A Barney in Bali--Day 28, 05JULY2011 TUE

Decisions:


    Last night I stayed out until around two in the morning. I had to post my blogs at Chat Café. I decided to take the scenic route home through the city. I took the tourist roads from Seminyak to the surf ghetto. I ended up on Poppies 2 searching for Poppies 1. I never found it, but what I did find was random alley way bars, drunk chicks walking around, drunk guys that could barely walk, and a bunch of shady Balinese guys lurking in the shadows. It was eerie. I was a little lost, and I was putting off the energy that I didn’t know where I was driving. It’s one thing to cruise around during the day, but at night the animals come out to play.

    I wake up at 0630. My body needs more rest, but it’s been used to waking up around this time. My board repair won’t be done until 1000 anyway, so I sleep until 0900. I force myself out of bed, take a cold shower since there’s no hot water, and eat breakfast at the hotel which is a rarity.

    There’s a surf group traveling together, and they’re eating at the table next to me. They’re from America, some from Hawaii, and there are guys and girls. They are talking about how much they love Bali, and how there are no whores here like Thailand. It’s kind of like what my brother said. The girl that’s talking says that they pray and do offerings here, not prostitute themselves. It’s an interesting thought to start the morning. I kill off my coffee, watermelon, toast, jam, and eggs. I walk to BK to say hi to Wulan. She doesn’t see me approaching, so I start doing a funky dance behind her until she turns around. She jumps, I startle her, it’s a success. I give my morning greetings and walk to Kuta beach for a look at the surf.

    It’s not great, but it’s better than the last time. The tide is at mid height. I see Citri taking photos for BK. Luzda is giving some guy some surf lessons, which means he’s pushing some guy into some whitewash waves. Luzda cheers for every wave the guys gets, one footers, wipeouts, and all. I wonder if Luzda is truly stoked or if this is just a routine for him. Either way, it’s funny. Citri returns to BK, I say hi as she passes by, and I ponder on the day’s call.

    I hate driving in traffic, that’s why I love trying to start my sessions here early. That way, I only catch traffic on the way home at least. Yesterday’s board damage put a wrench in my plans. By the time I get it, it will be 1000, and I’m going to catch the worst traffic on the way home. Where should I surf? Randy suggested that I explore Uluwatu today. The swell is dying even more tomorrow, and if I want to surf it with some size, then I have to do it now. I think about the possible crowds there, I’ve never been there, and I’d be on a solo monkey hunt. Or I could just play it safe, surf Kuta, stay local, and just surf Ulus tomorrow . . . when it’s smaller.

    I go to the board repair shop, they are still working on it, so I tell them I’ll come back. I go to my room and contemplate some more. Fifteen minutes later my board is done. They do good work, and it’s only 50,000 rupiah for the three dings that they sealed. On the way back to the hotel, the surf group is in the lobby packed up and ready to leave. I need to buy some water from the front desk. As I approach this guy asks, “How was it?” All eyes meet me.

    I turn while holding my board and say, “I didn’t surf today. I just got a repair. It got dinged yesterday at Nusa Dua.”    

    He asks me where I’m from. Turns out he’s an Oahu transplant from Barstow. We talk about the ice problem on the islands, I buy my water, and go up to my room.

    The guy next door asks, “Hey, brah, how were the waves today?”

    I go through the whole rigormorrig again. He and his roommate are on their way to Balangan tomorrow. I tell them everything I know about the spot, and they thank me. It’s a good feeling to actually have some knowledge on the spots here. I’m no Bali master, but I know more than they do; I’m not as green as I was when I first arrived.

    Back at my room I’m still wondering what to do. A decision needs to be made fast. Kuta . . . it’s the easy route, a no brainer.



Adventure Time:
 

    I can’t stay in Kuta all day. Just being in the streets, the whole surf ghetto atmosphere is interesting, but I need to get away. I pack up my things, secure my surf racks, mount my poor excuse for a stallion, and weave through the crowds on Poppies 1. I’m going to Uluwatu goddamit!

    As I’m driving I’m wondering if this is a wise decision. I’m close to going home, I’ve survived the trip, and it wouldn’t be a bad call to play it safe and go home in one piece. But there’s always that sense of the unknown. I know I’m going to hit traffic, I’m going to be in crowded surf, and it’s going to be stressful trying to find my way there. But still . . . I’m dumping the throttle and racing forward to do something I’ve never done before.

