.

Drawn in by her sexy French-Canadian accent, I could only nod in wonder as her toned body worked up a sweat.

Get your mind out of the gutter you dirty pervert! I was at the gym with what I hoped was a grade one, professional moll. Or proffesiomoll ( ha ha haaaaa god I'm good.)

Mr Bodyboard and I had arrived in Lima, Peru, a couple of days ago and had been met by his Peruvian surfer friend 'Liro' and his girlfriend 'Italy' (yes, she is actually French-Canadian but if you knew what her real name was and then read that I am calling her Italy you would fall on the ground laughing, 'oh my you are so very funny! you would exclaim and then general hilarity would ensue).

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaanywho.

Surprise surprise, the boys decided to go surfing. I had been told that Milan was a surfer, but (luckily for me) after two years in Hawaii the Peruvian spring swell was a little too cold for her and she declined to join them, taking me under her wing instead.

Over the next few hours I discovered that she had dated her first surfer 5 or so years ago, and after are solid serve of sitting on the beach and taking photos she had decided to beat him at his own game and take to the waves.

Now, while she couldn't surf here because (remember - think everything she says in a sexy French accent) 'what the shit is this wet suit - I don't surf like this', she was still determined that we would not sit around 'not like the stupid girls'.

Italy had joined a gym which she went to when Liro surfed. No sitting lazily on the beach staring wistfully at the ocean for us! We were going to do a Latin American kick boxing class/treadmill run/ cycle/ salsa lesson (lead by a flamboyantly gay man in what can only be described as too much lycra and a unitard, yes it is possible and I saw it. And loved it). She moved gracefully through everything as I trailed behind growing increasingly red and sweaty. I was in total awe of her.

But.

Over the following days, each time we returned from the gym, the boys still weren't home. No matter how we chose to while away the hours, ultimately, we were still molls waiting for our surfers. I was with a grade one moll and nothing had changed.

'Zis is what it iz' Italy said waving her cigarette around in that chic French way 'Zis iz to date a surfer'.

I thought back to Sri Lanka where I had met an Israeli virgin moll on her first surf trip. She had been loitering around the town with a look of total frustration and wandering rage. One night after a few arracks (a local spirit which can be like russian roulette) I cornered her (like a super cool matador with a pissed off and scantily dressed bull)

'What the shit is this?' (ok so now switch to a sexy Israeli accent. The accent is always sexy because so are all molls)
'I have to sit on the beach and he wants that I take photos of him for hours? Is this normal?'

Pouring another arrack I lay down the facts of molling for her. I started with the basics such as always carrying a book, and led her all the way to the finer skills of exception-from-photo-taking-excuses (My total and utter adoration of your incredible stupendousness has paralyzed my hands - one of my personal favourites). She left that night relieved that she was not alone (and a little drunk), and I congratulated myself on a job well done (and politely asked the room to cease spinning)

Fast forward to Peru and I was realizing that no matter if you had no experience, like Ms Israeli, or if you're a pro like Italy, the definition of a moll doesn't change. We're all waiting for the same
mother-ruckers to come out of the ocean, and they aint returning any time soon.

So what's a moll to do? Honestly, I have no idea.

I discussed my dilemma with mr Bodyboard and he suggested that we molls choose to wait. I suggested that he had just chosen a slap in the face. He countered with 'well why don't you make us wait for you?'

Done.

In the nest few days we are embarking on a surf safari north and I will make it an experiment to see if I can reverse the molling process and make the men wait. Oh, and Italy can wait as well since she is deserting me for warmer waters. Hussy.

How am I going to do it? I have no idea. It's a little hard to say 'I'm sorry I'm not ready to leave yet because in the next 3 chapters the murder mystery will be solved and I definitely can't leave this patch of sand until I know who killed mumma Moopa and why!' Maybe it will turn into an endless game of hide-and-seek with me lying under a mossy log silently while I listen to their exasperated cries - 'Where is she? She said she's only be an hour!'
'he he he ' I will laugh, 'suckers'. Only I am stuck under a log. For hours. hmmmmmm.

