Still in last night’s clothes with breath
that smells like a cat took a shit in my mouth, I wake up at 0730. It’s not
really late nor considered sleeping in on normal standards, but I’m usually
awake about an hour earlier. My dehydration from last night’s debacle only gave
me a slight headache. Al’s snoring. I have no idea when he came in. I wonder
how late they stayed up.
I brush my teeth, go outside, and make
myself some instant breakfast. I still think it’s a miracle that I’m not hung
over. I recall a conversation I had with Gayun. At about midnight, he revealed
that he had school at the uni. I assume he means college because he’s twenty
two and majoring in English. While drinking the arak, I asked if he’d be okay
in the morning. He had said that as long as he doesn’t mix alcohol that he’s
okay. He then went on to explain how much mixed drinks are the things that mess
you up, like the chemicals in soda and what not.
Sonia’s on the platform where we partied
last night. She’s lying on the rug with her pillow. I walk up to her and say,
“Have you surfed yet?”
“No. I have only slept for an hour and a
half because my rash came back.” She pulls out her phone and shows me some
pictures of her arms and legs.
We compare rashes again, but mine are
starting to go away. I think not scratching has made the difference. I chill in
the room for a little while and write until about 1000. When Al wakes up, we
head out for an early lunch. Stopping at the Indomaret, we run into Reese.
“You going to Machines today?” I ask.
“No, but yesterday some guys were happy
that Al wasn’t there.”
“What?” says Al.
“Yeah,” says Reese, “some guys were talking
about how they were happy not to see you there.”
“Why did they say that?” says Al.
“I don’t know, mate. I wasn’t there, but
there might be something about your surfing.”
Al’s face turns serious. “Who was it that said it?”
Al’s face turns serious. “Who was it that said it?”
“I’m not telling you. Look, just chill,
mate. Maybe you should just take it easy with everyone.”
Reese says he might head out towards
Machines later, and he tells us to check him out later.
Al and I grab lunch at the place with the
nasi pecel. When we enter the restaurant, I just realize that I have nobody
with us that can speak Indonesian. In Bali one can get away with speaking
English everywhere, but it’s different here. This place isn’t a tourist trap,
overrun with Westerners.
It’s embarrassing, trying to order for us.
I ask for the nasi pecel, but she says something. All I can do is repeat, “nasi
pecel,” like an automaton. A guy eating points towards where the food is
placed, motioning for me to go and pick what I want. And that’s when I see what
the problem is. They’re out of tahu. We get the ayam in its place.
Al’s quiet while we’re eating. I try to
joke about what Reese had said, but Al’s in a bad mood over it. He’s saying
that he doesn’t recall snaking anyone.
I say, “I saw you snake that kid yesterday
at the river mouth, but I didn’t say anything to you. Those kids were being
greedy anyway.”
“I remember that, but I pulled out.”
Al’s not pulling himself out of his mind,
so I drop the subject. He decides to stay at the compound while I grab my stuff
and head to the Rajawali Hotel to get some wifi. Right after I show up, it
starts pouring rain, the hardest I’ve seen it since being here, so hard that
the restaurant manager brings down the garage-like doors to keep everything
from blowing away and getting wet inside. I check nba.com. I’m so disappointed
that the Spurs are going to the finals, but I’m glad that the Pacers are giving
the Heat a run. Looks like Adriano Desouza won the Billabong Pro in Rio.
After talking to Bri on Skype and paying
for my plane ticket to Jakarta, I head out to check the surf spots. The tide’s
still too high and it’s small. Back at the compound, I take a half hour nap.
Afterwards, I feel the need to get the hell out of here. I don’t care about the
size. I’m going stir crazy. I need to get wet.
 |
| A long walk at low tide. |
At Choco Point, only two Germans from
Compound One are in the water. The surf isn’t big but there is definitely
shape. Al says, “I’m gonna go grab my board,” and takes off. I don’t know why
he didn’t bring it in the first place.
A white chick who hangs out with the locals
is making her way to the water’s edge. I’ve talked to her a couple of times.
She was born and raised in Java and talks like a Cali girl, but she’s also
fluent in Indo. I can’t wait to paddle out, so I run out after her, trying to
see if I can beat her to the deeper water. She smiles and I smile back. Once
I’m out at the lineup, behind me, local grommets are making their way out. I
know it’s going to be crowded, so I try to catch a wave first.
The waves are about three feet. The first
set of the session rolls in, and I scratch out on the first wave. So does the
chick. Same thing on the second. On the third wave, I position myself so deep
that there is no way that I’m going to miss it. I pop up as the wave is
breaking. The first section of the point is fast and stands up an extra foot
before it peels into the bay. I see the lip is about to curl in front of me. In
desperation, I do a floater attempt. It’s not pretty, but I climb the foam and
stick the landing. It feels like I’m going to get left behind, but I pump and
pump and make it to the face. Fuckin A, it’s the best floater that I’ve ever
pulled off. Progression. The wave is standing up, almost like I can pull in and
get slotted, but my mind is on milking this ride. I draw a high line on the
racy wave and pump down for more speed. Bottom turning, I top turn off of the
lip, almost losing my balance in the pocket. I do the same thing but fall on my
second turn.
Paddling back to the lineup, I’m exhausted.
Too much Bin Tang and arak last night. I definitely feel like I’ve drained my
body of important fluids and electrolytes.
Now the point is crowded. A kid in the
water asks me where I’m from. I say, “California.”
“Not Hawaii?” he asks.
“Yeah, Hawaii too.”
