A JACKASS IN JAVA: DAY TWENTY NINE (15JUN2013)

 

Pre Blog:

     How’s this month? You figure . . .  on the average, I’m surfing four-to-five hours a day. I just realized this. .  . Four to five hours of surfing with naps and all the Indonesian food I can eat in between. The main break that I surf is minutes away. I can even hear the surf when it’s pumping. I throw on shorts, grab my board, hop on a moped, and I’m at the surf spot. I’ve never experienced this kind of lifestyle before. Even Bali took more effort to get waves. There is a “crowd” element here, but it’s still minor compared to Cali and definitely minor compared to Bali. I’m at the end of my trip. My beard and mustache look terrible. To think I was stoked to just grow everything out, but man, am I ugly right now. I hope my girlfriend will still love me when I return. There is no one to impress here, so looking like shit is all right with me. I’ve been exhausted on this last leg of my stay, just from surfing so much. My paddling arms are toast. Even though I’ve lost muscle mass, my back muscles are probably in the best shape that they’ve ever been. Anyway, four-to-five hours of surfing, every day for a whole month. I’m gonna miss this.

Second to the last day:

     It’s 0600. Early. I close my eyes. 0630. Okay, I should get up. I’m not sure what everyone is planning for today. I heard some people mention Machines yesterday, and I assume that if Randy wanted to pull the trigger to go there, he would’ve knocked on my door by now.

     “Matt,” says Randy through the door. I get up and open it. “Hey, I just saw everyone heading towards Chocos right now. Now might be the time if you want to go.”

     “Okay,” I say. “I’ll get ready.”

     “You want coffee?”

     “No, I’m cool.”

     “Can I ride with you?”

     Uhhhlf, nut-to-butt time on the scooter with my brother. “Sure,” I say.

     We’ve endured another rainless night. This is good. Choco Point is cleaning up, finally. Through the bike trail and under the trees, we reach the surf. It doesn’t look so bad, but the tide is already coming up, which means this window for surf will be shutting down soon. An hour and a half of surf is what I’m thinking. We paddle out at 0700.

     Everyone’s beat us to the lineup this morning, but it’s still not that crowded, probably ten heads at the most. Reece and Grant are longboarding again. Only one session on the longboards out here, and they’ve completely changed. Now they’re addicted. For this wave, it’s just so easy to get into them with more board, and with the extreme distance to the point, the longboard makes life easier. But me . . . I like turns way too much. I can’t do it.

     The session starts off with a long ass lull. Not much going on here. The surf is probably gonna get too fat within the next half hour. All good things must come to an end, and Chocos can’t work every day, but . . . everyone begins to dart towards the outside. I paddle over a wave. On the horizon, a long wall stands up and slightly tapers wide towards the middle of the bay. Bombs.

     There’s a surfer on every wave of this set. Since I normally sit a little wide, in between first and second point, I’m in a good position to catch the end section of the wave. These waves . . . they can be intimidating upon first sight when they’re breaking way outside. It takes good judgment to take off in the right spot. This wave is slow, but because of the size, the take off can be consequential if you go too late. If you’re too much on the shoulder, the wave won’t let you in. Too deep, and the lip will send you down the face with so much speed that you’ll lose the section by the time you pop up. When the wave is at its most vertical, right before the lip curls . . . that’s the perfect spot to take off from. So I’m paddling, looking at this wall, making sure that my timing will be good. German Fabio is way on my inside, too deep, but he’s going for it. I’m stroking and watching him, and he eats shit as soon as he reaches the base of the wave. Too deep. Fabio, you poor German, you. My take off is late, but I’ve angled my board, and it’s a steep drop. The section is standing up, so I’m going deep on my bottom turn, sticking my ass out to ingrain the rail into the face. I do a cut back, and the section in front of me wants to close out. It’s a race to pump while sneaking in turns. The theme was to ride relaxed, but with all this speed, I realize that I’m able to put more ass into my turns so long as I have momentum. Momentum and aggression go together. I’ve also adjusted my stance more towards the rear of my board, and my turns become more fluid with smoother transitions on my cutbacks. Nice. This wave . . . it’s a nice way to start the session.