Well I'll keep yall posted and welcome any suggestions for my quest for time domination. Mr Bodyboard commented that it has to be something I'm passionate about, like they are about surfing. I feel that eating copious amounts of Nutella or drinking gin and tonics for 4 hours will not be beneficial or prove a point (although I can see the fun in it and there would definitely be passion).

Remember, the molls, united, will never be defeated.

Arugam Bay part 2

2009-08-31T22:38:00.000-07:00

Dear Moll diary,

I was surrounded by Israelis. All eyes were glued to our computer screen, viewing and reviewing and checking again the pictures I had (grudgingly) taken of them surfing that afternoon.

I was bored.

Surfers are obsessed with images of themselves surfing. Once they have access to some they will view and review with several different audiences producing several different discussions, all really saying the same thing (that was an awesome wave trick!! You are awesome, surfing friend!!)

I was really bored.

So I reached over and began to flip through the only reading material available in Arugam Bay (Sri Lanka). A surfing magazine. I don't remember what it was called, something like 'Yeah surfing, it's the best', just an average surfing mag. But something unexpected was nestled towards the back, a moll of the month page. Of course again this was not its exact title (it was something like 'awesome babes of tubular dudes') but my Israeli friend assured me that was a genuine monthly feature read by surfers all around the world.

This worried me.

It can be tough enough being a moll without magazines promoting unachievable fantasies to surfers globally!

Firstly there was her photo. She was kneeling on a couch, tanned and glossy-haired, wearing a basketball shirt which barely covered her crutch. What kind of message is this sending out to surfers? Yes all molls are incredible sex kittens, but we're more than that damn it! Why not show a photo of a moll in action? We don't work from the couch!
They could have used a shot of me at 5am that morning, freezing and bleary eyed in the back of a tuk tuk showing my passport again (3rd security check) to an irritable soldier with a big gun, all to get to a secluded surf point. Photogenic? Sadly not. True moll in action? Absolutely

This leads me to my next bone of contention ( there are many, this is a rant after all). Why was she worthy of the title of moll of the month? Surely it should be rewarded to a moll not on the merit of their surfer, but rather on their molling efforts?
I feel that the girl we found at the beach that morning deserved a feature. There she was, snatching some sleep beside a smoldering fire (obviously she had an earlier start than I did). She was fully clothed (as pre-dawn tends to be freezing), but now the blazing sun was beginning to burn her face. I saw her surfer glance over to her as some curious soldiers gathered in a circle around her (probably talking about how great molls are, it's a common topic of conversation amongst the Sri Lankan military I'm told). The surfer hesitated for one moment ('hmmm, maybe I should.....') and then looked back to the waves, and jumped on his board to paddle out again. This moll, as you can see, deserved at least a one page feature!

Then there was the interview.
She loves being a moll, it's the bestest most easist fun in the world (I can hear you bikini clad babes sigh already). One answer to a not-very-subtle question revealed that she gives her surfer 'bedroom favours' every time he tries a trick. Good god woman!! He's a professional surfer, you must do nothing else!! If the average surfer surfs for two hours a day and tries at least 20 tricks in this time, that is a lot of 'special' favors! We molls would never get anything done (and for a matter of fact neither would the surfers). Then we couldn't go to work or eat, and you have something much worse than the global financial crisis on your hands people.

Her ultimate betrayal was her last comment. 'I love taking photos'. Right there, she has broken the moll code of honour. We may exaggerate how much we absolutely hate/detest/despise/can't freaking stand taking photos (just a little). But we never never never reveal this to surfers!! Every time I agree to shoot some happy snaps I negotiate a reward, say a big jar of delicious Nutella. A bribe some may call it. Now if Mr Bodyboard was to read this slander, the cogs would start turning, 'hey, if my moll's enjoying this then why to I have to buy her this incredibly yummy gooey and fantastic treat?'. Again resulting in a world wide crisis as molls everywhere go on strike, all thanks to Miss Basketboob.