“Just like Randy.”
I laugh.
The kids own this spot. It’s their wave,
but I’m not sitting on the shoulder like yesterday. I position myself deep so
that no one else is on my inside, but I’m so deep that I can’t make the
sections. Later, I sit wide where other waves are rolling through.
Al’s not doing so bad. He gets some long
ones, but the surfer of the day is Rian. I thought it was Ryan, but I saw his
name written down at the compound. I mean, this break is a playground for
lefts, and it shows in his surfing. While I’m struggling to keep momentum,
constantly pumping, this kid is gracefully pulling off cutbacks on the softest
part of the shoulder and still redirecting himself back into the pocket. I
notice that he is practically looking behind him on his carves, which is
something that I need to start doing, instead of looking in front of me.
After his ride, he paddles up to me and
says, “Oba Bagus.”
“Oba Bagus,” I repeat.
“Good wave,” he says.
“Ohhh yah. Oba bagus!”
He smiles and says, “Oba punja. Long wave.”
The next wave is about to break. I paddle
for it, thinking that he’ll give it to me. Fuckin’ bastard. He takes off the
oba bagus for himself.
The new German arrivals from Compound Two
show up in full force on their fun boards. They smile while paddling into the
lineup. Friendly they are. One short and stocky guy is getting frustrated.
Every wave he goes for, an Indo grommet is on it. Sitting wide, I get some
waves for myself. On the way back out, I see him overpaddling for a wave that’s
not even breaking. He’s kicking and thrashing in the water, shaking his head
violently. His face is murderous. I’m thinking, take it easy, man.
For the last half hour, the lineup clears
out. Even Al leaves. Ana is out there. I see her going for a good left, but she
falls on her pop up. Poor girl. Germany . . . not much surf there. But there’s
a Swiss couple from the other compound. The woman has progressed since I’ve
been here, and she gets a decent ride. The white local chick doesn’t know how
to pump past the sections, so she keeps falling behind every time the waves go
fast.
Since it’s small today, I can’t get any long
rides, but I can get at least three turns on every wave. With the crowd thinned
out, I move to the top of the wave. On the way there, Al catches his last one.
On the Tokoro, I have to paddle in late.
When I do the section stands up, which makes them more rippable. Some of the
waves have better reforms which allow me to milk out a fourth turn. I’d like to
experiment, maybe do a floating, reverse three sixty and come out of it clean,
but I can’t set myself up right. Even though it’s not a big day, I’m impressed
with how this wave is good forehand practice.
By 1730 I’m the last guy out. I’m a little
spooked at the thought that I’m out here on my own. Who knows what’s lurking
under this muddy water. But the water’s so glassy, and this spot is so isolated
right now that I appreciate the solitude. The sky is a fading, metallic blue
that reflects on the glassy surface. The wind is dead. I want a last wave, one
that I can ride all the way to shore, but the lack of light throws off my depth
perception. I think I’m in the right place, but two waves break directly in
front of me. I paddle out a little further but still catch my last wave too
late. Regardless, I ride the whitewash all the way in.
On shore, there are two Indo kids smoking
cigarettes and playing with their cell phones. I say, “Hello.”
“Hello, mister!” says the kid.
I fumble with my leash, worried that it
might get caught up in the bike’s wheel. “Oba bagus,” I say.
“Oba bagus! You speak bahasa Indonesia?”
I tighten my lips. “No.”
#
For dinner, Al says he just wants to eat
some instant noodles and read a book. “I’m not that hungry,” he says. “I think
I’m good.” I shower and head to the other compound. Grant’s knocked out in a
hammock. He didn’t surf today because he has a bad slice on his foot from the
reef at Machines. Anna’s reading a book. “You eat yet?” I ask.
She points at a plate. “Yes, but I follow
you.” She walks to her locker to grab a couple things, when a car enters. It’s
Doc. Laughs and cheers pour out of the car as its doors open. Reese, a German
Chick, and Camille come out. When Reese and Camille come upstairs to the
dormitory, they say they scored the first spot that we had checked the first
day that Al and I were here. “It was a big left,” says Reese, “A lot bigger
than it looked.” Grant wakes up to hear the tale. “It’s a good wave for turns,
we had to pass up some bombs though. Even the girls got some rides at the end.”
I beg him to take me there the next time he goes.
They say they’ll stop by my compound when
they’re done washing up. Downstairs I catch Edo who says that my board will be
done tomorrow before noon. He also says that the spot where Reese surfed today
may not be good tomorrow because the swell will be picking up. “Will be too
big,” he says.
When the gang stops by, they ask about Al.
“He’s not hungry,” I say.
“Well at least tell him to come out and
grab an ice tea or something,” says Reese.
I go back to the room and open the door.
“Al, you sure you don’t wanna come?”
“I’m fine,” he says.
For dinner, we go back to the market. I
order the nasi uduk. I can’t help but splurge, so I order some mie gorang
(fried noodles) too, but I’m not even hungry when the plate is set down in
front of me. I mean, it’s so cheap. Sixty cents. That’s what my first meal
costs me. Eighty cents for the second meal. At the Indomaret, we stop for ice
cream. I force the food. How can I turn it down when it’s so cheap?
On the way home, Grant pulls up to my
compound while I’m parking. “Where we all hanging out?” he says.
“Not tonight man. We’re not drinking
anyway. I think I’m just gonna head in the room.”
He revs his moped. “All right, catch you
tomorrow.”
In the room, Al’s still reading his book.
He sets it down on his chest and says, “I’m fucking hungry.”
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