#

     I honestly didn’t think the surf would be good, but a miracle is happening. Despite the mid tide, the surf is pumping and consistent. What’s going on with these last couple of days here? I remember when Al had left, the last surf sessions here were good. It’s cliché, but it’s like this place knows that I’m leaving, and it’s sending me off properly.

     Grant and Reece get so many waves that they both tell me, “Feel free to take any wave that I’m on.” They feel guilty. I appreciate the offer, but I’d rather not party wave it and risk a collision. They can have their waves.

     I’m sitting here trying to recollect this morning session, fifteen hours ago, but I can’t. It was a buffet. Everyone got waves. Again, I had to pass on waves. Turns, so many turns. Long paddles to exhaustion. Just surfing Chocos in this month, I’ve gotten more turns than I would in six months in Cali. What else can I say about this session? I forget to put sunblock on, so my back is on fire. It’s seems like forever since the sun’s been this strong over here. There isn’t one rain cloud in the sky. The water’s glassy, everyone’s smiling; it’s the romanticized ideal.

     By 0900 I’m dying of thirst. I feel it. It’s hard to notice exertion in the ocean because you can’t see your sweat, but my throat is parched. My paddles back to the lineup are lethargic, and half way through my waves, I have to stand upright to relieve my burning thighs. Randy and I go in at the same time. There are still sets coming in, but all this surf is taking its toll. I need to take a break.

#

     Randy and I are eating breakfast at the compound. His friend has made a dish called opor. It has hardboiled eggs, tempe, tofu, and it’s smothered in this green, sweet sauce. There are also sweet rolls, fried tofu, and rice. I kill my plate with a cup of coffee.

     “The other day,” says Randy, “my friend was upset that you didn’t eat lunch.”

     “Fuck. I’m sorry. I wanted to eat. Trust me, I never turn down food, but that’s a long ass paddle out at Chocos. I can’t do it on a full stomach.”

     “I know.” He laughs. “She said she likes to watch you eat.”

     And I eat. They both only have one small plate, and they let me devour the rest. I eat three plates to myself. A gigantic breakfast after surfing, what a life.

#

     I take a shit while playing Angry Birds on my iPhone. This game, it’s so addicting. It’s the best thing to do while taking a shit or trying to fall asleep. Afterwards, I sit on my bed and try to write, but my surf exhaustion and food coma hit me. I’m done, useless. I lie down. Nappy poo time.

     It’s noon when I awakened by the sound of mopeds. I lift my head. Fuck. It’s Grant and Eric. I stand at my doorway. “Dude,” I say. “I’m sorry, bro. I am NOT hungry at all. I had a HUGE breakfast.”

     “Come on, mate. It’s twelve o’clock. You’ve got to eat something before you surf again.”

     Since I was napping, I’m more tired than I am hungry, and I really did eat a lot. Grant with his long, dirty blond hair and chiseled jawline. I swear, if I took this guy to America, his accent and good looks would get him laid every night. No woman would be safe around this man. “No, dude,” I say. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

     Eric and Grant look up towards Randy’s balcony. He passes on lunch too. 

#

     These last days are going by quick. I wake up at 1400 and walk to the kitchen to grab some water. Rian is reading a book outside. I look at him and say, “Rian, it’s time!”

     He smiles and says, “You go Chocos?”

     “Almost. Half an hour.”

Meet Rian. High school graduate and compound security.

     I pound as much water as I can. I know I haven’t been hydrating well, and that might be one of the reasons why I’m so exhausted.

     I wax my board with a tiny piece of wax. I only brought two bars with me. Idiot. I should have brought four. Luckily, Al gave me this last bar, and it’s lasted me this long. I’m looking at the wax on my board, and there are three spots that go bald every time I surf: on both sides of the rails where I put my hands to pop up and the center of my board where I put my feet. Looking at the surface of the board where the wax is intact, I wonder if I’ve done myself a disservice by leaving these areas unworn. What does it say about my surfing? Have I not used the board to its full potential? Should I have more bare spots? The wax is caked on more towards the nose. Some areas are brown from Choco Point’s dirt. The wax on my board is like brail, telling a tale about a surfer’s first time in Java. Tomorrow, after my last evening session here, I’ll have to strip all of the wax off, making the whole board smooth and white again. It will mean different things.

