A JACKASS IN JAVA: DAY EIGHTEEN (04JUN2013)

Rough Night:

     Before shutting off my laptop last night, my throat started to hurt every time I swallowed. I wondered what the hell could have been wrong with me. The napkin policy here sucks, and when we were eating the martabak, I got chocolate all over my fingers, so I had to lick them clean. By the way, they use toilet paper as napkins over here. I’m not saying that the way they do it here is wrong, I’m just not used to it.

     My throat got worse and worse. I constantly had to get up, drink water, and hawk out phlegm. It’s the part of my throat, all the way in the back and as high as possible. I shined a light in my mouth to see the damages, but I saw nothing.

     I felt the mucous slither down the back of my throat. At 0100 I gave up trying to sleep and played Angry Birds until I was tired.

A Knock at the Door:

     It’s 0700. I should be more tired, but I can’t sleep anymore. My plan was to dawn patrol the harbor today, but my throat feels like shit. It’s a vulnerable feeling, being in a different country when you’re sick and alone. If I was in El Segundo, I’d probably go to the drug store and get some thera flu, maybe gargling some sea salt in warm water would do me some justice. I hope what I have isn’t serious. I don’t even know if I’m going to surf today.

     There’s a knock at the door. I’m already sitting up in bed, staring at the wall. I open it, and the guy who I kind of look like walks in holding a cup of coffee. He hands me one too. I have a feeling of what’s to come. I sit at the edge of the bed, and the hot coffee actually feels marvelous on my throat. It’s the first relief I’ve had all night.

     The first words out of his mouth are, “I’m sorry.” From there he apologizes about ignoring me when Al was here, however, there are a lot of “buts” in his apology. My best friend is a recovered alcoholic. He told me that the second you use the word “but” in an apology, you might as well forget everything that was said before hand.

     I’ve avoided the guy who I kind of look like, but it’s hard and awkward. We both know the same people here, this is more his domain than mine, and he’s staying just upstairs, using the same common areas that I do.

     I could be saying more, perhaps calling him out on everything, like full on venting, but I don’t want that. No, no teary, heart-to-heart moment. He’s always right. It’s no use.   

     “So you only have two weeks left, and we haven’t really hung out. So we can squash this now or we can keep acting like this.”

     I stare at my coffee. I’m tired. I feel like shit.

     “So are we cool?” he says.

     “Yeah.”

     “All right, man,” come here. He opens his arms. “Give me a hug.”

     I hug him. My arms are limp.

     “Come on, man,” he says. I give him the same hug, but he seems satisfied.

#

     He invites me to surf with him, Reece, and Grant at the right-hand wedge. I tell him that I might take it easy today because my throat’s fucked. He goes upstairs and comes back down, shaking a small water bottle. “There’s this oil in it,” he says. “Don’t down the whole thing. Drink is slow.”

     Sitting in my room, watching Kai Neville’s Dear Suburbia, I mute the movie and put on some Wu Tang Clan, trying to see if a rap surf sequence works. I take a sip of the bottle, and it tastes fucking terrible. If Vix Vapor Rub was in liquid form, this would be it. I’m not even sure if it’s gonna work, but it takes about forty-five minutes to sip the whole thing until it’s empty.

     I could stay back, but I had planned on going to the wedge anyway, so I pack my things and head out with the guy who I kind of look like. The four of us get together, grab some fuel, and ride out.

     Blind turns are one of the biggest risks in this country. In our convoy, we have to pass these construction trucks, and we do so on blind corners. Sometimes after we clear the vehicles, there are huge tour busses in the oncoming lane. A send later and we would be smashed, dead, hospital, an urn on an airplane. It gives me the shivers, but in the heat of the moment, with our hands on the throttle and the wind in our faces, we must maintain a tight formation. When the lead moped passes, we all do, and every time I’m just staring at the opposite lane in front of me, praying that a huge, metal, machine isn’t barreling its way towards me.

A-frame:

     The plan is to surf this A-frame, a spot just before the wedge. We pull up for a look, but the tide’s too high. “This is a good wet season spot,” The Guy says. 

     I can see the potential. A-frames are forming, two different peaks, but the high tide is causing a lot of backwash. The wave isn’t peeling right. It’s surface is bumpy. It looks semi doable. 