    The gas station around the corner is closed, so I have to fill up at the Bukit. I’m surprised at how light traffic is, and then I remember that Wulan told me tomorrow is an Indonesian holiday; people are already preparing for their day off. I still can’t relax. Every time I do, there’s always that one turn where I see a mile of cars, bumper to bumper.

    The way to Uluwatu is just like the route to Balangan, with the exception of a couple different turns at the end, and it‘s longer. I pull into the gas station. There’s a long line of bule, so I pull to the empty pump, but the attendant sends me back over with the foreigners. The locals pull up to her pump; they take care of their own, and I can’t blame them. My tank’s full, I continue my route, and I pass the right turn that I usually make to go to Balangan. Randy told me to look for signs that read Blue Point, but I instead follow the signs that say Uluwatu.

    The whole drive is still wide open with just a couple vehicles here and there. I’m still clenched, waiting to hit the sea of traffic, but it doesn’t happen. The whole ride is pleasant. Most of the shops are closed, it’s bright, sunny, high noon gives hard light to all of my surroundings, and the winding roads are canvassed by trees. It’s too good to be true, so I can’t completely let go, there has to be a catch somewhere.

    The road to Uluwatu is idiot proof; there are signs everywhere. I take the road all the way to the end where I find a couple taxis and motorbikes parked. I see a sign that says I need to pay 3,000 to park; Randy already warned me. As I’m waiting to pay, a vendor aggressively tries to sell a tourist some clothes. The tourist woman refuses and says she doesn’t like any of her stuff. An altercation starts, and the vendor who’s an elderly Balinese woman starts yelling, “You bad luck!”

    The tourist says, “Now I’m really glad that I didn’t buy anything from you.”

    I just want to pay my shit and check this place out. I imagined that Uluwatu would be smack dab in my face as soon I pull up, but that’s not the case. I park at the top of the stairs, there’s a valley with thick vegetation that I can’t see through, and I can’t even see down the stairs because they curve away from the lot. I gamble on leaving my board with my bike so I can travel light.

 

    As I turn the corner walking down, there are more stairs. A body boarder is coming up. I ask him how the surf was. He says it was bigger yesterday, and there’s some side shore wind. He sounds French, definitely not Aussie. I thank him for the info and walk down. I can finally make out the water through a little clearing. I walk all the way down where a dry stream bed lies under a bridge. In between the rock formations leading up the side of the mountain, I see the first of the man made structures.

    It’s a narrow path, but to my right are several warungs, they’re built one on top of the other lining the whole cliff. Once I get to higher ground I see it. It’s breathtaking, all that I imagined. I feel the energy of this place. This is Uluwatu. I walk to the last warung at the edge of the cliff for a better look. I can see three peaks working. A set rolls through, it A frames, there are lulls between the sets, it doesn’t look gnarly, the rides are long, and they look fun. There’s only one major problem. I’m watching guys drop in on each other; it’s fucking packed!

The nicer warungs have more people. It’s a show, just like Balangan, but it’s more of a scene here. Everyone’s watching, and you can be recognized on your walk back if you’ve put on a good performance. Whatever this place was when Gerry Lopez first surfed here, it’s definitely not anymore. They’ve capitalized on Ulu’s natural wonders, and now there are gift shops, surf schools, board repair shops, photo shops, and warungs burrowed in on the side of the cliff. I walk back down and search for where to paddle out. It’s like nothing I’ve seen before.

    There are steps that lead even lower to a cave. There’s a hole that leads out to the ocean, a huge rock is right in the middle of it, and water is violently rushing in as a female surfer enters, belly riding her surfboard back in. Two guys have their boards, waiting for the right moment to “hit the hole.”

    The walk back up to the moped is a frickin’ workout. I get back to the top, my board is still there, and I gulp down my water from the hotel. A couple walks out of a taxi and asks where they can stay for cheap. I direct them to Balangan. They thank me and leave. I overhear a father telling his sons to leave their stuff on top and that they’ll get it later. I interrupt him and say, “No, get it now.”

    “Is it a long walk?” he asks.

    I point to the beads of sweat on my tank top and the coat of grease on my arms. He turns to grab his gear.

