This summer I returned to my twenties, to discover that the past is not so much another country, as a more bijou version of it. I used to live on Bondi Beach. Sigh. After university I went to study for a post-graduate diploma in journalism in Sydney. Of the five years I ended up living in the city, mainly working for The Australian newspaper, half were spent a short walk from the golden sands of Bondi – the locus of every British expat fantasy. The particularities of Bondi have stayed with me (so much so that I co-wrote a feature-length rom-com screenplay set in Bondi Beach years later. We called it, imaginatively, “Britt in Bondi”. It did get optioned, but then the production company went into receivership. Back into the sock drawer it went).
Lydia Bell
Lydia Bell
For those seeking a nostalgic sojourn in Bondi, this all-you-really-need two-bedroom “Flat in Bondi Beach” is in the thick of Bondi’s famous “lifestyle”. Head out the front door and skirt under the glorious branches of the eucalyptus tree that shades the children’s playground in front, and after a few short minutes you’ll be at the famous Bondi Icebergs swimming club on the south of the beach (with its Bergs Bistro, Dining Room and Bar, sauna, gym, kids’ pool, bar and restaurant). The landmark 50-metre ocean pool, with its crashing waves is ten bucks a swim, still sunny in winter and a breeze all year for British cold-water swimmers. This also marks the beginning of the Bondi to Coogee Coastal Walk, a six-kilometre cliffside trail along the cliffside paths of Tamarama, Bronte, Clovelly and Coogee, a slice of magic and a prime spot to glimpse humpback whales breaching in season. The apartment — so quiet apart from the welcoming birdsong of morning — is also a skip from the 333 bus stop, which whisks you up to Bondi Junction, and from there to the City.
This is a simply and cosily furnished modern flat in off-white and pale neutrals with light wooden floors and neutral carpets. It’s unassuming in a contemporary way, a tranquil place to be, spacious yet homely. We visited in the Australian winter, but a Dyson Hot+Cool purifier kept the main space warm; there’s also a gas heater (good to know, as Sydney’s homes are famously un-winter-oriented). Just a three-minute walk to the beach, spotless and nicely equipped, it has an open plan kitchen (pale sage subway tiles, gas cooker, Nespresso, dishwasher, Kitchenaid), a dining area, sitting room and a large balcony overlooking the pretty street. There are two double bedrooms and a third bedroom with a kids’ bunk bed. The bathroom with bath and separate shower is boosted by a separate laundry and WC, and there are two private lock-up car garages downstairs. Managers Kate and Dan left complimentary water bottles and a friendly note.
Lydia Bell
Lydia Bell
When I lived in Bondi it was the early noughties. The spectre of gentrification may have been looming, but there was nothing wildly aspirational about Bondi’s then-shambolic apartments, raucous backpacker outposts, op shops, markets and scruffy beachfront pubs. The neighbourhood hadn’t yet fundamentally strayed from its unpretentious working class roots. In 2026 that’s no longer the case. The boutiques and label stores on Gould Street and surrounds have mushroomed, decent restaurants have multiplied (Raw Bar, Sean’s, Bills and Totti’s, are still the go-tos, and The Shop & Wine Bar is very cute). Bondi Pavilion is now a genuinely pleasant place to hang out.
Could it be that those who decry Bondi as a “beige Byron” are just annoyed that they are not living there? After all, the core USP of Bondi remains its gob-smacking nature and its democratic, free for all beach culture, which remains unchanged. That wide-angle, kilometre-long scoop of amber sand, the surf, the surfies, the sun, the headlands. The hallowed cult of the body-beautiful. I.e., nothing new. In this sense Bondi still has the same essential scene, the same heart – and this in spite of the travails and heartaches of last year’s awful anti-Jewish shootings. Bondi is still Bondi.
Inevitably though, silly property prices aren’t a friend to creativity or bohemianism. Or literary verve — the kind you’ll find at Gertrude & Alice Cafe Bookstore on Hall Street (a last reminder of counter-culture Bondi, it was one of the inspirations for our ill-fated rom-com).
An ideal way to make Bondi mindful again is via a session with Ryan Der of Love, Ryan Ceramics, who teaches pottery classes as well as making his own work. His introduction to wheel-throwing, a ten-minute walk from the apartment down the coastal path in Tamarama Point, teaches the basics of centering and throwing clay. Der’s style is to focus on slow, tactile, hand-thrown clay pieces that celebrate small marks, curves and natural imperfections. A magic morning by the ocean.