A Barney in Bali--Day 9, 16JUNE2011 THU

     After yesterday morning’s Barney beat down, I really wanted to redeem myself by getting some good rides. In the evening the tide was drained out. We checked out a different spot called in Berawa. Randy told me that the spot can get crowded, but I underestimated his warning. As we pulled up I noticed that the break is in front of a resort. A mass of motorbikes were parked in the area. When we walked out to see the break, a lot of guys from Canggu were there checking it out too; the same Aussie rippers that I’ve seen tearing up the sand bar. I didn’t want to pull out my camera because I would’ve been taking pics right in front of everyone. I have to pick and choose good times to play tourist, and I didn’t feel like that was one of them. I saw a thick crowd waiting for one peak that didn’t seem to break. To our right, there was a consistent right hander going off at a solid three to four feet. It looked fun, but it was awfully packed. The shoulder was clean and peeled all the way into a channel, but for some reason, there were a lot of guys caught on the inside. It looked dangerous out there with so many people in the way. Over the crowd, we checked out Tugu, and the low tide shut the place down. We ended up at Canggu overlooking the sand bar. There were ten people out despite the conditions. Burgers was dead flat, and River Mouth wasn’t holding shape. I opted not to fight the crowd for that one peak that was working, but we watched it and saw some guys get fast little three foot barrels.

     After yesterday I realized that I just want uncrowded surf. I don’t care about overhead waves or barrels at this point. Just beat the crowd, that’s all I want to do. Get a couple waves to myself without it being a constant battle, like how we scored Nusa Dua my first surf there. Even in Cali, I don’t mind scoring a spot where the surf isn’t as good, just so long as I don’t have to deal with the crowd.


The Tour:


     I open my eyes and check my watch--0551. Randy’s making tea, and we go over the morning options. The wind is dead. We discuss Canggu or a gamble on Sanur. Desperate to get away from the crowds, I support the gamble.

     On the back of the bike I’m watching the trees for any signs of wind. I hope for no wind at all. Half way there, Randy points out some roadside banners that are flapping full stream.

     “Look at the wind,” he says.

     We pull over; I’m bummed. He continues: “Do you wanna keep going?”

      "It’s gonna be windy like this in Sanur?”

     “Yeah. . . . The tide is high right now, so it’s either we go back to Canggu and surf fat, clean waves, or we surf uncrowded waves like this.” He’s referring to the wind.

     I think about the crowds and how I’m dying to find something new. The gamble seems so worth it to find surf to ourselves. “Nah, lets keep going,” I reply.

     It’s my first time in Sanur. Everything is new: the highway, the shops, the landscape, and the community on the way. We pass through the town ceremony. Something smells mighty good.

     “It’s probably goat,” says Randy.

     He told me the night before that these spots are secret, so I can’t name them. Just short of the spot, we are halted by a closed gate.

     “That wasn’t there before,” says Randy. “Fuck . . . how’s that? Take a picture of that shit.”



     I reach for my camera. We park and walk the beach route for a look. The wind is strong onshore, and the gamble . . . was a complete loss. The wind could be manageable, but the swell is nonexistent on this side of the island. He points out where the peaks usually are. I snap photos. An island in the distance reminds of the view from my hometown Napili where Lanai and Molokai seem a swim away. Despite the negative surf, I’m still stoked for the experience to have seen something new.




     On the way back we stop at a different Dunkin’ Donuts and shoot the shit over some morning java. The following conversation ensues.


The Western Effects:


     Randy points out the Balinese programming on the TV. The woman is light skinned, so is her male counterpart.

     I say, “It’s kind of like Mexican TV, huh? They show the lighter skinned people.” I sip my coffee. “Like how on Mexican programming they show chicks with the blonde hair, light skin, or more Spanish features.”
Randy nods his head, drinks his coffee.

     I continue, “There’s irony on how cultures complain how they’ve been vanquished by invaders, but look who they put on TV. That’s not how the indigenous people look like.”

     “Well, they are getting more western here; looking western is a sign of wealth.”

     “That sucks . . . eventually their culture will get watered down too.”

     Done with a sip, Randy sets down his coffee. “I’ll have to disagree.” He turns and looks at the street. “In Hawaii where do you see the culture?”

     I laugh. “At the luaus . . . the hotels.”

     “Yeah, exactly, and over here I see in every town they still do their religious offerings. They still wear their cultural clothes and do their practices. In every town, I see them making offerings to the shrines. It’s part of their religion, and religion is strong here.”

     I make the connection in my head. He’s right in a sense. The Balinese can still adopt aspects of western culture but still hold true to their beliefs and practices. Just as easy as they can change into western clothing, they can also return home and continue their same practices that they’ve been doing for generations. And I’ve seen this. I’ve seen the festivals, the offerings at the shrines, villagers dressed in traditional garb, and all this just on the way to surf.

     I say, “So they have a religious ideology. . . . The culture will stay strong because they have to practice it.”

     “Yeah, like take Hawaii for example. You don’t see them wearing the lava-lavas.”

     “And they don’t worship their old gods. Now it’s just commercial . . . entertainment. Luaus, at the hotels; it’s just folkore . . . stories, hula dancers at the airport.”