I prefer my surfers like the Israelis who were now (after my hour long mental rant) finished looking at their photos. One turned to me with a look of awe 'To take photos of us surfing, you are amazing, you are the only girl in the world to do this for us. thank you, thank you, thank you'.
Thant's more like it. Now pass me that sweet sweet Nutella.

P.S - As for Miss Sexytimes, I revoke her bikini licence and encourage all molls to wave their sand filled towels in her general direction. We are not amused.

P.P.S - I bet they don't do a male moll feature. Sexist.

Sri Lanka - Arugam Bay

2009-08-22T22:57:00.000-07:00

Dear Moll diary,

As mr Bodyboard and I sat at the aptly named 'Riptide' restaurant ( Non molls - Riptide is a magazine, Cosmo for body boarders) which is on the main street of Arugam Bay (note - I use the term 'main street' loosely, it's a red, dusty, dirt road with less than 20 shops and the occasional goat) I had an epiphany. Molls are the ideal journalists for the surfing world. We travel to distant & inaccessible locations to observe and discuss the surfing culture (and maybe get a little reading/sunbaking in, it can't be all work!! We are not machines damn it!!) and as non-participators we are objective observers, able to distance ourselves and report back without bias.

I don't know why the surfing press hasn't realized all of this.

Best of all, we have the unique ability to translate 'surf talk' and information into terms that everyone can understand. We are the missing link (Mr Bodyboard notes that he feels that this is what my blog is already doing, I'd like to think so)
For example, a report might read -
Arugam Bay does have some fantastic long riding waves, but the beginner crowds and constant dropping in make it frustrating.
Non surfer translation -
Arugam bay is like your favourite designer store with a constant 50% sale, only there's always 5 people grabbing the dress you want just as you touch it. And you know that you would look way hotter in it!

Moll journalists are always in the heat of cross cultural debate. Currently there is an uprising against the Israelis who are the main culprits of dropping in (dress grabbing). I hear of the rising tensions, confrontations, and attempted peace talks, all told to me minutes after they have occurred on the front line (in the surf/at the cash register).

Are you after financial news? Who better to fill you in on prices than a moll who has been dragged from cabana to cabana to work out the best price to surf location ratio? I can look a tuk tuk driver in the eye and tell him how much it will cost to the various surf points and reference his past brothers/cousins tenders for each rout.

For those looking to the dating section this reporter has the scoop that if you are a Sri Lankan surfer, fair haired European damsels will pretty much lie down in front of you, wanting nothing more than to lie on your board in the flat surf gazing adoringly at you while you gaze adoringly at their scantily clad bums. If you are any other ethnic brand of single male, I'm sorry but it's going to be a lonely trip.

For the foodies, this moll reporter can give reviews for all the restaurants in town (yes, all ten of them) and tell you who is best value for money. For example - Riptide have the best prices and rottis, but after a long surf (or an exhausting bout of moll duty) their 'vegetable macaroni' (ingredients - spiral pasta, grated carrot, cabbage and tomato sauce) is not going to satisfy your needs.

Speaking of needs, I think that all surf media need to have a special 'moll page' or maybe we could call it 'moll murmurs'.This weeks would read - When your partner convinces you to try surfing, first make sure that he is fairly confident with his tool (snicker - you see what I did there was I meant his board but.....) or else you could end up like our friend Bandage Mc Ouch Ouch. She was last seen sitting at Riptide looking unhappy after a loving 'surfboard to forehead' moment.

My final point in my push for better moll representation in the media is that we are hot. Who else reports in a bikini? Case closed I say.

P.S - After running this piece past my editor (mr Bodyboard), it was pointed out that there are already molls who travel and take photos/report. I met one in Japan, and I salute her and the others for being pioneers for all mollkind.

