A JACKASS IN JAVA: DAY THIRTY (16JUN2013)

Leave in One Piece:

     An early session at first light. That was the plan last night. It’s gonna be my last day here, so I have to make the best of it.

     I open my eyes and look at my watch. It’s 0515. My alarm was set for 0530. Lying in my bed, something’s off. There’s tapping noise outside my closed window. Fuck. It sounds like rain, but it can’t be, especially when the weather’s been good. It hasn’t rained for two or three days straight. I already heard the rumors that dry season is finally here. I tell myself that it’s probably just the sprinklers . . . but they don’t have sprinklers here.

     At 0630 I roll out of bed and peel apart the curtains. The clouds are back. Rain is falling steadily, but at least it’s not a monsoon out there. I swing the door wide open and step out onto the porch. Rian is in the kitchen. Jesus . . . how many times have we been through this? He motions towards the sky and shakes his head.

     This is supposed to be the finale, the cherry on top to the surf trip. I had written the other night how the conditions were good when Al had left, but . . . not for me.

     I had told Randy that I wanted to stay local for my last day, but I have a feeling he wants to surf Machines. I think the fellas at Compound One do too, but no one’s come to knock on my door, so the decision’s up to me. I could go, but I need to follow my heart on this one. Yeah . . . I can go out like a G, throw the Hail Mary for some last hour heroics, just pull into everything and see what happens, but . . . no, I’m gonna stay here because that’s what I want to do. No broken board or bones. I’m going home in one piece.

     Randy had hooked me up with some wax last night. It’s funny how something like waxing your board is so simple, but it has a ritualistic quality too. This is the last morning that I’ll be waxing my stick in Java. I cake it on . . . HARD. No slippage on my last day, no, sir!

     I glance upstairs as I’m walking to my bike, Randy’s door is shut. He’s still knocked out. He had said he would paddle out with me, but I can’t blame him. It was hard enough for me to get out of bed with this rain, but now it’s lighter, and I can tell it’s going to stop.

     I pull up to Choco Point. My moped shuts off with a lurch as soon as I hit the brakes. No one else is here, and I can see why. Small . . . fucking small. I let out a long, exasperating sigh. I switch the key to the off position and throw down the kickstand. “Damn. . .” The tide is right too, nice and low, but that swell has died out—gone. I Jedi mind surf it, imagining that those crumbling waves out there are actually rideable. A set rolls in at the second point, but it’s still mooshy.

     The husband of the Aussie couple from Compound One rolls up on his moped. “Hey,” he says.

     “Hey.” We both stare out at the point together.

     “Well, looks like you’ll have it to yourself,” he says.

     I tell him it’s my last day here. We shake hands, and he leaves.

What Would You Do?:

     It’s not worth it. I can crank up the bike and head back to the room. Shit, I can even get a major headstart in packing. I do have errands today: need to do my online check ins for my flights, need to grab my laundry from Tina, need to pay my bill, need to get some souvenirs, need to, Need to, Need To, NEED TO.

     There’s always the evening session. It might be better then. . . Might. But the tide’s high in the afternoon. Leaving sounds appealing, but what I “need” is to get wet.

     No camera and no rashguard for my last day, but I’ve brought out my GoPro camera to use it for the first time. I fucked myself because I only downloaded the instructions online just days ago, and now that I have it mounted the waves are small. Well, I leave it mounted anyway. Why not? Might as well get some footage out here.

     It’s a lonely walk to the point. Trash, a bag full of fucking diapers again. The rain wasn’t that heavy though because the water’s not milk chocolate. Today it looks more like watered down cocoa.

     I walk out to the shelf, and a three-foot set rolls in. The point is so far that it’s hard to tell its size, and up close it’s actually better than expected, but it’s still small.

     There’s a long lull once I make it out, but I don’t mind. Anyone who knows me knows my perspective, how I milk the significance out of insignificant things. I remember waking up in the middle of the night when I had lived with my grandparents on Maui, propping my head up from my bed to look outside my window. I was so amazed at how bright the moon was shining, so powerful that everything outside casted a distinct shadow. Another night in Maui I had walked to the kitchen for a drink of water while everyone was asleep, and outside from the balcony window, the moon was so large that it looked like it was on a collision course towards earth. I had never seen the moon that big in my life, and there it was. It’s reflection over the ocean showed the texture of the choppy water, creating the illusion of a silver road leading out to the stars. Standing there in that dark kitchen with a tall, plastic cup of water in my hand, I felt like I was the only person awake in Napili seeing this. If I hadn’t got up for that drink, I would’ve missed it. To this day, I’ve never seen the moon more beautiful.