     Randy gives further examples of how the Balinese culture is “in your face.” The topic ends on his final note: “And that’s why I love this place.”


Wet Season VS Dry Season:


     We also talk about surf conditions and why we’ve been sticking to Canggu. Right now Bali is in its dry season. During the dry season, the spots on the eastern half of the island get blown out, such as Nusa Dua, Sanur, and a couple other secret spots I was shown days ago and today. My very first surf session, we scored at Nusa Dua. It turns out that that was never supposed to happen. The winds were supposed to be on it, but on that fine day, I guess the surf gods wanted me to surf there. Ever since then, Nusa Dua and the other spots we’ve been gambling on have been torn by the wind.

     Uluwatu is protected. What do you think of when you hear the word Uluwatu? For me, I think of old surf footage, uncrowded surf, and left hand barrels. According to my brother, it’s a fuckin’ scene over there; it’s jam packed to full capacity. We discussed checking it out before I leave. That is one spot that if I don’t surf, I at least have to see it.

     So . . . where does that leave me? My only options are crowded Ulus, the beach breaks along Kuta and Seminyak, Berawa, Tugu, and Canggu. Or, there are places that would probably land me in a hospital because they are too gnarly for me. Besides the latter, Canggu breaks the best out of all of them, so Canggu is what I‘ll mostly be surfing. My first impression of Bali was that uncrowded spots like Nusa Dua would be a given, but I’d have to be here during the wet season for that.

     I’ve heard it, it was hard to believe, but it’s true: Bali is crowded. Imagine El Porto on a crowded day, but almost everyone’s Aussie, and they all fuckin’ RIIIIP. Even the chicks and little kids will put you to shame. Well, that is if you’re a Barney, a Bali Barney.


Message Overkill:


     We have a late start surfing because of the morning’s gamble. It’s about noon, the sun is roasting everything, and the wind is up. I can see Burgers working, and there’s only a couple people out. River Mouth . . . why do I even bother talking about Rivers? It’s packed, and guys are putting on a clinic over there, most of them are young bucks; I’ll never surf it. The sand bar seems to be working, but there are people there. Randy says that he’s “over” Burgers, he’s surfing the sand bar, but that I should just surf Burgers. I tell him I can surf the sand bar, but I’ve never had a good session there, so he’s right.

     At The Burger there’s that same guy that I was in a paddle battle with yesterday. I paddle out, he catches a right, and I go for a left. The left doesn’t hold; it closes out. Since the ride is short, I’m in the impact zone over the rocks . . . those damn rocks and whatever else is down there that’s waiting for me to step on. Motherfucker. The waves aren’t that big, but they are a little lined and fat from the post high tide. Well, who am I kidding? I don‘t know what scale to use anymore. I should switch to: easy, could get your ass kicked, beatings, guaranteed beatings, and suicide. It’s a Bali three feet, the water’s choppy, the wind is howling, the current pulls north, and there’s a rip; it’s unclean funky surf. I duck dive the next wave of the set, I get knocked back, I feel the rocks, I pick up my feet, starfish, get back on my board, and the next wave comes. I do the underwater boogaloo again and take two more before the set’s over.

     I thought my humbling session was yesterday, but apparently Canggu’s not done with me. I got the message already, but it’s still being beaten into me. I decide not to go for the lefts anymore; I stick to the rights.

     The first right is my only solid wave. The wind makes the wave break weird, it stands up as the top is crumbling, I choose a high line to make the section, bottom turn, and get one good top turn. From there, my wave bogs out, and it reforms into a building section in front of me, but the peak forms way ahead.

     There’s people parked near by, and I’m the lab rat for their decision to surf or not. I put on a dismal performance. I have a couple decent wipeouts. I think to myself if there was such a thing as wipeout surf porn, I’d be sponsored.

     I don’t even care about the details for the rest of the session. The other guy left after my first wave. Alone in the water, I have a lot of time to sit and think about everything. It’s probably pretty lame to read this, but I have to write the truth. It’s easy for the reader to say, “What a pussy, just get out there and surf.” Do you want to know the truth? I’ve gotten away with a lot surfing Porto, HB, DMJ, Churches, and Trestles. I’ve been able to have a half-ass duckdive, get pounded on the sand, shake it off, and keep on paddling. At Trestles, I’ve been able to ride forgiving gradual waves that let me make one or two mistakes before regaining composure. But this . . . this is all new. I’ve never been pounded by waves while there’s reef, sea urchin, and rocks to get dragged across. Okay, there’s cobblestones at Trestles, but that’s totally different. I had the dream of coming here to get barreled. OMG, really? What the fuck was I thinking? Barrels aren’t happening, at least not on this trip. I’m sure I’ll see barrels, but not from within them.

     Still, out there, I paddle, fight the current, sit, wait for a wave, think, question my identity. Does every surfer go through this at some point?

     I surf The Burg for a good solid hour. Walking back to the bike, the river mouth is giving good rights. Groms, they’re pumping and doing airs at the end of the wave, 360s even. We ride back to the pad, clean up a bit, and go out for Japanese food in town. It doesn’t occur to me to take a picture.

     This is a lot to take in. I‘m not the surfer I thought I was. Do I want fun waves, or do I want the ability to have fun on waves? The line is blurring.