  

   

 Reece and I do further recon by walking to the wedge, but it’s not working today. Back at the A-frame, we all watch it for about a half an hour, exploring our options. There is either the very first spot that Al and I had surfed with everyone, which is down a sketchy, steep, nearly impassable road, or we can just head back. The Guy says, “I think I’m gonna paddle out.”

     “Okay, Randy,” says Reece. “Make it look good.”

     We watch and talk story at the same time. There’s this branch that’s shaped like a long cock, so we snap a couple pics for shits and giggles. 

     Forty-five minutes later, The Guy is still out there. The shape isn’t improving at all. Grant paddles out, but Reece and I are reluctant. Reece is picky, and . . . he has a point about it not looking good. Me, I might be coming down with something, so if I paddle out today I have to make it worth it. I have to be picky as well. 

     At 1130, Reece and I head back to Indo-Napili. We grab lunch at a little warung around the corner from the compound. With a drink included, lunch is about $1.20. We check the harbor. The waves are clean, but since the tide is drained out, it is tiny. We drive to Choco Point, and today it’s extra chocolaty. There are no waves, the onshore wind is killing the little shape there is, and I know that I can’t risk that dirty water with my throat all fucked up.

Wifi:

     To kill some time, Reece and I head to the Rajawali Hotel to use their internet. Today is a true, dry season day. There is no rain, and it’s the hottest day since I’ve been here. I order a jus alpokat (avocado smoothie) and a soda, and it’s still not enough. The both of us are so hot that we have a mean case of the anal sweats. Wet spots are showing through the asshole part of our boardshorts. “I’m outta here,” says Reece. “I’m gonna check the harbor.”

     I feel a slight fever coming on. I know that I have to go back to the Indomaret to grab some fluids and hydrate.

     With wifi, I vox with Bri for a little while. She’s having fun with her sister in town, has a second interview for a job that Boris’ wife hooked up for her, and they are probably going out for sushi tomorrow. Both of us are counting the days for me to come home. “I’ll have salt and peppered pork chops from Seafood Town when you land,” she says. “I’ll take care of it.”

     She tells me some dirty things that make me “pre” in my boardshorts a little. I got an eighteen-day load saved up. I’m like a deadly weapon right now. One false move, and I can paint this whole restaurant white.

     Now I can’t stand the heat, so I head out to the Indomaret. I buy two big ass waters, something that looks like a healthy, orange juice drink, and an Indonesian vitamin water. I drink them in the parking lot under the hot ass sun. My fever’s picking up a little bit more.

     I do a check at the harbor. Reese is out there with some Indo groms. The waves are clean but small, only two-to-three, but it looks better than the A-frame we checked earlier.

The Harbor:

     Back at my room, The Guy flags me down from upstairs, putting his forefingers on his lips. He gives me hand signals, asking if I’m going surfing. You see, this is necessary because the two other rooms here are occupied by other surfers. Sad really, to have to hide such surf intel from others, but . . . if you don’t want a crowd, then a surfer’s gotta do what a surfer’s gotta do. 

     A crowd’s grown at the main peak. All the locals that have been surfing Choco Point are now here. Since this is a high tide spot, it’s beginning to work better with the push. Sets are coming in a foot bigger now, increasing as the clock ticks. I grab my Lost board and paddle out, barebacked. 

     Avoiding the crowd, I sit off to the side, where another peak is working. This wave breaks more like a beach break, the first time I’ve surfed beach break since I’ve been here. My first wave is a left. With the volume on my board, I pop up with ease, but the wave is fast and punchy; it reminds me a little of Huntington Beach on a decent day. My board works great at Choco Point, since it’s a soft, point break wave. But here, since the wave already has power, I find my board too fat for this spot. My turns are so slow, it’s like trying to turn an ocean liner. 

     Reece is doing pretty good for himself. Some of the local kids already know him, and he’s getting long rights, cutting back, and redirecting down the line. He paddles up to me and says, “I’ve borrowed Sonia’s board. Just cruising it.”

     “Yeah,” I say. “I’m just stoked to be in the water.”

     “But it still looks like shit out here.”

