A JACKASS IN JAVA: DAY TWENTY ONE (07JUN2013)

     It’s hard getting a good night’s sleep here. My body struggles with going to bed early. I mean, I fall asleep well before 2200, but by 0100 my body naturally wakes itself up. Back home, I’m a night owl. Any time before midnight is an early night for me. 0100 is the expected. 0200 is doable. 0300 is usually when I know I’m pushing it.

     It’s 0700 when I wake up, but I don’t get out of bed. I sleep in until 0800, telling myself that the tide probably isn’t right for it right now anyway. Taking my time, I make my oatmeal and boil some water for coffee. I hear the sound of footsteps.

     “Hello,” says the Indonesian woman who’s my new neighbor next door.

     “Hello, good morning,” I reply.

     She walks to the kettle and says, “Water?”

     “Yes.” I pull it off of the burner and add more water through the spout. She asks me where I’m from, and I give her the full story and how my brother lives upstairs. Her bottom row of teeth have braces. She’s slender with long black hair. When the water’s done, she makes herself some tea and sits at the other end of the table, sipping it with her spoon.

     “I from Sumatra, but I live in Bali,” she says.

     “Sumatra?” I say. “Good waves over there?”

     “Yes. I surf the Mentawais.”

     Wow, I’m thinking. I’m fucking jealous, that’s for sure. “Mentawais. I bet you’re here to surf Machines, huh?”

     “Yes. I like barrel.”

     Well, you might as well chop my balls off right now. This chick. I can probably throw her in the air. Mentawais is her home fucking break. And she can probably school me.

     “Menatawai good,” she says, “but need boat. Can be expensive to surf. I live in Bali now, but I getting bored. Too many people. Even the surfers. Plenty local pro. Even the locals don’t care if you are a girl anymore. No more respect.”

     Fuckin’ A. I feel her pain. Bali . . . yeah, it’s overpopulated now, and the crowds are ridiculous.

     “I give you my information,” she says. “If you come Mentawais, I show you the surf.”

     “Thanks,” I say. That’s the cool thing about the people here. So nice, and there’s nothing creepy about it either. I heard Edo had visited her to surf the Mentawais also.

     “I’ll give you my info too,” I say. If you come to Cali, I’ll show you the surf.”

     She shakes her head, saying, “Coming to Indonesia from Cali, you have plenty money. Coming to California from Indo. Too expensive.” She says her name is Yuli (you-lee).

#

     Randy says he’s going to check out the wedge around 1300 if I care to join. I tell him that I can’t commit myself to it, but that I’m gonna take a look at the local surf first and get with him later. I’m glad that the rain from last night has finally stopped. On my way to Choco Point, the sky is still overcast, and the air is cool. Some of yesterday’s puddles have drained out a little. In front of Choco Point, I see that the tide is too high, but there is some potential in the size. Maybe for the afternoon session it will be fun here. As I turn to ride through Choco Road it begins to drizzle. Once I make it out of the trees to the open road, it starts to rain a little. By the time I reach the harbor, the rain becomes consistent. Fuckin’ A. Rain again. The tide is a little high at the harbor, which should be good, but the waves look a little on the soft side. I see Ana out there, the white-Indo chick, some Barneys, and a lot of the groms. I’m speeding off in the rain to grab my board. When I reach the compound, my shirt is soaked.

Solo:

     I haven’t been gone for over ten minutes, and everyone has cleared the fucking harbor. Motherfucker. I mean, I like uncrowded surf, but has the surf really turned to shit that bad where everyone just leaves? A couple people strap up their boards before they depart. I’m the only jackass on arrival, parking, pulling out my board, and heading towards the shore. Even the usual crowd at the lifeguard station has cleared out. Despite the clearing, I think this is a prime time to paddle out. High tide just peaked, it’s gonna start going out, and I’ll catch the window when the surf starts to turn good again.

     When I hit the water, I’m surprised at how warm it is in comparison to the rainy air temp. Even though some of the waves are soft, I see that there are still some shoulders. I turn around to face the beach once I reach the lineup, and I see that the two lifeguards from the tower are watching me. Since I’m the only guy out here, I imagine that they must think I’m an idiot.

