Gimme: Julia Roberts’ $30 million Hanalei Bay spread!

Two-acres of the primest surf-soaked land in the world…

Hanalei Bay is a two-mile stretch of white sand beach with a righthand point in its northern corner that’ll hold fifteen feet and then some. In the middle of the long crescent of sand is the beachbreak, Pine Trees, famous for turning two poor local boys, Andrew and Bruce Irons, into two of the world’s greatest surfers.

Yesterday it was revealed that the Oscar-winning actor Julia Roberts has put her Kauai estate, which features an historic 100-year-old house once owned by the sugar baron Peter Fayé, on the market for the precise figure of $$29,850,000.

An astute investor who has other holdings on Kauai, Ms Julia bought the swinging crib for $14 million in 2011, five mill less than the asking price at the time.

She ain’t alone, celeb-wise, on the island. Kung Fu movie star Chuck Norris, Mark Zuckerberg (Creepbook) and Oakley founder James Jannard (Thermonuclear!) are all in or around Hanalei. So, too, are some of the most vocally local surfers in the world. You heard of the Wolfpak? It was born in Kauai, 2001. (Click here to read!)

What might surprise about the crib is how far it sits back from the beachfront.

Julia Roberts house Kauai


Like, you throw 30-mill at something, you want to be able to see the ocean from your bed, yeah? According to a history of the estate (click here), a tidal wave struck the home in 1957 and shoved it back to the center of the property. The top of the home remained intact and the cottage was built from the wreckage while crews were rebuilding the bottom floor.

Julia Roberts house Kauai

Right now, and presumably even afterward whomever buys, you can rent the joint at $1500 a night for the main house and $350 for the little cottage on the property.

John john Florence topless
Breasts like attack dogs! So much fit! | Photo: Morgan Maassen

Revealed: World Surf League demolishes ripe male bodies!

Male nipples "too bold", too "commercially difficult…"

Some time ago, the noted Chas Smith wrote, “The male bosom is a thing of wonder. It is, first, more varied than its female counterpart. It can be hard as chiseled stone or as soft as a grandmother’s love. It can be a jungle of wild growth or as smooth as R. Kelly. Its nipple, never or rarely hidden from sight, doesn’t hold the fascination to a life-giving teat, but its openness invites scrutiny.”

More importantly, he wrote that it is a “a window into man’s soul. The male breast that is voluptuous, for example, hides a lifetime of torment. Its bearer has cowered in locker rooms, gymnasiums, trysts. Its bearer shies away from mirrors and warm summer’s days, carrying an inordinate amount of shame. The male breast that is Luke Stedman (hollow or chicken) represents all the mountains in the world. Its bearer has climbed to great heights with an obvious and visible flaw, though not as obvious and visible as voluptuousness. Its bearer has become someone despite a giant warning sign hovering right over his heart. And if he has not become someone? His poor heart has no protection and thus forgiveness is expected. The male breast that is Dwayne “The Rock” Johnston is a victory in genetic lottery. Its bearer has as easy road. Spring break? Yes, please. Spills in restaurants? Don’t mind if I simply remove my shirt. But does the easy road properly a man make? Is the pinnacle of male perfection really just a millstone that sucks a fragile, half-baked soul to the bottom?”

Finally, he said, “It is amusing. What is the purpose of the male bosom? Is it an evolutionary mistake? Does it somehow highlight the existence of a humor-filled creator? Endless metaphysical discussions swirl around the hirsute areola. Surfers, and especially professional, bear their breasts for a living. What do these tits say? What secrets do they hold?”

Lately, the World Surf League has demolished the ripe male bodies of professional surfers by eliminating nipples in photographs; each rider struck down by a flesh-eating disease that concentrates its virus on the sensitive pigmented brown skin of the breast and the projecting papilla.

Where are Adriano's magic sparks? Mick's slightly awesome pink buds?
Where are Adriano’s magic sparks? Mick’s slightly awesome pink buds?


Where are John John Florence’s nipples like attack dogs?

Where are Gabriel’s brave little macaroons?

Where are teenage Filipe’s soft plums, those mysterious, awesome, indescribably magnificent protuberances?

Is this the desolate cry of equality? Or some dreadful sin-guilt neurosis?

“Everyone says sex is obscene,” the writer Henry Miller said. “The only true obscenity is war.”

See full topless nudes here.

And read Chas’ full essay here. 


Dirk Ziff and Katie Holmes
There's something gorgeous about WSL owner Dirk Ziff (right), the almost 50-year-old billionaire from New York City. Did you know his grandparents back in Germany helped save Jews from Nazis and were subsequently declared "Righteous Among the Nations"? (An honorific Israel used to honour non-Jews who risked their own lives being violently extinguished in order to save the country's hunted Jews.) Oh, and how cute does Katie Holmes look here! What a figure! | Photo: WSL

Is the owner of WSL a saint?

All that slander about "ecological terrorist" etc… it ain't true, maybe!

Dirk Ziff, the man who owns the WSL, used to also own a shale concession in Australia that had potential to do mass damage to the Great Barrier Reef. We discussed this hot news last week, pointing to a wonderfully written story by Craig Braithwaite in The FreeRide Voice. I quietly wondered, whilst sipping a Stolichnaya and Reed’s Extra Ginger Brew, if Mr. Ziff was, in fact, an ecological terrorist.

But how rude! How yellow!