    I walk back down with all my equipment. One of the photographers recognizes me; he’s one of the guys from Balangan. We exchange a little small talk, and I start my search for a warung. The ones with the best views are all the way at the top, but they are fancy, modern, crowded, and their prices probably reflect that too. I enter one on the lower part of the cliff. It’s empty. An elderly woman is sweeping the floor. “Are you guys open?” I ask.

    “Yes, yes!” she says. “Grab the basket. You can put your stuff.” She points towards the wooden surfboard racks.

    The place is empty, it’s a surprise, but it’s me. I don’t want the crowd. I sit at my table, gaze out at the open ocean, and order fries and an orange juice.

In the Company of Strangers:


    The owner of the warung introduces herself. Her name is Wayan. She asks if I’m from Hawaii. I tell her she’s right.

    She laughs and says, “You almost look Japanese, but your skin, your skin is like mine!”

    She’s sitting at the table next to me as I munch on my fries. We exchange a word or two between sets. My eyes are still fixed on the ocean.

    An Aussie walks in, they both know each other. He says that he’s just there to say hi. He turns to me and introduces himself.     “My name’s Collin,” he says as he offers his hand.

    “Hello, I’m Matt.” I shake it.

    “Good, now that’s two people’s names that I know,” he says. He tells me that he just broke his board paddling back into the cave. He says, “As I entered the cave, I could see the two guys in front of me. They went like this!” He opens his eyes wide while raising his eyebrows. “A wave came out of nowhere! It’s rare that they break inside the cave, but it was going to slam me against the rocks, so it was either me or my board!”

    I’m nodding my head, already freaked out by the site of the cave, Collin isn’t helping. I listen intently.

    He says, “So before I hit the wall, I put up my board like this.” He gestures with his hands, holding both palms facing out and away from him. “And my board just got slammed against the rocks. The whole underside is ripped open, foam sticking out everywhere! It was a brand new board, my first surf with it!”

    I tell him I’m sorry for his troubles, but he says that he lives here, married a local girl, and his boards are at home.

    He tells me that he’ll be up top at the bar and that I should join him later. He says, “I like to watch people miss the cave as they’re paddling back in.”

    I had no idea, but he informs me about the current. Apparently, if you miss the cave, it’s impossible to fight the pull, and you’ll have to go out and around again. This doesn’t sound good.

    I check my watch; it’s time. I have a little bit of Vertra face paint left. I try to use the whole thing but fail. The stick never runs out, I tried to use it all up, and now my face is so white that I look like a geisha.



    I’m bare backing it again. My camera’s in my pocket, and I’m walking down the stairs to the cave. The stairs are steep, and the tide’s even higher. Water is rushing in way beyond the hole. Water sucks out exposing the huge rock then waves crash in. I can’t believe this shit is real. I look to my right and see a kid walking to a board, and wouldn’t ya know, it’s the same grom that I met at Nusa Dua yesterday. I say, “Hey, man, what’s up?! I saw you at Nusas!”

    He returns the same smiling gesture and replies, “Aww roiyt, man, how are ya!?”

    “I’m all right. It’s my first time here, man. I have no idea what I’m doing. I’m following you!”

    His name is Dillon. He gives me some rapid 411 as we walk closer to the hole. He tells me that you don’t really need reef booties here, and at low tide you still barely touch the bottom. We stand and watch the water’s angry fists pound the cave’s entrance.

    “This is the highest I’ve evah seen the tide!” he says. “Aww roiyt, we’ah goin’ ta wait ‘til the water sucks out, then we’ah goin’ ta jump in and let it take us!”

    I can’t move on my own. He moves, I move. Just as we’re about to jump in, we hear a scream from behind us. We turn around, it’s a woman, but we don’t see the woman, we see two tan, bare titties staring right at us. We’re not even at the lineup yet, and we’re already faced with a nice set. I look back at Dillon, he looks at me, and then we look back at the titties. We’ve missed our window. A wave comes in, knocks the both of us backwards, as I almost run into the rock wall to our side. The chick was probably frolicking near the waterline when the wave hit her; it ripped her top right off. They were just there. Nobody planned it, but from the way that the morning went, from the perfect drive on the way over, to the coincidence of running into Dillon at the bottom of this cave . . . did God want us to see these titties? The nipples were short and stubby, like an eraser from a fresh #2 pencil. She turns to cover herself. No one else is here, and I assume she’s looking for her top. I don’t see it anywhere.

Dead men tell no tales.