     “Goodbye wax that has kept me glued to my board over the last month. Thanks for not rashing me up too much. I appreciate how you’ve kept my feet stuck to the board on every top turn, carve, cutback, and barrel attempt that we’ve done together. Thanks for not melting in the sun during those long drives to Machines. It won’t be easy, using the sharp edge of my wax comb to pry you off of the deck. Some of you will stubbornly stick, needing a cloth drenched in alcohol to get you off. I know, I know, I don’t want you to go either, but you must.”

     My board’s deck will be cleaned and stripped like erasing a page. Back home, I’ll have to put a fresh coat on.

#

Here we go again:

    

     Chocos, parking my bike by myself. Chocos, an empty lineup at mid tide with nobody out. Chocos, why the fuck are your waves so flat? Chocos . . . is that a set? Oh yes. Four feet on the mid tide, and it’s draining more by the second. Chocos, you need not do anymore. I’ll surf you. I’m sold. 

     There’s a diaper on the sand. So long as it’s not in the water. Some things I will not miss: the sight of shopping bags full of trash, tree roots big as boulders on the shore, and broken tree branches the length of small cars. I’m no authority, but god damn . . . if there wasn’t so much litter this place would be closer to perfect.

     I make the walk to the point, but I have to paddle out sooner because the water’s not quite shallow yet. No one’s out because the tide is still high. Four o’clock should be prime time, but I’m an hour early; I have to be. I love being in the water when the window changes. It’s better than being on the shore or in my room. How can one fully appreciate the surf without experience the changing of the guard?

Poor chicken. He didn't even have a fuckin' chance. . .

     Solo at the point, but I don’t mind. I sing to myself since no one’s around. A flying fish breaks the water line right next to me, freaking me the fuck out. Okay, that wasn’t cool. I’m in the water for only ten minutes when a set appears. “Well, well. Look who decided to show up,” I say to the wave. The section starts off steep. The first two turns are flashy because my board has so much speed. At the second point, the wave goes soft, but I crouch down, putting my hand on the nose to make sure I stay in the pocket. When the section builds again, it’s like a whole other wave, saying, “Welcome, please prepare for the second part of this ride.” I go all the way to shore. I turn around, and the only moped on the shore is mine. I love having this place all to myself.

     OTB, I’m skipping the little ones. Only at the top; I have to sit at the top. Within the hour, everyone comes out: Gayun, Rian, Edo, Randy, Grant, Reece, German Fabio, Mando who’s finally got his stitches removed, the Aussie couple, the Japanese couple, Ya-Ya, Paul (Groucho Marx), and a little Indo Grom who surfs the bay. That’s sixteen, including me. Did I miss anyone? 

     Despite this crowd, waves have found me in the empty spots that I’ve chosen to sit at. Sitting on the inside of the main pack, wide, and even at the second point, the waves find me. 

     Where a surfer places himself in the lineup is like playing roulette. The only difference is that you can’t stack multiple chips in one spot. Well, you can, but only one player will win. And if this was roulette, I’d be winning a lot. I’d be the asshole at the table with a stack full of chips.

Grant and Reece, reborn longboarders.

     Later into the session with the tide dropping, the swell is giving consistent, four-to-five feet surf. It’s a little smaller than this morning but still rippable. There are plenty of steep sections, allowing me to go harder on the turns. As far as breakthroughs, I purposely try to do backhand snaps into the pocket on my wrap around cutbacks. I pull off one clean and legit, to the point that rebound back into the wave has a little step down. The only downside of doing this, is that I have to pump harder to get back to the open face. I’m satisfied where my turns are on this session, and I hope it’s progression that I can take home with me. My barrel riding is nonexistent, but as for my frontside carves, Chocos has been an awesome training ground or it. 