     Take it in, the water I’m sitting in that’s so murky that I can’t even see my board. Take it in, the uninhabited cliff that overlooks the point. The brush is so thick; I wonder what’s behind those trees; it looks prehistoric. Ancient natives had probably lived there. Are their bones buried somewhere in that jungle? Are there caves? What did this place look like a hundred years ago? How were the waves back then? Take it in, the mountainside behind me so far away that it looks like a two dimensional painting, unable to tell which peak is closest and furthest. The sun burns off the overcast with its heat on my neck. Oops . . . forgot sunblock. I have to “take it in” because I don’t know when I’ll be here again.

     GoPro . . . how frustrating. I mount it with the lens facing forward because the last thing I need is closeup footage of my face, but at the same time, I can’t see the red light that tells me if I’ve successfully turned on the camera or not. I have to press the on button before paddling out to meet my wave. Most of the time, the wave isn’t good, so I end up turning off the camera, or I need to rush to turn it on at the last second. Eventually I point the camera towards me to make things easier.

     I’m at the point by myself for about a half an hour, and that’s when I get my first long ride. Even though this place is flat right now, it’s still consistent; there are always waves. Even on the smallest days, random sets break at three feet and can lineup all the way to shore. This wave breaks at the top of the point. Since it’s not big, my cutbacks aren’t accentuated, but there are some fun, pumpy sections to play around on. 

     Paddling back to the point, I see that Edo has made the walk and is sitting in the lineup. When I go up to him he says, “Matt! I see you get long wave!”

     “Yeah,” I say. “It’s not as bad as it looks from shore.” I turn around and see Randy on the inside, doing the Choco Walk to the point. Pauk AKA Groucho Marx is also on the shore, walking out with his longboard. Our full lineup consists of only four people, and while they sit at the top of the wave, I sit just on their inside. This morning is deceiving because it looks flat, but a couple bombs form on the outside, and we’re out of position for a lot of them. Since I’m sitting wide, a couple waves come through where the others are too deep, and I’m able to get nice, steep takeoffs from where I am. Randy and Edo are both generous, letting me take waves that they see me going for, but I still share and try to offer them the waves first.

     By 0900 everyone goes in, but I stay out for another half an hour. I get another long wave towards the end of the session, and I pass Edo on the inside. All I can do is stand upright and smile back at him because my thighs are burning.

#

Grub:

     At the compound, Randy’s friend has made us breakfast again. They eat so little and leave me enough food for three people. “Eat,” says Randy. “Kill it.” It’s fried tofu, sweet bread, rice, and the opa dish again (tempe and hardboiled eggs in a sweet, green sauce). “We’ll go to that fish restaurant overlooking the harbor for lunch,” he says.

     It’s 1000 by the time I’m finished eating, and I don’t see how I will be hungry again in a couple of hours. 

#

     Sitting in my room, I go over the leftover cash that I have. Randy had told me that $800 US would be enough to exchange. He was right. I have well over 1,000,000 worth in Indonesian Rupiah. I head to Compound Two and track down Tina to pay my bill. I had already paid for the first half of my stay, but since Al left, the sixteen days that I’ve had a room to myself has only cost me $165 US. I also buy a couple of T-shirts for some people back home.

     Upstairs, I find the dormitory empty. Gayun tells me that the guys had left to Machines in the morning. I’m a little bummed that I didn’t get the invite, but . . . I think they knew that I would’ve said no. I wanted to chill here, so I can’t blame them for leaving.

     Back at the room I take a look at the GoPro footage, and I swear, all the footage with the camera facing forward is crap. I should have used a wider angle setting to actually see the wave. The whole time, the perspective is from the nose of the surfboard, and the waves look half the size that they were. Checking the footage with the camera facing me is just as painful. I see how awkward my style is, and all the stupid faces I make when I’m paddling. I feel sorry for Bri who has a closeup view similar to this when we’re having sex. Filtering through the footage takes a while, but I do notice something interesting. On this small day of surf, I find that my rides are nearly a minute long each. That’s not bad. That means that on decent days, my rides may have been close to two minutes. That’s something that I’ll miss: long ass lefts.

#

     I’m sitting at the warung overlooking the harbor with Randy, thinking about how I have zero appetite right now. Lucky for me, they ran out of rice, so we have to wait for a new batch to be cooked.

     There is a canal that leads outside of the harbor. It’s narrow, but there are no bridges or boats to get people across. The closest thing to a bridge is a sunken ship at the water’s edge at the right side. Drinking my coconut water, I notice that two men are scaling the sunken ship and are wearing nothing but briefs and T-shirts. A third guy behind them is completely butt naked. “Randy, check that out.” I reach for my camera, but my pocket’s empty. I left it in my room.

