A Barney in Bali--Day 25 (double sesh), 02JULY2011 SAT

My First Legit Floater:


    It’s noon, which means it’s time to paddle out. I tell Randy that I’m only going out for an hour, so he decides to wait. The crowd at Froggy’s and the other warungs are starting to fill up. The white sand beach is filled with both locals and tourists. It’s a beautiful day that draws everyone out and about. High tide already peaked, so it’s going out fairly rapidly, but it’s still kind of high. I paddle out not expecting much. I don’t remember my first couple rides, but what I do remember is paddling back to the line and being in someone’s way as he’s dropping in on a wave. I try to steer left, and there’s room for him to make his drop without incident, but he’ll have to miss me by a foot. His drop is too vertical, and he falls forward. Expecting a collision, I go under and brace for the impact. We miss each other, but it’s close. I apologize to him, and he instead comments on his wipe out, oblivious that I’d feel any fault at all. This is another sign to me. I remember how I got pissed off at that one guy who was in my way; I need to stop doing that.

    As I’m sitting in the line up there’s a long lull. I look down, and see what looks like a big, bright, orange-brown, nugget like, mud chunk floating in front of me, right on top of my board. “Motherfucker,” I say out loud. Someone’s taking a shit in the line up. There’s a floater right in front of me, just chillin’ . . . marinating. I think about grabbing my camera, but as I’m looking at it, brown water is dissolving off of it and mixing in the water. I splash it away and paddle somewhere else instead. It is a pretty massive floater though, it would make a great picture capturing the moment, but its slimy texture and oily trails turn me off.


A Godsend:


    The way that the session is going, I’m not expecting much. Guys at the top of the wave are getting most of the waves, and I’m at the bottom hoping for a set that is too fast for their break. A set appears in the distance, and it’s a nice bump considering the lack of swell. Somehow, everyone on the inside doesn’t have position, the peak is too lined at the top, and the bottom has the shoulder. I paddle past the shoulder to catch it a little deep, and my timing‘s perfect. The wave is fast, but it’s opening up beautifully. The wave seems to be curling the whole ride. I imagine that Randy is watching, so I get a little loose. My knees are bent to feel the board on the wave, my arms move in sync with my legs on each pumping motion, and I’m surfing with the rail set the whole time. I try to emulate Andy Irons on “High Five” as he’s pumping down the line, but instead I’m going frontside and don’t have a barrel. I’m drawing the right lines, going high before the lip can start to break. A surfer on the inside doesn’t expect anyone to be on it. I see him paddling about to drop in, I let out a loud “WOOOOOOOOOOOOH!,“ and he backs out. I see I’m over shallow reef, I do a cutback but take too long to redirect, so the section leaves without me. It’s still a long ass ride; I’m past the channel and in front of the last warung.

    Talk about a wave that made the whole day. I’m stoked, taking a long paddle back to the bottom of the wave again. I turn around, but it’s hard to make out Randy from the distance. It looks like he’s watching, so I throw a shaka and keep going.

    I hate to say this. I know I said that I’d kill the ego, but it’s hard at times because there are crowds watching from the shore. They are either on the beach chairs, or watching the surf while the eat and drink. Every time someone has a good wave, everyone sees it. There’s a couple “hoots” and “hollers” that gets everyone’s attention, signaling them to look out. It’s not an epic day, but I have to say that I got one of the better waves of the day. It’s vain, but I’m not perfect, so I wonder if my ride got any honorable mentions or not.



  
    After that wave, it’s hard to get another ride to live up to it. My last wave is a close out which drags me towards the inside. For the first time today, I feel the reef under my feet, so I decide to play it safe. My session’s just under an hour, but I got a damn good ride, and I feel that I’m ending everything on a good note. I catch the white wash to shore and go up to Randy. “Did you see my long ass ride?” I ask.

    “Oh, noooo, I didn’t. I was talking to Chad.”

    Oh well. I laugh a little. It would’ve been nice to get that validation from him if he saw it, but the memory ingrained in my mind is all that counts.

Tearin' up that coconut!

The Misadventure:


    On the way home, Randy shows me the shortcut how to get back to my motel which unfortunately involves going the wrong way down a one way street. The locals do it, so . . . I guess it’s expected. Once we get to the motel, he says he’s gonna find somewhere to eat. I recommend Tree House Café since the price is right. He agrees.