Gayun, Compound Two security

 

Reece, the Aussie Hotdogger

     For the first time, I sit on the inside and try to snap pics of other people on their waves in order to get some scale. From the shore, it’s hard to tell what this wave looks like. I get a shot of Paul on his longboard, but he doesn’t know how to negotiate the critical section and keeps eating shit. Too deep. I get Reece on a little wave on his longboard. Randy, I catch a shot of him from behind doing a front side carve. Right after that, I try to get a shot of Grant, but he wipes out.

Paul AKA Groucho Marx on a nice left

 

Randy ending his ride with a front side carve

 

That splash in the water is Grant

     This is the most beautiful that I’ve seen this place since I’ve been here. No rain, no dark clouds, I can see the sun and the sky turning pink. The silhouette of multiple hills and mountains are in the backdrop behind us. The water is clean, warm, and glassy. Thank you, Chocos.

     Grant, Reece, and I clown around on our waves. On the inside, I do some pelvic thrusts on the slow sections, humping the air with both hands behind my head. “I’ve got to top that,” says Reece. On his next wave, he lies down on his longboard and starts humping towards the sky. Grant looks extremely gay when he does his pelvic thrusts because he’s just so handsome that it looks wrong to see him do it, like a gay surf porn. 

Edo, Compound Manager

     It’s 1730 and there’s not much light out. Everyone is going for their last waves. Grant and I are on the inside. “Come on, Matt. One more wave.”

     Fuck. I’m so tired. I don’t want to paddle all the way back to the point, but I’m not gonna leave a battle buddy behind. I’m in.

     It’s dark when we reach the top of the wave. Or is it the top of the wave? “Is that wave breaking?” he says. A dark line forms above the faint horizon.

     “It’s a bomb,” I say. More like three bombs. We are duckdiving in the dark because we can’t see the waves. Finally, I catch one, but it’s a moosher and bogs out fast. Grant gets a bomb and disappears. I’m forced to ride the whitewash in. On the shore, we’re the last ones out. I tell Grant that I’ll meet him at the compound. Glancing at my watch, I see that it’s 1803. I just pulled a three hour and fifteen minute session, and it went by so fast.

     This is the latest that I’ve ridden back from Chocos. The trail is pitch black, save for my weak headlight. I remember one night in Maui when the cows broke the wire and got loose. My grandpa had dropped me off in the middle of a dark pineapple field, high up on the West Maui Mountains. He handed me a machete and said, “Don’t let the cows get through.” He drove off, and I watched those red tail lights disappear down the hill. My grandpa had told me so many ghost stories, both from the Philippines and Maui. There was no moon out, and on that dark, dirt road, my only company was the loud, rustling wind blowing through the pineapple field and down into the gulch. I gripped that machete hard. Why the hell had he given it to me? I wasn’t going to slice up the cows with it. All those ghost stories came back into my mind. My mind, my worst enemy. 

     On this ride back to the compound, the trail looks sinister. So many “what ifs” pop into my mind. What if I ride through this bend and see a man just standing there in the middle of the road. Holy shit. Goose bumps. I glance behind me. It’s all blackness. There’s history here. Rick, the Indonesian dude who we drank with, had told me that they found one of the earliest remains of human species here. I remember, I had seen it on the news. Civilization, man. People have been living and dying here for centuries. What if I turned to look beside the trail and saw someone running alongside with me. Uhhlf. More goose bumps. Where are the random teenagers that usually hang out here? The five minute ride feels like an hour. I feel like some kind of force is following me back to the compound. When I pull in and park, I’m happy to see my brother holding up a beer in offering.

     “You guys stayed out late,” he says.

     “Yeah, Grant wanted to catch one more. We couldn’t see shit.”

     “You want a San Miguel?”

     So we’re drinking some beer, having some official brother time. “It’s so clean out there without the rain,” I say. “But I saw a dead chicken out there.” I pull out my camera and show him the pic.

     “Damn,” he says. “One time, a fisherman fell off the cliff. He was missing for two days. I had showed up to surf and saw something that looked like a body on the sand. The surf was good, so I didn’t go look.” He sips his beer. “Paul was the one who found him. He told the locals, and there was a whole crowd on the beach. They picked up the body and carried it off.”