     Once at the end of the sunken boat, they wade through the neck deep water while holding their pants above their heads. Now two of them are naked, and their asses are just as brown as their faces. Upon reaching the shore on the other side, they cheer, put their pants back on, and call to their friends who are waiting for them. What an interesting sight. I mean, this is in front of a fucking restaurant. Imagine doing this in America. You can get arrested for indecent exposure just for showing your ass. And here, Indonesian cock and balls are fully exposed, just dangling. The other Indonesians in the restaurant don’t even notice. I also wonder how close those guys are. Sad enough, I can see myself feeling comfortable doing something similar with my friends back home.

     Our food comes out on several small plates, just enough for us to sample everything. The main dish is fried fish, and the rest are an assortment of vegetables.

     Geckos crawl at the edge of the open window, eyeballing our food. Randy puts some rice at the edge of the window sill, and within a minute, three geckos are fighting over it. “Look at that,” says Randy. “They eat rice. I’ve never seen that shit. The geckos in Maui don’t do that!”

     Again, camera. Fuck. I wish I had it. Geckos . . . they walk so low to the ground. “That’s how you have to be on your surfboard, yeah?” I say. We both laugh. It’s true. Their heads and bellies are so low that they look glued to the surface they are on. It makes me think about surfing, how being low helps while paddling into waves. Geckoes, they’d be able to paddle into anything.

#

     Full, I lie back down on my bed at 1330. This day is going by too fast. In about an hour I usually do my afternoon patrol, but I can’t with a full stomach. I haven’t even started packing or went to do my online check ins at the Rajawali yet. I need a nap.

     At 1445 I wake up and get my gear together. The tide is high, so later is better. It will be dark by 1730.

#

The Last:

     Chocos . . . it’s flat and even smaller than this morning. The tide is too high. It doesn’t look like it’s worth paddling out. I put the kickstand down and walk out to a piece of wood where I take a seat. The tide’s going down, but I’m not sure if it will get low enough to turn on, especially with the day coming to an end soon. I’m bummed, thinking that I won’t get a surf in, that it’s that bad that it’s not even worth paddling out. I sit and watch it for fifteen minutes. I think about calling it a day, but then Paul shows up and walks to the shore with his longboard in hand. Rian shows up too with his board. He looks out and shakes his head. “Too small,” I say. Turning back around, I watch Paul paddle out. Yeah, it’s small out there, but . . . I’m sure that something will come through, something rideable. Besides, I can’t let Paul have the waves all to himself.

     Rian and I walk out together. The inside isn’t drained out, but we can still walk at least half way before the water gets too deep. I look at Rian and say, “I love this wave. I’m going to miss surfing here the most.”

     He smiles and says, “ Yah, but don’t tell anyone. This place too crowded.”

     I smile back and turn my head towards shore. Yah-yah and the Indo Groms just showed up. “Here come the locals,” I say.

     “Yah,” says Rian, “but your face . . . your face is local.”

#

     The surf is so small for the first forty-five minutes that mostly everyone is sitting at the second point. Small insiders are breaking over there, creating waves that lineup at least halfway to shore. I’m patient, sitting at the top. Edo shows up again, and that’s when the waves start turning on.

     The lulls are longer than the morning, but random, plus sets still appear. The sun’s going down and the jungle next to me is growing darker. Reality hits. This is it, my last evening session here.

     Everyone who was sitting at the second point comes to the top of the wave. I have to sit deeper at the point to make sure that I get first dibs. On one wave, I pop up deep and casually wait until the wave allows me to slide in. I should fall behind the section, but I point my nose down the line and start pumping fast. The lip curls in front of me, and I sneak in my rail just underneath it to get as much speed and distance possible. The section’s about to close out, so I attempt a floater over it. It’s not pretty, but I get over the whitewash and have enough speed on the landing that I race past the white wash and get to the open face. Two other people pull out from the shoulder when they see me. Since I caught this wave just off of the cliffs, it’s standing up and fast, so I bottom turn and get a nice carve back into the pocket. When the wave hits the second point it mooshes out, but it felt good to pull that floater off. 

     Grant comes out just before sundown. He’s at the point on his longboard. I paddle up to him and ask, “How was Machines?”

     “It was okay,” he says. “It was fun.”

     His response isn’t followed up with a barrel tale. When I say fun, I really mean “fun” because I haven’t been here as long as they have, so it doesn’t take much to please me. He catches two waves and disappears.

     As the crowd thins, I have more waves to myself. The surf is getting better because the tide is getting lower, but there are only minutes of light left.

     When it’s dark, Edo and I are the only ones out here. I let him take a wave on a set and wait for the next one. It’s 1745, just enough light to barely make out the horizon. Take it in for the last time.