     For the first half hour, my decision to paddle out seems questionable. I’m being super picky, passing up all of the lefts. I need a good right, one that will line up and at least let me have one turn, but all the waves that I am getting are closing out. In desperation, I go for a left, but it’s gutless and weak. Finally, a peak pops up that has a good, tapered shoulder. I pop up and get down the line fast. I can’t believe that this wave is holding shape. I put a little extra mustard on my top turn and stick the landing. Back at the lineup, thunder sounds in the distance. All alone in the water, I’m pelted with torrential rain. I wish I had brought my camera with me. Everything, even the lifeguard tower is hard to see through the sheets of rain. It’s insane, like torrential, monsoon type pouring. I start getting paranoid that I’m gonna get zapped by lightning out here. The thought of people dying while doing what they love best crosses my mind, but I don’t want to go out like that. My shortsleeve rashguard is perfect, keeping my torso warm despite the rain while the rest of my body is submerged in bath water. The tide drops a little, and now the shape improves. Still, I’m surprised that I’m the only one out here. Where are the groms? Probably in a circle, smoking cigarettes and playing cards. No one else knows that the surf is good, and with the rain, no one dares venture out for a look. Right now, I’d rather be getting pissed on while sitting here in an empty lineup than in my room, watching the rain drops.

     It’s not perfect shape out here, though. I have to be picky. I know which waves are going to be sectiony and which ones are pure closeouts, but every once in a while there’s the the nice, right-hand peak. It’s shoulder is so tapered it’s like an open arm extended, saying, “Please. After you,” with a smile. Shit, don’t mind if I do! So I do, and for two hours, I’m surfing all alone. Peaky, beach break rights all to myself. The most I can get is three turns on the waves. Back home, three turns at a beach break is a good wave—hell, a good session! I remember sessions at home where one, three-turn wave made the whole day.

     It’s noon, the two hour mark. Man, I’m hungry. It’s still raining, but there are still waves. However, the tide is below midlevel, which causes the waves to closeout more. Every time I think I’ve caught my last wave, I can’t help but turn around and paddle back out there. How can’t I? Back home, it’s not very often that I score uncrowded surf like this. From the inside, I see that some of the waves are going hollow. I tell myself that I’m gonna go for a couple of barrel attempts for my last rides. I wait for a wave that looks a little walled. I pop up, slide down the face a little, grab rail, stick my arm in the face, and hold my line, but . . . it feels forced. At Machines, there’s the sense of urgency, that you must pull in. The wave only throws over my head for a split second, after that I see nothing but a swirl of foam. I’m still in there, stubbornly committed before I’m forced off my track. On the next wave, I have the same intention, but it’s not opening up, so I straighten out and head to shore.

     No surfers are around when I get to the sand. I almost wish there was someone who I could nod to and at least acknowledge the surf, or a fellow surfer who would ask, “How was it?”

     “How was it?” I would say, full of enthusiasm, then I would unload about how no one else wanted to surf just because it was raining and how I scored it all by myself.

    

Contrast:

     Back at the compound, Randy looks down from his balcony as I walk towards my room. “Did you eat lunch?” he asks.

     “Nope.”

     “There’s some chicken soup on the kitchen table in a bag. You just need to warm it up.”

     After I shower, I huddle over my soup, thankful that I don’t have to get wet again in the rain to find something to eat. Since Choco Point was fun yesterday evening, even with the lack of swell, I’ll make sure to catch it early today. Maybe a little nappy poo, paddle out a little before the tide bottoms out, and then surf the tide push with some fore-runners from the oncoming swell. Ohhh yeah, sounds like a plan.

     At 1300 someone says, “Matt,” from outside. I sit up in my bed. It’s Sonia.

     “Hey! I thought you left already.”

     “No, no. My taxi come at three o’clock. I just stopped by to say goodbye.” Sonia. She’s fucking awesome. When Al and I were abandoned by my brother and left to our own devices, she was one of the few who stepped up and took care of us. The first time we actually talked to her was at the market. Al and I were dumbfounded at ordering our food, and then she stepped up in front of us and placed our orders. She cooked some mean grinds for Camille’s going away dinner. “You come to Austria, I show you snowboarding.”