     “Wow. . . That fuckin trail is spooky at night.”

     “Yeah it is.”

     He mentions that we should do something for dinner tomorrow night. “We can invite the guys, even ask Edo, Tina, and Gayun if they want to come.”

     I’m not one for large get togethers over me, so I suggest just inviting the guys. It makes sense since I’ve been hanging with them the most. “I’ll let them know tonight,” I say.

     “Oh,” says Randy. “And you might as well take the Tokoro home with you.”

     “Really?” I say.

     “Yeah, I have no use for it here. It’s a beach break board. I was gonna sell it. Just take it.”

     I’m surprised that he’s letting me have his board. It’s a good board too. I had good sessions with it at the harbor. “Thanks, man.” Wow, this definitely makes up for my board that he had broken over Christmas.

#

     At Compound One, I catch Reece walking towards the kitchen. “Dinner?” I ask.

     “No. Tina’s cookin’ tonight. I think all you need is like fifteen hundred. I’m sure she’s made enough for everyone.”

     Fuck. I want to eat with the guys, but I wasn’t invited. It’s rude to just show up and be like, “Hey, can I eat too?” I don’t want to eat alone, but I don’t like inviting myself to gatherings either. I saw Edo in the water. He could have let me know then, but he didn’t, so I won’t intrude.

     I stop by the office, and Edo gives me my bill. I paid my portion since Al left, so I’m only paying for about half of my stay. The cost of my room and moped rental comes out to a whopping 1650000 IR ($165 US).

#

     I’m eating naci pecel by myself. Not the way I imagined my second to the last dinner here. Our crew has thinned out. This is what it’s come to. I see Randy pull up on his motorcycle, but he doesn’t see me. He sits on the opposite side of the market and orders something over there. We finally make eye contact, and then he comes over.

     “Where is everyone?” he says.

     “Oh . . . Tina was cooking, but I didn’t get the invite, so . . . I didn’t want to intrude.”

     “You should have told me.”

     “Yeah . . . I know. I mean, we’ll be eating tomorrow. I just thought I’d eat real quick and go back.” He looks behind him from the stall where he had ordered his food. “I’ll join you after I’m done,” I say.

The place to be on a Saturday night

     After I eat, I join him at his table. He says, “I want to take you to a different martabak place. They make it really good.”

     “Not tonight,” I say, “but I might be down for some ice cream.”

#

     The last time we ate at the Indomaret together was the second or third night after Al and I arrived. It’s fitting I guess, to finally come together. We polish off the first two Concerto ice creams, which resemble the American Drumstick ice creams. “Another round?” he says.

     “Fuck yeah.”

     An Indonesian family sitting at the table outside of Indomaret stares at us hard while we polish off the second batch. Something about us just shows that we’re not from here. Randy passes as a local. I’m always asked if I’m Japanese. My polo shirt isn’t that nice to stand out so much.

     “What are you gonna miss most about this place,” says Randy. “Foodwise.”

     “Damn, that’s kind of a hard question to answer when I’m full.” I take another bite of the cone, taking some cookies and cream with it. I’M over fried noodles and fried rice. I’ve had so much of it. Martabak is good, but . . . I’m not in the mood for that, so that’s not the answer. “You know what? This might sound bad, but Padangs.” My brother nods. “I like that spot. I like their eggplant when it’s good. It reminds me home, you know, grandma and grandpa guys.”

     “Yeah,” he says. “Me too.” He talks about how he remembers how they used to grow eggplant in the garden in our backyard. We grew up with that.

#

     Back at the compound, we plan to surf local tomorrow. He had asked me after breakfast what I wanted to do for my last day. I had said I just wanted to take it easy and surf local. Low tide is a little bit later, so I’ll try to surf it at first light and get a monster session in.

     “I’ll probably surf with you,” he says. “We’ll have breakfast again too.”

     I smile. “Cool.” Walking to my room, I insert the key and unlock my door. I glance towards the stairs and watch my brother disappear as he climbs them.