    Dillon and I say to each other, “What the fuck was that!?” Okay . . . round two. The cave is so loud that we have to shout at each other. The water starts sucking out again. I’m in fear of another wave lurking around the corner, but he’s right. We hit the water as soon as ir rushes out. We’re sucked right out into the open, and we’re paddling towards the middle of the peak.

    I thank him for all his help, and then he says, “Oh, and by the way. I’m not just one of those guys that puts stickers on his boards.” He nods downward, and there’s a Quiksilver sticker on his deck towards the nose. “I met a guy from Quiksilver, and I might get sponsored.”

    “Hey, man, I ain’t judging you. I’ve seen your surfing!” What a great kid, such positive energy from a guy who owes me nothing. I’m grateful. I tell him I’ll see him later and try to get a feel for the water.



I Must Ride One:

   I’m watching the line up, there’s a long continuous string of surfers from the top, middle, and bottom of the wave. Generally, there appears to be three peaks. The temple is one; it’s far. The middle is where everyone is sitting, and the bottom is basically leftovers from the middle or smaller waves that break near the inside. I sit on the outside of the middle and finally make my way in the pack. Fuck it, it’s Uluwatu, and it’s the first and last time I’ll surf this place until I come back. Minimizing my state of mind, I’m sure that almost everyone around me has the same thought. Obviously, I don’t know this wave at all. A peak forms in front of the mass, I turn, paddle, I’m in good position, but I scratch out. The energy is somewhat mellow; there aren’t any bad vibes yet. I scratch out on another one. On a third one, an old Balinese guy on a longboard asks if I’m going. I tell him to go, he paddles, and scratches out too.

    “No good,“ he says.

    I’m a little frustrated. Waves don’t come easy in this place because there are so many people, and I missed three opportunities. There’s also the crowd to deal with. I can’t sit where I want to because I don’t want someone to take my current position to take the next wave; it’s like a game of chess. Another peak forms in front of the pack, I turn and paddle early; I’m not scratching out this time. I’m have to go deep. I can’t scratch out. Two guys are on my inside watching me, I’m paddling, the lip is about to curl, and I’m still on the wave.

    I don’t expect the wave to be big, but the drop feels steep. I’m sliding down fast, and I’m doing my best to get to the open face, I’m fading out uncontrollably. I pull in to the shoulder, but the lip is coming down.

    It’s a glory hole situation, but I don’t know the reef here, so I jump into the base of the wave. The ride was basically a drop, but it’s a good way to start the session. Guys have been out here for hours, probably only getting a couple. I’ve barely been out for fifteen minutes, and I got one under my belt.

    My next wave is another steeper, but two guys drop in on me. It doesn’t really matter because I’m so deep I don’t have a chance anyway. On my third wave there’s too much speed. I’m fading out so fast that I’m trying to set my rail to get back towards the shoulder. I’m falling, almost parallel to the water, but there is so much G-force that my feet are still planted. I fall.

    My third wave is a desperation wave. It’s a smaller one on the inside, but it holds. It’s good for a couple pumps and weak turns off of the lip. It’s not epic, but it counts. I’ve officially caught a wave at Uluwatu.

    A longboarder enters the line up, and this guy is catching waves easy; he must know this spot. On two waves I’m about to slide down the face, but he’s on my inside; he has priority. I can’t compete with that. I paddle between the top and middle of the wave. Sitting the furthest out from the pack when I see a jelly fish in front of me. I’m not threatened because it’s an Uluwatu jelly fish. It’s not like those asshole jelly fish at Balangan. All of a sudden I feel the sharp, deep, sting on my left knee. “Fuck!” I yell. It’s unexpected in the crowd, as the lull was silent until my vulgar rendition. I’m splashing the water away, holding my knee, and rubbing it as I grimace in pain. About fifteen seconds later, I feel another sting on the bend of my right leg, behind my knee. “Fuck!” I yell again. I splash the water and paddle further out. I turn to the line up, and everyone’s watching me. Fuckin A. I’m stung twice by the same jelly fish, a lone jelly fish.

    I see the next bump in the surface. It’s a smaller one, but since I’m so far away from everyone I have it to myself. I barely make the pitchy drop, I bottom turn, and hold just under the lip. I’m off balance, arms are flailing, the line up is watching me from behind the wave, I recover, and reenter the wave. I do a couple half ass turns and belly ride as far as I can to the cave.

