Time:
0930-1220
Conditions:
2-3, Occasional 4 FT
Again, it’s another late start because of
the high tide. The only reason I get out of bed is because there’s a rooster
cawing, and it sounds like it’s right outside our bungalow. You’d think I’d be
bummed about the tide, but honestly I can use a little more rest. My shoulders,
neck, and upper back muscles are so tight. Figure we’ve been going strong for
11 days straight, double sessions save for the first day we arrived.
I slap on some Waterman’s zinc and load up
the moped with Bri. On the way to Choco Point, we pass up three surfers heading
back to the compounds. Bad sign. Reaching the point, we see that it’s one,
maybe two, feet out. A new arrival is also here with us, longboard in hand. He
says he’s going for it. Bri and I take our time warming up and then decide to
come back later.
This trip has been so much about surf that
it’s weird doing anything else out of the water besides eating and sleeping. We
shoot the shit with Sonja and the Euro chicks. This place is starved for dick
right now, and if any real manimals were to show up here, they’d have their
pickings for poon.
I fumble with the internet for a while,
write up yesterday evening’s post, and then we head out again for another
check. We didn’t even notice how everyone had already left to surf.
Parking at the point, a two-foot wave peels
across it. I count thirteen heads in the water. This is bad. If the surf is
better right now, it’s hard to tell, but right now it’s looking like Lull Lake.
Bri and I do the Spartan Paddle, hardly a
challenge since the surf isn’t consistent. At least half of the faces are new.
One guy’s a decent surfer, the Australian Andy Irons doppelganger. With small
surf at an overcrowded break, I’m my expected unstoked self.
After yesterday’s decent surf sessions, I
realize that I don’t have to surf like a dick, but I do have to be a little
more aggressive and sit at the top, so I wait for a set to roll through, and
then I move into the main lineup. Initially, I sit deep. It’s not where I want
to sit, but I also don’t want to be elbow to elbow with the guys who are
sitting where I’d rather be. This is a fault of mine, to sit too deep sometimes
just to avoid the crowd. I know the risks, that I won’t make the section and
guys will drop in on me anyway, and whattaya know? First wave I’m too deep.
Mark kicks out for me. I don’t make it around the whitewash.
So now I sit wide and inside again and miss
the next set, and then I sit at the top once more. I try to be more selective
and choose a wave that looks like it will line up, but as soon as I pop up,
German Boris and another motherfucker take off on me. I don’t think I could’ve
made the section, but being caught in their wake only made matters worse. In
the meantime, Bri’s getting some decent inside rides. I still yet have to claim
my first. Also, people are beginning to trickle out of the lineup, and
competition at the top becomes thinner.
Next wave, I turn and go on the first wave
of the set, but fucking German Boris is in my fucking line, trying to duckdive.
I have to go around his German ass, and then I end up missing the section once
more. Turning back around, Aussie A.I. takes the next wave, asshole Boris the
second. The third one’s a little bit smaller, but it’s lining up well. I go.
Finally, I’m on my first legit ride this
session. Since it’s only four feet, it’s not like I’m getting the man turns I’d
like, but I’m still working the open face and manufacturing turns.
Resurfacing on the inside, all the
girlfriends at the top of the wave (I say girlfriends because there are like
three other couples here) are missing the set, so Boris goes on the inside
bonus section. I take the next behind his and get a couple more turns.
Now all the single and ready to mingle
surfers have left. There’s some shaved head Dion Agius looking guy with his
chick, Asshole Boris, and his German fraulein, and me and Bri. The other two
boyfriends are sticking close to their chicks, coaching them, and trying to
call them into waves. Since Bri knows how to surf, I don’t have to do any of
that bullshit. While they’re over there on some strawberry pancake type
bullshit, I’m left out back to get my pick from the sets. No Germans in my way,
I get two more set waves all the way inside.
At the two hour mark, the other two couples
leave, and Bri and I have the whole place to ourselves. It’s actually a little
nervewracking, sitting in an empty lineup because there aren’t any other people
to gauge where you should sit. Now I’m making the mistake of sitting in the
wrong place, missing a couple of waves.
When I do get back into position, I pass up
a set wave and give it to Bri. Even though the wind is picking up and the surf
is turning inconsistent, we only have ourselves for a crowd. It’s our first
time having the break to ourselves.
Sanini, local ripper 17 year old chick,
paddles out when we’re about ready to leave. She does the contests at the local
heavy breaks as well as the ones held in Bali. Sonja says she’s ranked high
among local surfers in her class. Maybe one day she’ll go pro. Who knows?
#
For lunch, Bri and I head to Padangs. It’s
pretty much the go-to spot for all the compound guests. We get rice, Javanese
spinach, a scoop of spicy ass eggplant, and a piece of chicken curry each, with
two ice teas. Comes out to 26,000 IDR. That’s less than two bucks. From there
we go to the Indomaret, pick up some supplies, and talk to one of the cashier
kids who speaks good English.
Since Bri wants to drink coconut water out
of an actual coconut, we head to the harbor, which is now empty with the ending
of Idul Friti and the weekend.
On the way to the harbor, Bri and I are at
a red light with a bunch of locals, and a kid comes around the corner too fast
and dumps his bike. It’s the second accident we’ve seen since being here. Two
days ago, a lady’s dress got caught in her moped, and she, too, fell amidst
traffic.
There’s uproar all around us. Even though I
don’t speak Javanese, I can tell they’re saying, “Go help him!” Not to me, just
to each other. Even though there are pieces of bike on the road, the kid gets
up, starts his bike, and drives on.
The first vendor at the harbor tries to rip
me off and says that each coconut is 8,000 IDR. I try to talk her down to 7,000
because Sonja said that’s how much she pays, my brother only 5,000. I don’t
understand everything she’s saying, but her gestures seem like she’s trying to
tell me that that’s how much it costs everywhere.