Unflattering view in front of the cafe

    We sit at the counter, people watch, and shoot the shit. The food in the afternoon isn’t as good as it was last night. The gado gado portions are a bit smaller, so I feel kind of bad for the call I made.

    I’m out of rupiah and only have a hundred dollar bill that I need to exchange. Randy gives me directions on where to go before we part ways, so I pack up my laptop, plan on exchanging my money, and then hitting Chat Café in Seminyak.

    Too bad I didn’t pay close enough attention when listening to his directions because I’m not able to find it. I say fuck it and head towards the other legit currency exchange place on the way to Canggu. Traffic is a little thick, so I’m stressing, shaking my head, and cursing at the gridlock which engulfs me. I’m on Sunset Road at the intersection by the gas station. The light turns green, my back tire gets squirrelly, so I pull over to the shoulder to check it out. Fuck my ass, It’s a flat tire.



   I’m not sure what to do. I sit back on the bike, exhale, take a deep breath, relax, and absorb the situation. The gas station across the street has no mechanic, but it’s rush hour traffic anyway, how am I gonna get to the other side with a flat tire? I have no phone and can’t contact Randy. I pull out the paperwork for the bike which has a phone number and address. What the fuck am I gonna do with this? I look behind me and contemplate on going back to Kuta. If only I was there . . . I’d be up the street from the guy, and he could take care of it. There’s no fucking way. Traffic is way too brutal. All that bumper to bumper traffic, and I’ll be holding everyone up, fuck no. If I only had a phone. There’s another thought. I could find a repair shop, but what’s the going price for fixing a flat? It’s obvious that I’m bule. I imagine myself getting ripped off, finding out it actually costs pennies, and then hating myself for it later. I need to get to Randy.

    I’m not sure how far I am from Randy’s house, I know how to get there, and if anything it’ll just take some walking. I ride the soft shoulder and park in front of a local business. I lock up the bike and start to walk, but as I look at the shoulder I realize that I can drive a little further. I go back, grab the bike, and ride on the side of the road with the flat tire. I go as far as I can until I see a traffic light ahead. That’s not going to be safe, I think to myself. I park the bike again, walk, and realize that the intersection is where Chat Café is. People driving by watch me, as I’m clearly out of place walking the highway. I ride the shoulder again and wait for traffic to clear before I push forward. There’s loose gravel on the shoulder, and a woman on her moped takes a spill, the left side of her body skids across the rocks. She wasn’t going very fast, but it’s startling, and enough to stop traffic. A couple locals help her. She struggles to kickstart her bike, but she seems fine.


 
   I finally make it to Chat Café, but I still have no money to repair the flat. I start on foot into Seminyak’s shopping district to find a money changer. Randy just told me to ONLY go to legit, authorized money changers, that’s why he gave me specific directions on which one to go to. He said that a lot of the money changers will either charge commission or shortchange you, keeping some of your money for themselves. I look like a straight up foreigner, the way I used to look at tourists in Lahaina; I’m perfect bait.

Seminyak, a very nice town in Bali.

    Another problem with changing out the money is that I don’t know what the rate’s been like lately, so I’m reluctant to change my money at the first place I see. I pass currency listings that read 8450, 9901, 9950, etc. Anything in the 9900 range seems too good to be true. I walk so far that I’m deep in Seminyak, and I still haven’t found a legit establishment. The sun’s low but in my face, sweat beads off of my oily face, my shirt is soaked with sweat, and I got this laptop banging on my back with every step I take. I see money changer signs that claim no commission, but the arrow pointing to their locations are always down some empty alley. When I look down them, I see two fellows waiving me to come down. They look shady, so I keep walking. In desperation, I see one of these small money changers that some Asian tourists just finished using. I’m thinking, All right, some people just used it, they should be legit, and they’re on the street, not in some alley. The rate is 9450. I walk up. There are two fellows working the wooden booth. “You guys charging commission?“ I ask.

    “No, no commission,” the guy says. He whips out his calculator and asks how much.

    “One hundred,” I tell him. He does the calculations, shows me the calculator. It reads 945000. He asks for the money, but I ask for the rupiah first. I’m not liking this. His helper pulls out a wad full of 20000 bills, I have my hundred in hand, he tries to exchange it with me, but I ask him to count it first.