    I’m skirting the cliffs making sure that I don’t miss the entrance because I don’t want to be the subject of entertainment at the warungs. I get too close and feel my fins graze some huge rocks over shallow water. I make a sharp turn and make it. The tide is lower, and I’m already walking before I reach that huge rock in the middle.

    As I walk up the cliffs the photog guys tell me that they have pictures of me. I tell them that I wiped out on the big ones, and that they’re not that good.

    “Big set,” he says. “I have picture.”

    I nod my head and say, “Okay.”

    I’m at his computer, and he has my first couple waves, but what I see sends a grave disappointment through my body. That first big wave that I got. Again, just like Balangan, it got hollow and opened up. I failed to recognize it. Instead of pulling in I jumped in the wave. What the fuck happened? I try to recall it. It was fast. By the time I bottom turned I saw a workable face there, but the lip was coming down, and it looked lined up like it was going to close out. I’m upset at myself, but I purchase the first three shots of the sequence anyway. I pass the other photog guy from Balangan, and he has pics of the two smaller waves that I got. I purchase some from him as well. Woof . . . I’m ugly on waves. I look at my posture. It feels so natural, but I definitely have an ugly style. I like to open my body up whenever I get momentum. I do the same thing when I’m snowboarding; I can’t help it.

    When I see the pic of the missed barrel, I want to paddle back out. The thought stings more than the jellyfish. I told myself when I got to Uluwatu that I just wanted to get some fun long rides, but if I did get barreled it would’ve been the perfect ending to my trip. I think about it over and over and try to reason with myself. It’s just not my time for that yet. Barrel knowledge, I just don’t have it right now. I have to credit those guys that are barrel chargers; it’s not as easy as it looks.

    Back at the warung, I pack up, say bye to Wayan, and head up the stairs. It’s quiet, mellow, no one’s walking down, and the parking lot only has a few patrons. The drive back is just as peaceful as the drive up. I think about what would’ve happened if I stayed in Kuta. I never would’ve had this experience. I hate to sound cliché, but I feel as if this experience was meant for me; it couldn’t have worked out any better. I found Ulus on my own, experienced it, caught waves there, and came back on my own again. I’m at peace. I’m fine with just existing and getting those waves. Barrel or no barrel, I’m grateful for all of this. What started off on a one foot wave that I caught, on Rick Amador’s nine footer at El Porto’s jetty, led me up to this point. I surfed Uluwatu of all places, catching waves in the middle of a crowded line up. My love for surfing brought me here.



Bye Bye to Splurging:


    I drop my gear off and head to Randy’s. I say hi to Jessica and see baby Jaya. It’s been a while; I missed him. I pick up the rest of my cheese, head to the bank to exchange my money, and shop for some souvenirs. I’ll save the details, but I get a good deal on some shirts. The vendor’s happy, I’m happy, and his wife is happy. It’s all serious negotiating at first, but once we agree on a price, it’s all love.

    I walk Poppies 1 looking for a place to eat. I find some crowded, fancy places that can pass for stateside restaurants, but that’s not what I want. I want small, hole in the wall, where the regulars go, spots that the locals know, and cheap.


    I go down a road I haven’t walked down before. It’s dark, there are a couple people at the end, and only a few lights, but I go anyway. It curves to the left. Two guys are in the shadows. As I walk past them they walk behind me. I find myself in front of a huge hotel; it’s in the middle of no where. At this intersection I see night life on both sides. I turn left. I see a sign on a little street on the side; it’s an Indo, Chinese, Thai restaurant. It’s small with just a few tables, open air, with just a couple customers. I glance at the menu, and almost everything is under two American dollars.


    I start off with the vanilla milkshake because it’s the only way I know how. I love Thai food, and I’ve been eating mostly Indo food anyway, so I order the tom yum gai and beef pad Thai. The soup’s good, spicy, but bearable. The pad Thai tastes like it has a lot of MSG in it, kind of like Chinese chow fun. It doesn’t pass Thai town standards, but it’s good. As I sit at my table I look at the walls. There are pics of expats and their families; they all know the owner. It’s hitting me hard for the first time. I’m going to miss this place.


   
    Now I’m back at the Chat Café. I ordered an ice coffee and a banana split the second I got in here. I just polished off a chocolate milkshake as well. One more day to go.