I did not expect to take up beach volleyball at the age of fifty-one. A friend, Barbara, was doing a secondment in New Zealand, living on Papamoa Beach where Frank and I visited her. One day while she was at work we walked the sixteen kilometre length of the beach to hike up Mount Maunganui. Descending the Mount, there at its foot on the beach was Barbara, as arranged. We watched her play what she described as “social beach volleyball”.
I didn’t play that day, not that I wanted to. I was impressed, though, by the casual, unpretentious nature of the sport. A referee kept score in rather haphazard fashion, but it wasn’t as if anybody cared. Players sipped beer between points and laughed at their own foibles. It reminded of the American company softball game, something I have missed since moving to Australia. Continue reading Digging St Kilda Beach Volleyball