Source : the age
Powder-white sand, turquoise waters and 35 degrees. An esky filled with beer, screaming kids playing cricket, exposed skin (as much of it beetroot as nutty brown) as far as the eye can see.
For most Australians, the above scenario is summer personified. For me, it conjures memories of horrible sunburn, sand in my mouth, freezing water (thanks, Victoria) and long afternoons of unbearable heat.
Sunbaking at Melbourne’s St Kilda Beach is an Australian pastime. Credit: Joe Armao
Don’t get me wrong – I love the water. So much so that swimming is my preferred form of exercise. The difference is, my hobby takes place in a climate-controlled pool where there are usually no surprises loitering at the bottom waiting to bite you, and, perhaps most importantly, where there is no sand, or sun ready to sear me to a crisp.
The irony of hating the beach is that I live in St Kilda, one of Australia’s most iconic beach suburbs. Yet, the last time I swam in the bay was in 2020, during lockdown. Faced with swimming in the freezing, slimy, grey-green water in the middle of winter or not exercising at all, I chose the outdoor option.
The endorphins I got from these swims (sometimes in bathers, other times in a wetsuit if I wanted to stay longer than five minutes) were so intense they kept me going back for months. But as soon as we were released from lockdown, which coincided with summer, I stopped. The beach was no longer my saviour, but once again the site of endless UV exposure and scratchy, dirty sand.
I’m going to go out on a limb and guess that I’m not the only person who feels this way and that there are a few others who call Bondi or Manly home and feel the same way but don’t admit as much in polite company.
The beach is a crucial part of our national identity, both inescapable and a character in its own right. With 85 per cent of us living within an hour’s drive of one of 11,000 beaches, it’s no wonder the beach is stitched into the national psyche.
It’s where childhood memories are made, teenage dramas unfold and retirees find solace. It’s celebrated in everything from Tim Winton novels to tourism ads, and the subject of recent fierce national debate thanks to cabanas. To foreigners, it is a place where the sand is always golden, the waves inviting, the ice cream plentiful and the people, well … not exactly representative of the whole of Australia.
But this romanticising of the beach obscures some harsh realities. According to Royal Life Saving Australia’s 2024 National Drowning Report, there were 323 drownings over the past 12 months – up 16 per cent from the 10-year average – with the highest number occurring at the beach (26 per cent).
Australia also has the highest melanoma rates in the world, with roughly two in three Australians being diagnosed at some point in their lives. Much of this is due to two things: our proximity to the equator and the fact that southern hemisphere locations receive about 15 per cent more UV radiation than the equivalent northern latitude location in any given year, and Australia’s migrant makeup (most of us have simply the wrong type of skin for this environment).
But a lot is also due to the persistent cultural norm that to be tanned is to be attractive and healthy. Despite 44 years of dedicated campaigning against skin cancer, seeing hundreds of near-naked bodies splayed out across the beach on sunny days is the rule, not the exception.
I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve spotted beetroot red necks and shoulders around St Kilda; shirtless guys and bikini-clad girls confidently striding around in the midday, UV-14 sun.
Australian beaches are also not the egalitarian space we like to believe they are. Sure, unlike in Europe our beaches are free to access, but they are not as welcoming as we believe.
The recent cabana debate – weighed in on by everyone from social media influencers to the NSW premier and even the PM himself – shows that beach politics are always simmering. On the one hand, yes, bagging a big patch of the beach and leaving it for hours is a poor form. But at least cabanas provide shade.
As for me, today I am comfortable admitting that I do not like the beach. While I enjoy the occasional beach stroll (usually on the pristine sands of a lesser populated one) and even a dip if the temperature is above 26 degrees and the sun not too ferocious, I am usually happy to give it a miss.
Caroline Zielinski is a freelance writer based in Melbourne.
