A Barney in Bali--Day 30, 07JULY2011 THU

The only thing better than taking a piss is looking at fish while taking a piss.

Day 30:


    I know that this post doesn’t have a surf session in it, but to make this thing complete, I have to document my journey home. It’s a good way to put a lid on things, and traveling can sometimes make for a good story as well. Anyways, here goes nothing.


Always Drift:


    I don’t mean to “rag on” Bali, but Denpasar is Bali’s only airport, and it’s a little brutal. Even though it’s nearing one in the morning, some vendors and snack shops are still open. It’s not LAX or JFK, so I spend some time walking around since it‘s small. I remember that one of my soldiers specifically asked for a keychain. I walk in the first shop, see a key chain, ask how much, and the vendor says, “Five dollars.”

    Fuck . . . that’s like 50,000 rupiah? I’m still thinking like I’m in Kuta. That’s a good sized meal and a drink; it’s a rip off. I pick up the same keychain at another vendor, and she says, “Forty thousand.”

    “Forty! That’s like four dollars.” I look down and rub the Bintang logo with my thumb. “How about twenty-thousand?”

    She smirks and says, “No.”

    I have no bargaining power here; it’s an airport. I tell myself that I’ll just tell my soldier that I forgot. I picture it in my head.

    She’ll say with a huge smile, “Oh, Sergeant R, where’s my keychain?!”

    Then that’s where I’ll act surprised, roll my eyes back, slap my forehead, and say, “Ohhhhhhhhhh my godddd! I am SO SORRRRRY. I tooooootally forgot.”

    I already feel bad before I’ve lied to her. I go into the next shop, and the vendor is selling the same keychain for only twenty-thousand. Score. Those other ladies were trying to gouge me.

    What to do? I wander around the airport looking for a snack bar. I got all this rupiah, and traveling makes me hungry. I see a little café, the host shows me the menu, but everything is 60K and over. Again, I picture all the splurging I’ve done for that price. Banana splits, pad Thai, and strong ass coffee with a heap of chocolate ice cream flashes through my mind. I find a smaller vendor and buy a green tea, and then I find a little snack shop and buy a burger. It’s expensive still, but not as. It’s my first burger in Bali, and at least it’s at the airport on the way out.

    I walk as far as I can in the terminals. It’s like a little maze with closed shops, shops about to close, massage parlors, pricey restaurants that still have customers, and one cyber café that charges 100,000 for internet. A rat darts out in front of me with some food from an offering. A Chinese tourist crossing my path sees the same. We both smile and look at the hole it crawled into. I turn the corner and find empty restaurant seating where I whip out my computer. I shoo away mosquitoes as I type. I hear rats scurrying in the wall next to me. It’s time to board.


   
The First Leg:


    Red eye flights should be empty, and this one is barely half full. One thing about flying in this part of the world, everyone is in a rush. There aren’t even that many people, and before the announcer can make the boarding call, everyone is stampeding to the entrance. I’m thinking, what’s the difference?

    I’m so tired. I’m in the emergency exit aisle, so I have more than enough leg room. I wake up to the flight attendant asking me to read my orders in case of an emergency. I look to my right and no one’s sitting there. I rack out again. I’m waken up by the flight attendant asking me if I want chicken sausage or something else for breakfast. I didn’t hear the other option, but I say, “Chicken sausage!” I eat everything.

    Into the fourth hour, I can’t sleep anymore. I wake up to piss, write a little, and then I feel a shit coming on. I leave my camera behind which is a huge mistake. Everything I ate yesterday: Dunkin’ Donuts, bread with peanut butter, one cracker, Javanese food, the dessert that looks like halo-halo, the banana split, the French fries, and that burger I just ate, it all comes out of my asshole, spilling out a monument that a Greek sculpture would be proud of. It’s huge and piled up. The empty bowl with no water enhances the richness of the aroma. It’s looks like three people shitted in a porta potty, but no, this was just the work of one man. It’s “blue ribbon” award worthy.

    There’s turbulence, the door handle’s being jiggled, so I say goodbye to one of my most fairest creations. As I open the door, there’s a stewardess telling me to return to my seat. As I close my laptop, another one stops herself from telling me to put it away. I store it with my backpack under the seat, and another stewardess tells me I need to put it in the overhead compartment. Fuckin’ A. It’s like a damn police state in this plane. I slouch, wondering if they’ll tell me to sit up. They don’t, but they tell me to open my window. What the fuck?!



Taipei:

    When we land, I do as the travelers do and rush myself to the door. The airport is pretty empty, and I try to find my gate. It’s another song and dance, I have to go through the metal detector, take off my belt and everything else metal, let my pants sag, and put everything back on. After I find my gate I discover that there’s free wifi here, but I still have money issues. My layover is eight hours long, I’m still traveling, so I need to eat.



    I burn five bucks to make a call from a payphone, talk to B of A, and they tell me my card is fine. So . . . I guess the guy at Denpasar or their machine was fucked up. I exchange 200,000 rupiah for Taipei money, about 620. I find several little snack places, but there are no outlets. Finally, I come upon one that is cheap, has comfortable seating, and power.