     “Thank you, Chocos. Thank you for the waves and the memories. Thank you for your consistency despite how terrible you look from the shore at times. Your water could have been cleaner and used less diapers, but you’ve been kind to me and Al when we’ve surfed here. You had only punished me with a skin rash when I first arrived, and you had mercy on me when I accidentally drank your gritty water. Choco Point, you’re a dirty motherfucker that turned my white Hurley rashguard brown, but I’ll still wear it in Cali in honor of you. When others look at me and wonder why I’m wearing a rashguard that looks like shitpaper, I’ll know that it’s from your asshole; to me . . . it will mean something special. Thank you again, you filthy animal!” 

 

     Despite the limited visibility, I get in good position for my last wave, but the water’s so glassy that I can’t see its face. I wait for the lip to feather out to know where I am. Once it does, I’m too far behind the section to clear it, but that’s fine. On my belly, I ride the whitewash in for my finale. Walking to my motorbike, I see my brother on the shore watching the surf. Grant is here too, and then I hear a female’s voice say, “Who are we waiting for? Eric?”

     “No,” says Grant. “Eric’s already left.”

     “Who’s that other guy? Matthew?”

     “He’s right here,” says Grant.

     “Hi,” I say. Her face is hard to make out. In the darkness, she struggles with her moped and board, trying to point it towards the trail.

     “Hello,” she says. “I’m Sarah.”

     Another Sarah. “Eric was here?” I say.

     “They were all here,” Says Randy, “surfing the inside.”

     “Matt,” says Grant, “What do you think you’ll do for tonight?”

     I look at the both of them and say, “Fuck, I ate so much today that I am not hungry. I have to hit the internet right after this. Maybe just some drinks around eight?”

     “Okay,” says Grant. “We’ll see you then.”

Errands:

     I’m still full from all the food I’ve eaten today. Stopping at Compound One, I invite Eric, and Reese to also come by to have some beers with me and my bro later. They’re seated at the table with Sarah and another chick. They are already laughing and having a good time. It’s perfect. Three guys, two girls. Oh yeah . . . someone’s gonna get his stab on, if not both. Ladies . . . you came to the right place for sausage.

     Once at the Rajawali Hotel, I go online, check in for my flghts, and update my blogs. 1930 turns into 2000 too fast, and I’m late for my own get together. I hurry and send Bri a short email to let her know that I arrive tomorrow. I hit the Indomaret for the last time, skipping ice cream and only buying beer and snacks. The flirtatious Indo chick with the blue headwrap is working tonight. I have no way in communicating that this is my last night here. I wish I could because over the last month, she’s been a familiar face, a friend almost. She smiles when she hands me my change, and I shoot her a smile back. It’s just another day for her, I’m sure that she’s seen Westerners come and go. I walk out and start my bike without looking back. 

Bin Tangs and Arak:

     Reese, Eric, Grant, and my brother are sitting on the platform out in the courtyard. Reese brings some leftover arak over, and we have enough large bottles of Bin Tangs to go around, twice over.

     “One of the girls is coming over tonight,” says Grant.

     “Where is she from?”

     “England.”

     “Shit, good for you, man. Got some poon tang lined up.”

     “But she’s not much for conversation. I kind of liked the other one better.” He means the chick he was with at the beach.

     We drink from 2030 to midnight. The arak gives me a good buzz, and I take my time, making my rounds, thanking Reece and Grant for taking care of me and Al during our time here. I also tell them to hit me up any time in Cali, and that I’d be more than willing to show them the surf out there.

     Randy comes up to me and says, “We’re gonna wake up at three in the morning and start cooking for you.”

     “What?” I say. “That’s early. Man, you guys don’t have to.”

     He continues to insist. I’m struck by this gesture.

     At midnight, I start cleaning up the empty bottles around the platform and say my goodbyes. Reece and Grant are both leaving in a couple of weeks. Eric will be here until August. I watch them start their bikes for the last time, exiting the compound gates, waving goodbye. I wave back, knowing that there will never be another trip like this one. God bless those blokes.

     I’m lying down in my bed, and the ceiling starts to spin. Fuck brushing my teeth. I still need to pack. Fuck it. I’ll pack in the morning. I have to be up in three and a half hours. Fight the nausea, fight the saliva that’s beginning to fill my mouth, fight the convulsions in my stomach that are coming up to my throat. Fight them, fight them all.

     I prop myself up, stumble to the bathroom light, and flick it on. On the bathroom floor, I lift the toilet seat. Smears from my last shit stain the toilet bowl. I flush, and the water swirls around stubbornly from the weak water pressure. Keeling over the rim, arak and beer stings my throat and nostrils as my vomit ejects from my mouth in violent growls. There’s no way that this process can be silent. I imagine my brother upstairs hearing the chaos. When was the last time I threw up from drinking? Fuck. I can’t even remember. Usually I man up and hold it down until the morning and face the inevitable hangover, but tonight I just can’t. Crouched on the bathroom floor, resting on my shins with a string of mucous hanging from my chin, the corner of my mouth raises into a smirk. I let out a little laugh. Now this is how you end a vacation.