    “Twenty thousand, forty, sixty, eighty, one hundred thousand. . . .” He goes on, he’s watching me, I’m watching the money, I’m wondering if I’ve lost count and if his hands are quicker than my eyes; I’m fuckin’ vulnerable and desperate right now. He counts all the way up to 945000. I tell myself that I’m just being a paranoid tourist, that not all these guys are crooks, and that I need to stop judging people. “Where are you from?” The main guy asks. We have a little small talk about Hawaii, I grab the money, comment on the weather, thank them, and walk a little down the street. I’m so naïve and trusting that I feel ashamed to recount the money in front of them, so I wait until I’m away.

    I count, “Two, four, six, eight, one hundred. Two, four, six, eight, two hundred. . . .” I do this two times over, and I only have 645,000. I feel violated. I turn around, go back, tell him that I’m supposed to have 945,000.

    He smiles calmly and says, “No, we gave you 20000 bills. You have the money.”

    I wonder if I got the count wrong. I say, “Okay,” turn around, count the money three times over again, realize I’m not having a mathematical stupor, go back, and tell him that I only have 600,000. I whip out the wad and start counting out in front of him.

    He hands me back my hundred and says, “Okay, you can change your money somewhere else.” He takes his money back, but he looks pissed off like I’m an accusatory asshole.

    I keep walking until I find a place that actually has a counter with a guy behind some glass. The rate is 8450. He gives me a receipt; it’s a legit spot.

Scoop of ice cream in there

     I walk all the way back towards Chat Café, but I stop at Bali Delhi because their coffee leigois drink is the shit. I sit down and e-mail Randy my situation. I chat with Lauren for a little bit, but Randy sends me an e-mail stating that there is a bengkel (repair shop) right across the street, it should only cost 20000, and I need to get there before they close. I say bye to Lauren, and ride there, flat tire and all. I’m so grateful that they’re open. The Balinese guy has obviously done this a million times before, and he takes out his tools to start the work. Randy pulls up on his motorcycle to check on me. I tell him everything, and then I’m lectured on what I should have done: ask the locals how much this repair is, ask where the nearest Bengkel is, and he also rips me a new asshole for going to the shady money changers. He has a field day with this, but I don’t care. Instead, I see that my brother is there to check on me to make sure I’m all right. He talks to the mechanic to make sure I don’t get ripped off. He gets the repair down to 10000 rupiah, which is a buck and some change.  

Bengkel

On With the Show:

Because I can

After the afternoon’s events, I’m pretty drained. I ride across the street to Chat Café on my fixed tire, post a couple blogs, and head back to Kuta. I drive through the nightlife and witness it in full effect. The bars are packed, chicks are crossing the street, going back and forth from them everywhere. Taxi mopeds carry drunk Aussies in front of me, they’re drunk, and they’re shouting at every girl we drive by. Even through traffic is thick, it’s moving at a steady pace. I zip through Poppies 1 and still get passed by the moped taxi guys; they know how to drive.

    Back at my room I rinse off and look for some dinner. I decide to gamble on the Thai warung that my brother recommended. The Garden restaurant is next door, there’s a live band, they’re playing 80s rock, and the lead singer’s pretty damn good. I order the ice papaya drink. When it arrives, there’s no fucking ice in it. It’s good, but it’s warm, not what I hoped for. I order the spring roll appetizer. They are fried, small, but cheap. I actually hoped it would be like the Vietnamese ones. I order the chicken pad Thai. When I ordered it in Seminyak there was too much sauce. This place serves it too dry.

     It’s a small warung, but I enjoy the music next door, and I take in the atmosphere. Mopeds and cars go by at a slow speed, a headlight spots me here and there, an Aussie walks along with two giggling Balinese chicks, two older guys meet up at The Garden and exchange greetings like they haven’t seen each other in years. Despite everything that’s happened today, I’m all right, and still see it all as an experience.

  


    My bill is only 45000 rupiah, which comes out to $5.32 US. Not bad for an appetizer, main course, and a drink. I buy some water at the mini mart, go back to the hotel, try to write, but I’m too tired. It's an exhausting day in paradise.