     I don’t say anything back. Reece is just a trip, full-on Mr. Blunt, but at least he says what’s on his mind, and I can respect that. Never pulling punches, not everyone can do this.

     Now the whole surfing, Indo-Napili community is here, even the Luftwaffe from Compound One. The Guy paddles out, trading off waves with me at the separate peak on the side. Later, he joins the main crowd.

     It’s an interesting atmosphere here. The water is clean compared to Choco Point, but I paddle through a swarm of oil droplets on the water’s surface. Paddling into waves is so easy with my board, but still, I have to put a lot of ass into it to turn this goddam thing. Note taken, this is a good board for soft waves if I need the speed and volume. I had picked up the Tokoro earlier today, so I’ll be taking that thing out here next time.

     The rights are lining up better than the lefts. I struggle, but I’m able to crank out two turns on my best waves. This right is even more fun than the wedge that we were surfing.

     The backdrop of the harbor has a little marina with fishing boats. The landscape in the background looks like we could be in a small American town, like somewhere near the Great Lakes. Behind us is a lifeguard tower. Surrounding it, are spectators sitting on the shore and on the second story of the tower. Country music blares from the tower’s loudspeakers, which are directed towards the surf. Very interesting indeed.

     I surf it until the sky’s almost completely dark and until there are only four people out. I catch a wave late and ride the whitewash in.

Movie Night Cancelled:

     My fever is getting a little worse, but at least my throat’s not so bad. My nose is stuffy now though. This sucks. I don’t know if this is a cold I have or the flu, but who would expect this in such intense heat?

     After I shower up, I tell the gang that I’m cancelling the movie night that we had scheduled in my room. I tell them that I’m coming down with something.

     The girls have more energy than the guys do. Grant can’t get himself up from his mattress. “Cant’ we just eat around the corner at that restaurant close by?” he says.

     “Yeah,” says Reece. “Where are we going to eat tonight?”

     Silence follows. We all know the answer to this. It’s the market; it’s always the market. At this point, we’ve eaten there so much that it’s repetitive. Usually, I don’t mind, but fuck, I have a fever. I don’t even feel like splurging. My muscles ache more than usual, and I just want to eat a well-portioned meal that will hold me over until tomorrow morning.     

     We ride out to the market and spread out to different food stalls. Reece and I go with the mie gorang ayam (chicken fried rice). Everyone else gathers at our table with their different dishes.

     “Grant,” I ask, “Did that wave get any better when we left?”

     “No,” he says, “but I surfed like shit today. I had a look at the harbor for ten minutes, but it didn’t look that appealing.”

     “It got better,” says Reece. “Way better.”

#

     There’s this chick who wears a headwrap that works the counter at the Indomaret. She always blushed and flirts whenever we stop in. When it’s my turn to purchase my ice cream, I do my booby dance for the hell of it. She turns red and starts to giggle nervously. She says something to the guy who’s working with her. He looks up from stocking cigarettes, but I stop the show. Booby dance . . . it always comes in handy.

     Now I’m shoving this Paddle Pop, which is an Indonesian Fudgesicle deep into my throat to soothe the pain. Grant and Reece laugh, but it’s actually helping. I almost want to call the movie night to be back on, but I can’t. I really should just hydrate tonight and go to bed early.

     “Sleep with the AC off,” says Grant. He snarls and says, “Sweat it out!”

     Now, If I know my body, this is my prediction: I’ll go to sleep in a comfortable but sick state; around midnight I’ll wake up with my fever in its worst state; in the morning I’ll have  nasty case of the runs and dehydration; I’ll spend the rest of the day indoors, only leaving to get fluids and food.

     I’ve spent a lot of time in the past, nursing myself to health whenever I’m sick, but I can be a big baby when I’m sick too. I miss Bri. I bet she would take care of me, check my temperature and make sure I’m getting all of my vitamins and minerals. Would be nice.

     Sitting in my room with the AC off and my back propped up against the bed, sweat makes the skin stick between my inner arms and torso. My forehead and mustache are beaded with sweat. A toilet paper roll is next to me, already half used with the cardboard tube filled with snot-filled paper. An ice cold Sprite would be nice right about now, or a refrigerator where I could store my water. My water’s just as hot as this room. I wish they had vending machines here.