A Moll's Survival Guide to Sumatra

2009-07-24T22:54:00.000-07:00

Dear Moll Diary,

A little over two weeks in the town of Krui in Sumatra, Indonesia, and the following is what I learned. Yes, often the hard way.
P.S - Usually I try not to discriminate between moll sexes, equal rights for male molls and all, but in this case the problems outlined are specifically for the laaaaadies (if you know 'Flight of the Conchords you'll know how to sing that.)

Lesson one - If you wax, BYO
Bikini, arms, legs, nether regions, etceteras. If you (like me) have made the tough transition from razor to ripping and don't want to look back, then make sure you're packing upon entrance to the country. The 'women's' section of any supermarket will give you all the whitening cream you could never want, but other than that it's razors only. (I did try for a 'proffesional' wax in Java but that's a story for another day. A funny funny day with lots of gin)

Two - Embrace the Bintang
I've never liked beer. I can drink it, but generally it's because there's less than five bucks in my wallet and I can't see any prospective gin sponsors in my near vicinity. And trust me, after a long day of lying around the compound, a moll needs some liquor. There's two choices available. Bintang, or the sweet-cough syrup-fowl tasting - vomit educing red 'wine' (used in the loosest sense of the word). Hint. DO NOT CHOOSE THE WINE.

Three - Boardies not bikinis.
If you have images of yo' fine self struttin' yo stuff in your new MJ remembrance bikini (silver sequined left boob and Bubbles on the bum) You had better put those ideas out of your (I'm sure) gorgeous head. This is a Muslim country and if you don't respect their culture and cover up then your trip will not be enjoyable. t-shirt and boardies are the done thing.

Four - Make friends with books.
I'm not saying bring Proust's entire works (unless that floats your boat). I'm not even suggesting you have to expand your horizons. I'm just saying you're going to have a lot of time on your hands and fantasizing about Robert Patterson (yes I'm a fan) is only going to take so long. If Mills and Boon are your thing, by all means bodice-rip your way through a 'steamy and hot member' of an afternoon. Just make sure you have enough to last your time in the compound.

Five - Your compound is your kingdom
This means you had better make it a good one. You will spend a lot of time within the four walls of your 'losman' (bungalows/hotel) so make sure it's user (or more specifically moll) friendly. Insiders tip - don't stress if there's no shower. All bathrooms have a big tub of clean water and a bucket. This can become your best friend in the middle of the day, when it's unbearably hot and your boredom has hit a whole new level. Get your gear off and get your elephant on. Scoop that water and throw it in the air like you just don't care. You and the bathroom should be completely saturated by the end.

Six - Patience is a virtue
You will spend the majority of your social hours discussing surf/ watching surf/ watching surf dvd's/ riding around looking for surf/ discussing how everyone's surf was (you get the picture). If you can't sit patiently through this you are going to have problems. I found my best option was to keep a 'interested and listening' face on and retreat into my 'alternate reality'. Robert Patterson interrupts the conversation saying 'excuse me but I'm looking for the most beautiful girl in the world' (surprise surprise that's me) . Then we retire to his private yacht and have, um, mature discussions about women's micro economic loans in Bangladesh..... We talk about it for hours......

Seven - Make sure you man can moll
If your surfer has a one track mind you had better sit him down for an insightful and varied discussion regarding what will happen to his testicles if he doesn't take you out for 'walkies' (hint - this is not an erotic conversation). It doesn't really matter where you go (but did I mention facials are only $2!! he can join you or wait outside...) it just has to happen or else you will end up like a frustrated (but adorable) puppy. Frustrated puppies can do bad things such as 'chewing' up their surfers board (hint - most compounds have power tools).

My final tip is to relax and enjoy yourself. If you're in a beautiful tropical paradise then there's no point spending your time sulking in your room. Just follow these lessons and you will find Sumatra can be a moll's best friend.

