Staying
Local:
Since driving around has been unproductive,
Al and I decide to just stay local and surf Chocolate Point. On the other side
of the bay is a right hander located at the harbor. I wake up, take my time
eating my instant oatmeal, and then head over for a look. Surprisingly, the
place is packed with little Indo kids surfing it. A couple Westerners who are
staying in town are also there. The peaks are rideable but racy. The little
kids have old, sun-beaten, discolored boards, but they are milking their rides.
None of them stick their airs, but they boost for their finishing maneuvers.
From there I head to Chocolate Point, but it’ not working yet. The tide’ a
little high, and of course, the water is chocolaty.
When I get back to the compound, Al is
still lying in bed. “How’s it look?” he asks.
“The harbor’s crowded, but it looks soft,
like the tide’s getting too high.”
From there I whip out my laptop and start
to catch up on my surf posts. I’ve been severely behind on them, having to
catch up on my last sessions in Cali before the trip. Right now, my memory is
getting foggy just remembering the flight over here.
By noon we’re starving. We head to Compound
One where everyone else is staying, where we also meet Camille. We decide to go
to the restaurant overlooking the harbor, the same place where “the guy who I
kind of look like” took us to eat after surfing The Machine.
There are six of us there. Camille is from
the UK, and she works in Indo, teaching school children English. She orders on
our behalf. Today, fried fish is on the menu.
During chow, we learn a little bit more
about our friends. Ana goes back to school in September, that’s why she’s been
traveling her ass off, so she can have fun before she must buckle down. Reese
has been on the road for nearly a year now, traveling around the US, Canada,
and Indonesia. He says he might do a leg to Bali before returning to Australia
in a couple of months. Grant is pretty much on the same program, but he’s not
going home yet. His next stop, before heading back to the UK, is Australia,
where he says he’s found work at before and already has a car waiting for him.
They all can speak some Indo, way more than Al and I. Ana even knows Spanish.
In comparison, Al and I are pussies when it comes to traveling abroad. Here I
am, thinking that my month in Bali two years ago and this month in Java makes
me hot shit when it’s really not much to brag about.
“I know so many people back home,” I say,
“who wish they could just quit their jobs and travel.”
“I hate people like that,” says Reese.
“It’s easy. Just buy a fuckin’ plane ticket.”
The bill comes out to 30000 IR each, which
is . . . unexpected. I’m not sure what’s going on with the bill here, but last
time we were here with “the guy who I kind of look like,” we were charged 30000
IR for all three of us. This is a lesson learned. The people here are honest,
but if you eat in a big group, and if you and your friends reek of the West,
then you will be overcharged.
Choco
Point:
Everyone comes out to surf this evening, but
they all want to sit at the right while I head towards the left. As Al and I
are walking out to the water, I realize that I accidentally put on my thruster
fin in the center and my quads in the side slots, a wrong tri-fin
configuration. Al suggests that I change it before we paddle out, but I leave
it. While I’m surfing, I’m trying not to think about how my board is off. In
the distance, I see the rest of our crew, bobbing in the lineup. On the lefts,
I’m stoke to pump and work on my forehand carve. In the evening, We all go out
again to eat as a group. This is the evening routine:
- Surf
- Shower
- Meet at Compound One
- Ride out on our mopeds like a biker gang
- Go to the market to eat
- Stop at the Indomaret for beer and ice cream
- Drink together before going to bed without making surf plans for the next day.
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