     I smile, ensure her that we’ll keep in touch through Facebook, and say that maybe in some other summer in the future we’ll all be here again.

#

     At 1400 Ana stops by. “They are going to S_____” she says. “You want to go?”

     “No, I think I’m just gonna stay here and surf Chocos. It was good yesterday, so it should be better today.”

     “Okay, I’ll meet you out there then.”

     I’m lazy. I don’t feel like getting ready. This morning’s solo session has drained the life out of me, but I have to go. The window’s gonna open up. I know it is. Maybe it already has. There are gonna be long lefts out there to be had, and even though I like beach break rights, there’s nothing like long, point break lefts. I need to get some forehand carves in, some turns and cutbacks. Yeah, it’s a date.

     I wax up my board, decide to ditch the rashguard, and grab my Hurley Phantom X shorts that go just above the knee. It’s a rainless ride to Chocos, and when I get there, it’s just as I expected. Two guys are already out. The tide’s the lowest that I’ve seen it since being here. Waves are breaking consistently at the second point, giving long, soft, three-foot lefts. The swell hasn’t hit yet, but it will. The tide’s still going out a little, but as soon as it fills in, waves will start peeling all the way from the top of the wave.

     It rained hard. There’s a branch in the water reaching out to the sky with green leaves still attached to it, but for the most part, it’s not as bad as I had expected it to be.

     The tide’s so low that I don’t need to skirt the cliffline to walk out. I walk out right in front and paddle in at the second point. Richard the asshole is in the water. I just can’t fuckin’ stand the sight of him. He catches a wave on his fish towards shore, so I paddle more towards the point.

     Groucho Marx is out here with me on his longboard. I sit on his inside, and he passes up the wave for some reason. I get the wave. It’s a little on the soft side, but it has a fun floater section, which I don’t pull off with much style, but I do pull it off to say the least. I transition from my top turn into a cutback, but when I rebound I lose the wave. The surf’s still a little soft, but it will change.

     Now Old Rich is out here, Dreadlock Eddie is back for the weekend from studying at Yogja University, and even Gayun has paddled out with a couple of his buddies. Where the fuck is Ana?

#

     Lull. . . . What the fuck is going on with this lull? I swear, it’s like the whole ocean turned flat. And . . . with this tide push . . . all the trash on the inside is now floating through the lineup, making its way out to sea.

     You’ve read about my complaints about floating diapers in the lineup. Try a floating plastic bag FULL OF USED DIAPERS. The sight of this makes me feel so fucking gross. I’m literally surfing in a cess pool. Aerosol cans, a top to a juice bottle, branches, and never ending swarms of woodchips and twigs. Little pieces of wood get stuck in my boardshorts between my ass cheeks. Broken stems from branches get stuck between my chest and my surfboard every couple of strokes. Gayun leaves, and so does dickhead Richard. I now know why Ana isn’t here. I can’t blame her.

     The surf is a fucking nightmare. It’s still flat. Everyone is sitting on the inside, hoping to catch something. This is the worst that I’ve surfed Chocos.

     When a set finally comes, it’s the best wave that I’ve caught here today. I draw some turns but make sure to stay close to the pocket to keep momentum. A couple sections stand up, giving me good distance for a long ride. Even though there are some lines coming in the distance, I decide to head to shore. It’s 1700 with about a half an hour of light left. I feel too disgusting, like I’ve been marinating in diaper-infested water. I need to decontaminate myself right now.

#

     I’ve driven clear across to the other side of the bay to the harbor. Randy is here looking at it too. He pulls up on his bike.

     “Chocos was disgusting,” I say. “Absolutely fucking disgusting.”

     “S_____ wasn’t that good. I paddled out for like an hour. Reese was there too with your German friend.”

     “Well, I’m gonna paddle out here, more for a ‘rinse off’ session. I just need to surf clean water before I head back and take a shower.”

     “This actually looks gross to me now. I’m gonna head back.”

     Eric, a German guy who has a room upstairs from me, is out there surfing. Like Dreadlock Eddie, he is studying at Jogja University and comes here whenever he has a chance.