    I’m sitting by the food court railing overlooking the daily flow of travelers. I order a bowl of Pork noodle soup and a glass of bubble milk tea. The portions are huge. I’m eating fat, but when I do the calculations, it totals out to $9.00 US. Goodbye to cheap eating. Now I have to piss like a racehorse, I have less than two hours to board, and I need to find a bathroom.

No Sleep ‘Til El Segundo:


    I wait until I’m hungry again then find another restaurant to spend my remaining funds. I have a hard time deciding, so I order the red bean and taro shave ice. I know it’s just an airport in Taiwan, and I haven’t experienced real Taiwan, but I can at least say that their airport food has large portions. I keep expecting a tiny plate, but when my order arrives, it’s big enough for two people to share.

    Once I’m done, I sit at the gate and wait to board. I haven’t slept during the whole layover in hopes to sleep during this twelve hour flight. They haven’t made the boarding call, but everyone starts moving to the gate already.

    I have a window seat towards the back of the plane. An old Asian guy has the aisle, and I have the window. It’s a mystery who’s going to sit next to me, then a tiny, elderly Asian woman scoots her way between us. Everything is cool until she starts coughing without closing her mouth. Good lord. I put my gigantic book closer to my face. I’m not a germaphobe, but I’ve made it this far without getting sick, and I’m not looking to start when I get home. I hate to admit this, but I’m already annoyed to begin with, expecting the worst.

    Once we’re in the air, the old lady next to me is fascinated with the headrest monitor in front of her. I start to play a movie, and she leans in closer to me to see what I’m doing. I look at her, and she has the most gracious smile. This woman could be someone’s grandma, and right now with the kindness on her face, she may as well be mine.

    When the stewardess hands out water, the lady grabs it for me and hands it over without thinking. When we are both done with our meals, she starts going through my tray, touching wrappers to see if they are empty, checking under lids to see if I’ve eaten all of my food, and finally putting my salt, pepper, and toothpick in her purse. Then she whips out her own food from the same purse which looks like crackers and a gray pudding. When she’s done eating, and before the stewardess arrives, she takes my empty tray and puts it on top of hers.

    She must be blowing farts because something stinks every ten or fifteen minutes. I’m well versed in the art of public farting, so I know it’s close. But I’m like “fuck it,” I start letting my ass rip too, so we’re trading off farts the whole plane ride.

    When she sleeps she’s leaning all over me, but at least she’s not drooling. I’m uncomfortable the whole flight. There are small periods that I doze off but no real rest. I try to read my book, but the overhead lamp is so bright that it lights up everyone around me, so I turn it off and stick to the movies. I watch “Limitless,” “The Adjustment Bureau,” and “Just go With it.” Romantic comedies are so predictable, but I need to kill time.

    When we land, the old lady is next to me as we’re going down the escalator. I hate to make judgments, but I’m not sure if she’s ever rode one before. She’s losing her balance and struggling to hold on to something, as her carry-on almost tumbles away. She grabs my arm, and I carry her bags as we descend to the first floor.

    It takes forever for my surfboard to arrive, and the line for customs is endless. I get to the customs agent, but he lets me skip the whole bag searching process. As I wait for Lauren to pick me up, I see the same old lady that sat next to me. The poor thing, she’s holding a piece of paper that reads:

    I DO NOT KNOW ANY ENGLISH. I AM TRAVELING TO VIETNAM. PLEASE HELP ME.

    The sight breaks my heart: the old woman in blue pants, pink sandals, a burgundy coat, and a pink hat, she‘s vulnerable. An airport employee talks to her and leads her back inside.

    Lauren arrives, but I tell her that I’m gonna need to brush my teeth and take a shower before I ravage her; I smell like third world ass. The traffic feels odd. We’re driving on the right hand side, and I’m in a car. I ask her to take me to Porto. I know I’ll be busy unpacking and won’t be able to surf, but I need to at least see the ocean to make this trip come full circle.

    We park at the meters in the early evening. The water is flat and choppy, and a couple longboarders sit towards the inside. There is nothing to ride. I see a couple people suiting up, and I’m thinking, suiting up for what? For the whole month in Bali I never saw anything so dismal. I think about Balangan and that long left hand point break. I think about the reef and how it made each movement on the wave so critical. Even the smallest days were much better than this. All of a sudden a sense of loss comes over me. No more forests, rice fields, small towns, and warungs lining the beach. No more reef dancing and riding on water so clear that I can see everything below me. In front of me, the water is shapeless, silver and gray, and dribbling on shore. If I never went to Bali, this would’ve been my surroundings for the past month. I think about my progress. How much did I move forward? A year’s worth of surfing in one month? No, too much. Six months maybe, given the comparison of conditions. I don’t have the words for a trademark, philosophical ending to this whole experience. I’m back. I’m home. A Barney went to Bali, and now this is El Porto surf all over again. But with this new perspective I have, I don’t see all of this through the same lens; I see more than I ever have before. I’m frothing to get back out there and catch a wave, Bali or not, it doesn’t matter. There’s surf in SoCal, and that’s all that counts. I’m still humble, and instead of knowing more, I know more about what I don’t know. It’s the end of a vacation but not the end of the journey.

The Beginning