Sumatra - One Moll's Fortress of Solitude

2009-07-07T23:31:00.000-07:00

When Mr Bodyboard first suggested that we join his friends el Floppo and Mr Roughage in Indonesia as part of our world trip I was hesitant. By Indonesia he meant Sumatra and by Sumatra he meant Krui and by Krui he meant a surfing safari. Yes as in 'Let's go surfing now everybody's learning now (little know fact - The Beach Boys are a moll's Antichrist, their beautifully harmonised doctrine subliminally enters surfers minds and creates endless annoyances for molls. 'No Daz there's not two molls for every guy and you have to do more than just wink your eye to get this bikini clad beauty thank you very much!').

Eventually I was swayed by images of tropical jungle, endless white sand beaches with crystal clear water,a man-moll(Mr Roughage doesn't surf) and a promise from Mr Bodyboard that at least one portion of the day would be speant on non-surfing activities.

As I write this tropical jungle lines the dusty dirt road to our losman (bungalows) and from the viewing platform I can watch the sun set over the coral reef which is meters away. Mr Roughage has returned to Jakarta (although his few days as part of 'team moll' were full of vigilance and support) and I know Mr Bodyboard will take me swimming this afternoon.

So why is this trip so difficult for me?

Krui is still relatively isolated from tourists, and those who do make the difficult trek are almost purely groups of male surfers here from Australia on (often) a boys only surf trip. The lack of exposure to western women combined with the fact that this is a strict Muslim town (the call to prayer wakes us at 4am each morning) makes it difficult for a moll to move around.

Throughout my time here I hear of molls from other compounds who blatantly flout local cultural conventions, wearing bikinis or walking around by themselves, which results in rocks being or sexual aggression from young men. I am very careful with my dress and attitude so receive minimal flack (the worst - a kid shot me with his potato gun!!) but still find my world becomes smaller.

In the morning dawn is filled with the roar of motorbikes and wax being rubbed on boards as the men file out to live their dream of 10second barrels and endless glassy peaks (my equivalent excitement would come from spending the day with a monkey who could massage feet, imagine that!!! amazing!!! You could literally pay in peanuts!!! )

I wait alone in the compound, listening for the wave hunters return, reading or doing yoga in my room (Yoga must be done in my room unless I want a large crowd who could only be more judgmental if they had scorecards). As the best waves are at dawn and dusk Mr Bodyboard takes me out for 'walkies' during the middle of the day. A stroll into town, or a swim (fully clothed) at the beach.

One day, as another of the almost constant surfing based conversations discusses a new 'break' (non molls - it is a surf spot they are discussing, not their emotions in regards to a troubled relationship. ) I realize that for the duration of our time here, I am effectively off duty. I can't wait & watch on the beach un-chaperoned, the excess of surfers means I am not required to provide 'oooooooooohs and aaaaaaaaahs' during surfing monologues, I'm not even available as a bikini clad trophy gal. I realize there is only one path open to me. I relax into my holiday from molling.

Did an awesome wave trick? I don't care
Did two? Pffffft whatever.
I'm on holidays.

Mr Bodyboard is my moll for those mid day hours,oooohing and aaahing as I explain who is guilty in my trashy crime novel,cheering me on as I snorkel, and being my board short clad trophy that local girls make eyes at.

This is not to say it's all peaches and cream. I miss women desperately and fantasize about finding a rogue pack of permed haired fluro bikini wearing molls on the beach, lying together puberty blues style. I see myself opening with 'Do any of yous know a good waxer?' or some other witty statement. They would welcome me, and braid my hair or squeeze my blackheads.

Why I am choosing to fantasize about trashy grade 7 molls is completely beyond me. It's like I'm dying of thirst in the desert and my mirage is of peanut butter. But who really cares, I'm on holiday and my only concern is finding that sweet sweet massaging monkey......

Dear diary, Japan part 2

2009-06-09T17:54:00.000-07:00

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.

Dear diary, Japan part 1

2009-06-02T00:54:00.000-07:00

When strolling along a beach (maybe on a tiny island called Niijima off the coast of Tokyo) most people gaze towards the ocean, watching the waves, and maybe even those on them. Not me. I'm focused on my long term study of the under apruciated ( by our reckoning anyway) moll culture, of which I am a proud member.