     I have the wrong board for this wave, but it doesn’t matter. The water here has turned a little brown from this morning because of the rain. It also smells like an ashtray, but there are no diapers here. The spot needs more tide, but I don’t care. I catch closeouts for the next twenty minutes before hopping on my scooter, back to the compound.

     When I reach the gate, Ana is there with Edo. “Matt, let’s go eat,” she says.

     “Okay, let me change first.”

     Edo tells me about how Ana almost got a good wave today. He teases her about her paddling, how she sticks her head up too high, causing her to lose her waves. She tells him to shut up, and they both slap each others’ arms and tease for a bit.

     After I’m done showering, I step outside to find Randy in the kitchen. “Matt,” he says. He’s holding up a bottle of tequila, the one that I brought here for him. “It’s Mikk’s birthday. We gotta do a shot.” He pours us a couple of glasses. “You gonna shoot yours or sip it?”

     “I’mma shoot mine,” I say. I’ve never been a fan of shots. I’m just a beer guy, but this is a nice gesture I guess, for our sister Michelle’s birthday. She’s the best big sister any guy could ask for. Before moving to Maui for high school, she was the eldest of my two sisters, the one who got her driver’s license first, the one who had to drive us and our mom everywhere to do all the shopping and the errands needed. She used to spoil me, take me out to movies after I got out of elementary school, grab me some Carl’s Jr. on her way home from work. She even bought me my first bike in the sixth grade, the first one not stolen at least. I’m sad because I had meant to go to the internet today to send her a happy birthday e-mail, but I didn’t make it. I wanted to tell her how I remember and appreciate all of these things.

     I turn to Randy and say, “I told Ana I’d have dinner with her and the guys.”

#

     At Compound Two, the energy is different from yesterday night. As soon as I pull up, Reece says, “Good, you’re here.” He grabs his helmet right away. “I’m fockin’ starving.”

     Ana comes running from downstairs. Hungry-hungry motherfuckers in this bitch. There’s a new girl staying at the dormitory, but Grant is all over it. Reece looks upstairs to holler something at him, then looks at me and says, “Let’s go. They can catch up.”

     At the market, Reece and I go for the nasi pecel. He also buys a bag of fried tahu. It saves me from buying another meal. The new girl says her name is Danielle. She’s Canadian and teaches kindergarten in Jogja. “You talk a lot more than Randy,” she says.

     Reece lifts his face from his plate and says, “Yeah, but that’s not necessarily a good thing.”

     Since I don’t know Danielle, I keep my farts to myself because I am a professional: there is a time and place for everything.

     At the Indomaret, we’re sitting outside, munching on our ice creams. I go for two ice creams tonight since I didn’t have any yesterday. Ana’s close by, so I put my ass on her and fart on her arm. Fuck it, she’s one of the boys. She can take it. She says it’s gross, but she’s smiling, which means it’s all right.

     Grant and Danielle leave ahead of us, which isn’t much of a surprise. I offer up a surf movie if they are interested. Reese and Ana figure it will be good to let Grant and Danielle have some personal time, so they are up for it.

     In my room, we watch Year Zero. Reece isn’t into it. “Do you have anything without so many airs that’s like . . . chill and not so artsy?”

     I put on Sight and Sound, which has some longboarding and fish riding in it too. It suits both of my guests. Eric the German knocks on the door. He looks at Reece and Ana sitting on my bed. “Ahhh,” he says, “you guys are not naked yet. Here.” He hands me a plate full of donuts. We thank him. Ana and Reece have one each, and they leave the other six for me.

     Donuts. . . They look like the plain ones without and coating, but they taste fucking weird. Something about the oil they used to make them. I’m not impressed, but I eat the rest. I guess America still holds the title for donuts.

     After Ana and Reece leave, I’m bored. I don’t feel like writing, and I don’t feel tired enough to fall asleep. I play Angry birds until my arm’s tired from holding it up. I have a feeling that if I go to sleep now that I’ll wake up in a couple of hours.

     I put down my phone at 2200. At 2400, I’m wide awake. I have ten days left until I go home.