Did the Stolichnaya perhaps steal my sense because guess what? Dirk Ziff sold his stake in that ugly business in August, quietly doing the Lord’s work and not destroying our earth. BeachGrit even received exclusive information from a powerful industry insider (maybe the most powerful!) claiming that Mr. Ziff sold his stake with “zero gain to himself.”

Those oil and gas holdings were valued at 1.2 billion United States dollars. Could it be possible, might it be probable, that Dirk Ziff is, in fact, a saint?

Trust BeachGrit to get to the bottom of this developing story. Do you know what else pairs particularly well with Stolichnaya? Grape juice. It is like an irreverent take on fine red wine.

Click here for story! 

Carissa Moore wins Rip Curl Pro! But…Steph!

And under such a wet sun and dishevelled sky!

Under a wet sun and dishevelled skies, and to the violin sob of a sturdy onshore wind, Carissa Moore won this year’s Rip Curl Pro. It was her third Bells win in as many years (the first time for a woman) and is her second win in a row this season, come to think of it, her third win in a row since last year’s event in Maui.

Oh, Carissa was highly polished. Forget the hiccups between moves and jump-y half turns that sting the viewer’s eyes.

Stephanie Gilmore was even more of a thrill to watch than Carissa, each turn as beautiful as the opening of a rare flower. When will the Gold Coast shaper Darren Handley swing back into vogue? Yesterday Mick Fanning appeared to swish along the raggy waves with a destructive and ravenous ease.

Highlights? Yeah, there were some. Here, take this from the WSL press release about the final.

“Gilmore opened up strong in the Final, posting an excellent 8.77 for typically smooth and concise surfing, linking together a series of turns and backing it up with a 4.50 for the initial lead. The Hawaiian fought back with an 8.00 of her own to turn the heat and claim the lead, holding priority through the closing minutes and taking the win with just two waves ridden.Gilmore, the reigning WSL Champion, has rung the Bell three times. First she went back-to-back in 2007 and 2008, facing Sofia Mulanovich on both occasions. The pair matched up again in the Final in 2010 and Gilmore took the win. The runner-up finish for Gilmore today, her second of the year, sees her remain in second place on the rankings.“Every single year it gets harder and harder to win these events,” Gilmore said. “It’s a real testament to all the girls on tour and just how much work and time they put out in the surf. I’m really proud to make it to the Final.”


“Carissa is always a tough one to beat,” continued Gilmore. “We have had a great battle for the world title the last few years and every single heat with her is hard. Thanks everyone for coming to watch. I love this event, I love coming down here, rugging up and trying to ring the bell.”

Can you feel the drama?

But what do you make of it, this contest, with its two-week waiting period, that turned into such a melancholy waltz. Is it further proof  that the tour must be cleaved in two again, between women and men, and that the numbers must be radically sharpened? A dozen or 16 men; six or eight women?

And is it right that Kelly Slater is forced to defend his great legacy in the worst waves the tour has since he first joined it 24 years ago? It ain’t right to watch the Champ jerking back and forth, moving his weight from one foot to the other, to try and gas a little speed on two-foot waves.

That kinda shit doesn’t do any of us any good.

Huff Post says: Date a surfer!

Or how I learned to stop worrying and love the bomb.

Huffington Post writers love to think about surfing when they are not thinking about founder and inspiration Arianna’s accent and/or changing political position. They write about Laird, Ron Jon, the spirituality of surfing and the deliciously healthy pancakes that surfers eat for breakfast. Quite basically, the Huffington Post is The Inertia. Their most recent, thought stirring pieces are “Yogis and Surfers Are Most Attractive On Online Dating Sites – Here’s Why” followed closely by “15 Reasons You Should Never Date A Surfer.”

The seven reasons you should date a surfer are:

-driven but non-competitive

-live/travel to beautiful places

-great bods

-attack their days


-embrace nature



The fifteen reasons you should not are:

-you come in second

-their idea of dressing up is shirt and pants

-you become a surf widow

-no quality time at the beach

-they are shit bags

-act like forever 16


-incessant talk about Kelly Slater and the WSL (?)




-but at the end you really should date one because they are mellow

Aside from the cliched writing, it is silliness because if you really and truly surf, then you know “surfers” is far too broad a category. For every dreamy Cyrus Sutton there are the way way too many 40+ men who surfs next to me on aged shit surfboards, rotund bellies pushing neoprene to its max, drooling, loudly, about whatever else fills their meaningless lives. And for every 40+ there is the Insta kid standing on Ponce Inlet beach, WaveStorm under arm going on a #hangloose #surfer #surferdude #soultraining #ripping #instagood #instashred #like4like #follow4follow frenzy.

Nothing makes a surfer except surfing. Anyone can do it and its democratic nature makes me happy sometimes (when I’m surfing alone/with Derek Rielly) and angry sometimes (when I can’t paddle fast enough to beat the 40+ for waves). We are a tribe of 1.6 billion and if you want to date one, who knows what’s going to show up at your door!

P.S. The other day a Cadillac honked at me because it thought I was in the way. I was not. I got out of my car and charged up to his window. It was a 75 year old Indian man. I said, “Why the fuck did you honk?” He said, “I did not see what you were trying to do.” I said, “Never honk at me again. Ever.” And then turned and walked away. He tried to mumble something and I charged back up to his window and said, “Do you want me to pull you out of this car and kick your ass?” He was a 75 year old Indian man. He had his 8 year old grandson in the passenger seat. He looked horrified, said, “No” and drove away.

Mellow my motherfucking ass.