I thank her and ride to the next vendor.
When asking how much the drink costs, she says, “10,000.” Fuckin’ A. That’s
even worse than the first. I bargain, and after starting my bike to leave, she
agrees to 7,000 IDR each.
She whips out her machete and starts chopping
away. It’s a lot of coconut water. I’m stuffed before I’m even finished with
it. Spooning out the meat is topping me off even more.
Looking out from the warung, I see the
other vendors all lined up. A few people are sitting under trees right in front
of the beach. A cool offshore breeze kisses our faces. We only have a little
over a week left here. I hope we’re appreciating it as much as we should be.
#
Time:
1615-1730
Conditions:
2-3, Occasional 4 FT
Being on the wrong side of the tide, Bri
and I aren’t in a rush to paddle out. We could call it a single-session day,
but since we had fun yesterday at last light, with minimal crowd, we figure it
will be worth a check. After all, once we’re gone, we won’t be able to get any
sessions back.
Cruising on the way to Choco Point, two
mopeds pass us up. One of them honks. It’s the Indo groms from yesterday. One
nods and smiles back at us. They don’t even have surf racks. The kid in the
back has both boards under his arms, holding them tight against the wind.
The surf is so flat when we pull up that we
have to stall for about ten minutes. German Boris and his chick is out with a
few other people. When a small three-foot set stands up and peels, that’s when
we start changing.
The groms shoot us another nod as they hit
the sand and make their way to their start point. Bri and I stop short and
paddle out a little wide of them. For the most part, locals are kind of an
issue with the foreign surf tourist community. They basically paddle out and
take whatever waves they want, but . . . being from California and dealing with
crowds, I can understand and respect where the locals are coming from,
especially when there are random tourists at Choco Point on any given day.
When the groms get to the main lineup, I
stop and sit wide and inside. They need their waves. Let them have it. Even
better, is watching German Boris struggle with the local grom onslaught. He’s
aggressive, doesn’t smile, and hasn’t made any effort to communicate with any
locals. The groms literally swarm all over him. I watch for four waves
straight, Boris paddles and has to make way for a gangly brown kid on his
inside. After his last attempt, I see him shaking his head and complaining to
his girlfriend. Bri’s sitting there, too, and she gives the kid who got the
last wave props.
Like a miracle on Choco Point Street, Boris
rides a closeout to shore. His girlfriend follows suit right after.
Even though the tide is rising, a decent
four-foot set rolls through the point. The local kids, one by one, take each
wave. After watching that, I paddle up to the top of the wave. One of the kids
paddles up to me. I smile and say, “Ha-lo.” He says, “Hi,” back. It doesn’t
take long for the next set to come. I let the first ones that are smaller pass
through. Behind me, I hear the kids scratching for them. The next wave is
bigger on the outside. The grom looks at me, staying in the ready position. I
point at him and nod. He turns around and takes the wave. Behind it, there’s
one more wave for me. This one’s mine. It’s a good fucking wave. Feeling the
groms watching me from the inside, I tactfully choose my lines and cutback at
the right spots. The wave starts to run away once it hits the sandbank, so I
have to work and pump. I swear, I’m gliding into a steep drop, cool as a
cucumber, and a chop or a bump just sends me head over nose. I totally blow the
fucking wave.
I resurface, laughing at myself. Too much
mustard, and the hotdog fell out of the bun, as Chick Hearn would say.
Paddling back, I sit up top again with the
same kid. We share the next set, but we both scratch out on the waves we call
each other on.
Now Gayun and Supri are paddling out. I
paddle wide and let them take over. Supri, the super grom, and Gayun the local
worker, they both need their fill for the day.
As the groms leave, Bri gets a good set
wave, too, long and all the way to the inside. You can tell when someone gets a
good wave because they disappear for a while.
At last light, the surf turns too soft from
the high tide. Edo makes his way out for his evening dose. I force ride a
closeout back to shore where Bri is waiting.
With Sonja not feeling well and my Bro out
of town, Bri and I get an evening to ourselves. We go back to Mie Ayam Jakarta
and order fried noodles and two noodle soups. My ice tea has a bunch of ants in
it, but I don’t want to be a dick to say anything. My Indonesian isn’t good
enough, and I don’t want to insult the owner. Ice tea is only like thirty cents
anyway, so it’s better to just play it cool.
We head to the night market after and grab
some fried tofu. The owners ask me where Randy is, and I tell them the best I
can. We order a new dish that I’ve never tried before, something called
“Bakwa.” It takes me like three times going back and forth with the couple who own
the Nasi Pecel spot before I get it right. Then we walk to the fruit stand to
buy more bananas, the same kid who was working there when we had come the first
time still recognizes us.
It’s such a routine, this trip. You can
probably guess where we end up next, the Indomaret. We hold back on ice cream
and just buy a couple cold drinks. Three teenage chicks are wearing tight
stretchie pants in front of the store. A moped with three boys on it cruises
by, all three boys cat call the chicks as they pass. It’s classic. American and
Indonesian cultures collide. The way of the young perv has no borders or
boundaries.
Now we’re back at the bungalow early. It’s
only 2023 in the evening. We could watch a movie, read, or just plain chill
out. Two years ago, there was so much drama during my trip here. There was even
drama four years ago when I went to Bali. This trip has been way different.
Probably less interesting without an emotional mess to deal with, but that’s
okay with me.
In the background, I hear the New
Zealanders in the next bungalow over, talking in their distinct accent. The
solo longboard guy is in his bungalow playing music. I hear the sound of
geckos, clicking loudly into the night. Crickets. Someone’s laughing. Damn . .
. I’m having such a good time here.
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