Focus your eyes on the shoreline and you will see us there, waiting, watching, and wondering just how long our surfer is going to take today. In Australia we are generally a female dominated group, and from my initial impression I assumed things were the same in Japan. As I strolled along I spied what at first glance appeared to be a traditional moll, with long platted hair and a simple dress, camera in hand & staring vigilantly out to sea.

I smiled at her with love in my heart (which then, I assume, traveled to her through my eyes) for our moll sisterhood. The next day I was filled with surprise as she showed her true colours, coming out of the water wet suited and board in hand! I had been fooled! The previous day she had been watching the ocean for her own benefit, not someone elses.

On closer inspection I have discovered that women in Japan are more inclined to be 'out the back' (that's surfer language for 'in the deep water') & a part of the action. If they are not inclined, you can find them at the bar with their friends, or (in the case of this island) at the local onsen. These women may appear cute and friendly, but a moll can see that as they giggle they are really saying to each other 'If Bazza ever tried to make me watch him surf I'd make origami from his privates' (rough translation of course).

So this situation begs the question, who is left to moll?

It seems Japanese surfers have enlisted the help of male-moll-friends, or fellow surfers. Many of the cars lined up overlooking the beach have man-molls in the front seat, either camera in hand or steadfastly staring at their surfer. As said surfer returns male-moll-friends slap them appreciatively on the back and pass them a towel, full of praise & interested comments that put my surly greeting and pointed glances at my watch to shame.

If a man friend can't be russeled up surfers can still paddle out with confidence, as other surfers spend a minimum of ten minutes pre and post surf vigilantly staring out, making sure no-one goes unwatched and no 'awesome wave riding trick' ( my words not theirs) is missed.

thinking back to Australia I realized that this support network exists there too (it may even be a world wide epidemic) I'd just been too distracted by my own kind to notice before. In every surfer there lies a 10 minute moll, maybe even more, ready to lend their eyes to those in need. Does this make full-time molls an endangered species? Will surfers of the world one day find us obsolete? Is this what we want?

As Mr Bodyboard runs up to me to beg me to film him for ten minutes or 'at least take some photos' I realize that if we are going, it's not going to be soon.

Dear Moll Diary,

2009-05-13T19:17:00.000-07:00

My friend is concerned that I am taking too many books on my impending round-the-world-trip with mr Bodyboard. She hasn’t seen his bag. I came home last night and there it was, pristine, packed, and the heaviest bag I have ever attempted to lift. Two boards, two sets of flippers and two wetsuits. Although I might use them at times, they are not specifically there for his loving gal. They are there so he can surf no matter what. Rain hail or shine, he can get on a board and get out into the ocean.

And what will I be doing? What should any self respecting moll do on a twelve month surfing trip? Lie on the beach and observe other molls of course! This will be my year long study of moles of the world, a smorgasbord of bikini culture.

What do Japanese molls do while the object of their affection surfs, and more importantly does said surfer spear a tuna as they churn through a barrel (my use of words, definitely not okayed by mr Bodyboard) for their moll to make a sashimi masterpiece for lunch? Or is there a sushi version of a chicko roll……

Post Japan we’re of to Thailand, Indonesia, and Sri Lanka. Indonesia will see me tackle the heights of molldom, when Mr Bodyboard’s friend will join us. I will be in the interesting position of one moll, two surfers. Is it every molls dream, or nightmare? I have images of myself perfecting moving my eyeballs independently so I can watch them both. I also have visions of leaving them to each other and retiring to the bar…. Can two surfers be each others moll?

Late in the trip we will be in Canada for the snow season, and here I will be crossing the border from moll to ski bunny, hanging up my bikini and cocktail for a padded jumpsuit and hot toddy. As I can ski/snowboard about as well as I can surf/bodyboard I’m sure that again I will have a lot of time on my hands to observe tothers with a lot of time on their hands. I’ll be a mole going undercover to report to molls the secret world of bunnies.

