The Frogmarsh of Bondi Beach

I fly from Cairns to Sydney and pick up
messages and take a bus to Bondi. It's
hot, bright and the surfers are using
all their etiquette not to brain each
other. I'm looking for Terry and he finds
me, he's calling from the topmost apartment
in a wall of white condos. Up here, he
says, the fourth floor. I find the elevator
and it says 1, 2, 3, PEN. I press PEN.
The door opens onto a wide open room with
a baby grand and a wall of windows onto
the beach. Terry is from Brigus, he met
me with his wife at my reading in Sydney.
Youre living, I said, in the Frogmarsh
of Bondi, and they laugh. There's a photo
of their house in Brigus, the yellow one with the
twine loft. They have been in Australia since
the 1980s. We sit to eat prawns that are almost
red, and cold white wine from Tasmania. There's a
bowl of lemon water to rinse your fingers.
I meet his children, possible Newfoundlanders who
play rugby now and have Australian accents.