Our trip will finish up in Hawaii, where is just so happens the bodyboard world championships will be on (mr Bodyboard did a very convincing ‘surprised’ face when we discovered this). I’m hoping they will do the right thing and also incorporate the moll championships. Not your stereotypical swimsuit comp, but challenges that real molls will strive to dominate. Who can hold their ‘interested and listening’ face for the longest when faced with a surfing monologue? As a group activity I would encourage us to attend the female body boarding heats, and support our minority male moles.

So check in on my blog every month to be kept updated with my world wide moll investigation, and if you have any suggestions of things I should look into let me know!

X Moll.

2009-04-07T17:15:00.001-07:00

Dear Moll diary,

Mr Bodyboard and I were frolicking (OK so my words not his) in an unusually calm ocean. As he threw himself desperately at the less than minimal waves - the recent 'wave drought' or whatever you call it was obviously making him a little desperate - I happily bobbed along in the water as is my usual style.

Suddenly he was struck with an idea- that I should catch a wave and body surf.

After ten or more unsuccessful tries he was becoming more and more confused. He even attempted holding me and trying to glide me down the surface of the wave, making me feel a little like his true love (his board), but all was to no avail. I sadly had to point out my total inability to body surf. Luckily my point was highlighted as a wave crashed passed me leaving me in its foamy wake.

'After living by the sea for six month you haven't even learned to body surf, what have you learnt?!?' As he shot away on another wave I wanted to yell out that I had learned a lot thank you very much, but I couldn't exactly pin point what they were.

So as I lay back and attempted to float (something I haven't quite mastered) I started to think about what knowledge I now have that has come from the ocean.

Point one - If you stick your finger in one of those sea enenemies things for too long they will actually draw blood.

Point two - If you choose to go and sun bake topless at the beach you must accept the fact that everyone is looking at your breasts and wondering if you've had plastic surgery. No exceptions.

Point three - If you do in fact choose to wear a bikini and frolic in the ocean there is an inevitability in your top coming off and your boob coming out. Again I must stress, no exceptions. Also inevitable is that it will come of when you're standing next to a young boy and you will introduce him to puberty as he becomes hypnotised by your escaped tit.

Point four - If you are used to the super filtration chlorinated wonderland of an inner city pool it's best not to wear goggles in the sea bath. The locals who have used it for over 50 years and now look like tanned leather patched together with white hair do view it as their private space to clear their noses and dispose of whatever comes out of their bodies - and if you can't handle this then sans goggle swimming is the only way to go.

Point five, surely I must have at least five, think damn it think! Ah yes. Unless you're a life saver or one of the previously mentioned hard -core locals, don't wear speedos. Ever. ever ever ever ever ever. Ever.

Dear moll diary 2

2009-03-08T20:33:00.000-07:00

I recently had a nasty bout of 'moll identity crises'. Yes it disturbs me too.

Mr Bodyboard woke at the ridiculous hour of 7:30 on a Sunday morning. Blearily I acknowledged his presence, hoping that by doing so I had excused myself from any participation in whatever was happening. I half listened to some ramblings about a bodyboard competition, the surfing conditions, all of this washing over me and sending me to sleep like a lullaby.

Off he went to 'check it out' and I was asleep before he shut the door, until an hour later he heralded his return with more discussion about the comp. finally he stated he was off to await his heat, and I fully intended to wave him off with a smile on my lips and a song in my heart.

Somewhere within me a sly little voice wondered 'why didn't he ask you to come and watch?'
'Because I DON"T WANT TO ' I thundered back (actually, can you reply to yourself or was I just extending an inner monologue?) but yet I heard myself ask 'Would you like me to come and watch?'

I mentally slapped my forehead. I'd let the moll out of the bag.

'No it's fine' he said over his shoulder as he walked out the door.
I was shocked and horrified. I stumbled over to the mirror and examined myself. Was I not a highly desirable sex kitten that anyone would be proud to have cheering them on? Who wouldn't want my lovely eyes gazing at them as they demonstrated their manly prowess on tiny waves?

I hung out the door and called out to him on the street 'well I was going for a swim in an hour or so, I'll swing by on my way'. I lay down and picked up my book promising myself that I would exercise my brain with the densest prose I could find before heading down, which would somehow make my actions OK.

But within seconds I found myself in front of the mirror again, trying on different saris, packing a bag, and then heading out the door.

I got to the comp and he came over, his race, or whatever they call it, wave triumph or something, hadn't started yet. I felt O.K, this was about me supporting and strengthening our relationship, nothing to do with mollyness, just good old fashioned love. I looked lovingly at him and noticed that he seemed a little stand-offish, not 'can't keep my hands off-youish' as I felt my outfit deserved.

I asked if everything was OK, expecting pre comp nerves or something. But instead he looked sheepish like a boy in a school yard asking out a girl for the first time. 'None of the other guys girlfriends are here'.

I cringed at myself, the lone moll at the comp with nothing better to do.

But I wasn't alone.
As I locked eyes with the one other female I suddenly realized I needed to run away. Very fast.

She sat next to her standing boyfriend, back resting against a rock and a sari drapped artfully around to expose just the right amount of bikini, as he lovingly rested his coke can on her head.
Like a freaking table.

'This beach is too crowded' I chirped slightly hysterically. 'I'm going to the next one over.'

The water was a freezing 15 degrees, but I stayed in for ages, perhaps trying to be reborn from my earlier brush with grade six moll behaviour. As I floated in the water, meditating upon my actions and slowly watching my toes turn blue, I didn't come to a conclusion re if I had actually been supporting mr Bodyboard or if my standards were slipping, but I did come to the conclusion that from now on I would always position myself next to a ledge to rest drinks on.

Dear moll diary,

2009-02-17T00:19:00.000-08:00

Please note: I didn't embark on this journey of blogging (yes yes I know it sounds gross like pooing and makes your skin prickle because you're participating) with the title 'Diary of a SURFER'S moll'. As a grade three moll (wait and see what it is...... ) I've earned the loss of this apostrophe of ownership.

My boyfriend (Mr bodyboard) claims I'm not a moll at all.

I take his hand and pat it to my chest.
'Feel this heart? It beats for the Inner West. I start to hyperventilate when I can't reach the Courthouse within half an hour. But I moved to the Eastern Suburbs to live with you, and that stamps moll on my forehead'

Don't get me wrong, I'm not blind to the bonuses of the lazy sun-drenched beach-side life! But as the daughter of a social worker/gay activist/psychologist/librarian, the moll thing has never sat well with me. Maybe this is why I have developed the grading system, something to help me try and explain it all to my confused Newtownite gal pals

Here tis-

GRADE FIVE
This is the bottom of the moll pyramid. The sit on the beach (tits out preferred) staring through shades at 'her man'. For a more conservative M5 (moll five) option, sit fully clothed in the shade peering through the lens of the latest digital SLR capturing your heroes finest moments for all time.

GRADE FOUR
Yes you present a facade of other interests, the evidence is all there in the trashy mag, the constant calls to friends, even sudoku for the truly desperate. But the abstinence from going in the water and the constant sly glances to the ocean give away that you are truly a M4.

GRADE THREE
Yeps this is me.
Here I am, swimming by myself, sometimes at a different beach or even (gasp) the pool. Here I am, being coaxed shakily onto the board while Mr Bodyboard pushes me on the waves. And finally here I am kind of seeing why he's so obsessed, but not wholly and soulfully converted to the cause.

GRADE TWO
You actually know how to surf. You can swim out, catch waves, yada yada bla bla. No you're not really obsessed with it all if you are perfectly honest, but you enjoy it enough, and it lets you be closer to him.....

GRADE ONE
Boyfriend? Yeah you left him still sleeping as you snuck out and caught his wave of the day.

My friend (we'll call her 'fleeced boot' for reasons known only to her) suggested another grade of moll, where you cut your boyfriend's name out of a piece of paper & then suntan it onto your stomach as you watch him. The elusive M7........