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| At the Indomaret, looking for those deals! |
Time:
1100-1200
Conditions:
2-3, Occasional 4 FT
Fins:
Quad. JF-1 side, Rusty Q-R trailers (small)
After sleeping in, Bri and I head to the
kitchen for breakfast—a meal of instant cereal, coffee, and chocolate crackers.
Walking up to the kitchen table, I see Randy sitting there.
“What time did you get here?” I ask.
“Five thirty.” He’s been sitting there for
about two hours, drinking coffee, and just chillin’. He said that he had
knocked out on the car ride when he left here, but that he missed his train. He
was forced to ride executive class, and the seats were so comfortable he
crashed out.
I ask if he’s all right with all the
travelling, and he says he’s fine. He just traveled fourteen hours each way,
seven by car, seven by train, and now he’s back. This kind of commute is normal
here. Kind of makes the drives to Vegas, San Diego, and even Tijuana a joke.
I spend most of the morning fumbling with
the internet, trying to update this blog, and then I finally give up. I’ll have
to try again at the hotel lobby tomorrow, now on Bri’s computer because it’s
faster than mine.
We have to choose a good window to surf.
High tide was at 0730, so we plan to check the beach around 1030. When we reach
the point, it’s as flat as a lake. A few dripping whitewash lines break at the
top of the wave. The tide’s already going low. Bri and I don’t even rush the beach.
We leave our boards behind, approach the water, and then stop in our tracks
when we see a small three-foot set. Mind you, no one is out nor even looking at
it.
“It might be bigger out there,” says Bri.
This is true. The point’s a solid paddle out, so things are always bigger once
you reach the lineup.
The first ten minutes are slow. I catch a
baby dribbler, walking the nose and just crouching to get some kind of
distance. Bri and I paddle back to the top and bullshit with each other, and
then behind a small wave is a legit set wave that’s about to break wide. We
both dart out for it. Bri’s too deep. I turn and go. Just like that, I’m
pumping down the line on my quads. The speed feels great for the sections. My
snaps aren’t as crisp, but my cutbacks feel much better, especially the speed
when rebounding out of the pocket, like one pump and you’re reset on the
highline once more. Paddling back out, I see Bri on the second set wave coming
down the line.
It’s hot. I’m starving and tired from not
having anything to eat since this morning, so I can only imagine how Bri feels,
yet every fifteen minutes a decent set comes in. Even though it’s a small day,
just being here by ourselves is what makes the difference.
Forty-five minutes in, and the New Zealand
chicks start to paddle out. On cue, I catch my third set wave of the day. When
there’s no stress or crowd to ruin my sesh, I feel I surf differently. I just
gracefully pump and do some slow cutbacks down the line.
Bri catches her last set at the one hour
mark. I’m already sitting inside from having caught a wave. “Straight to
shore,” I say. It’s our shortest session since being here, but we got some good
quality waves in that short time span.
For lunch, Randy, Bri, and I head to Padangs
for lunch. I try their fried chicken for the first time, and so does Bri. “This
is really good,” she says.
“Yeah,” says Randy. “They use a special
kind of batter.”
I bite into my own drumstick, and yeah,
they definitely have their fried chicken down.
“What do I call it when I pay?” I say.
“Ayam Goreng?”
“Kentucky,” says Randy.
“Kentucky?”
“Yup. They’ll understand. They’ll know.”
How much of a trip is that? KFC is that
goddam popular that Kentucky automatically means fried chicken. How would
someone from Kentucky feel? Honored?
Afterwards, Bri and I head over to the
harbor and go to the same old lady for coconut drinks.
#
Time: 1530-1730
Conditions: 2-3, Occasional 4 FT
Fins: Thruster. JF-1
The plan is to surf at around 1430 for the tide push, but we’re so full from lunch that we have to wait it out a while longer. We reach the point at 1530 and see about six people out. That’s not too bad. Since the swell’s dropped, Jonas and Mark, the Swiss duo, are now out on longboards. These guys usually share, but there’s something about a longboard that transforms a nice surfer into a wave hog. I watch guys sitting inside have to constantly back out for Jonas. Mark catches a good set wave. When he comes back, he tries to back paddle me, but I still catch the wave deeper than him.
The offshores strong this evening, and it’s creating sheets of spray out the back when paddling into waves. I even get blown over the top, forced to exit the wave the wind is so strong.
On the best set of the afternoon, Bri’s on my outside when I’m turning around to go for it. I yell for her to go. She kicks and scratches. I get into the wave just in case she misses it, but she doesn’t. Legit set wave for her. It’s a long one.
I spot my brother way on the inside on a funboard. Also, about a half dozen longboarders also paddle out, and . . . they suck. One of them drops in on me. I try to call him off, but he has no control and only knows to take the wave. On top of that, he eats shit. I’m forced to bail. “Sor-ree,” he says.
Aaron, dark man from Singapore is back, tells me that these guys don’t know etiquette. It’s true. They’re beginners and shouldn’t be out here. Two of them go for the same wave and just wipeout, longboards flying everywhere. They’re lucky they didn’t get hurt. I wave Bri over to sit wide to avoid an accident.
The local heavies paddle out. One of them has to push a ditched longboard out of his way as he’s going down the line.
Yahyah paddles out with his son and pushes him into waves, a little nine year old. I admire the father-son connection, but fuckin’ A, there is no priority in this scheme. His son is a license to take two waves whenever he wants, one for him, one for his kid.
I get a few waves, but none of them are legit bombs that go all the way inside. It’s my first session when I haven’t been able to score a long legit bomb.
For dinner, Bri, Randy, and I head to the night market to eat nasi pecel and some fried tempeh and tahuisi (fried tofu with vegetables inside). For our sweet tooth, Bri and I ride to the roti bakar guy to get some grilled bread. One with cheese, one with chocolate. Only thing is that he’s not there. The guy in the next shop over tells us that the guy just went to go eat really quick, so Bri and I wait . . . for a half hour. This dude’s not back yet.
A customer approaches, and a little kid from the same shack comes out the back and starts cooking an order of roti bakar. Bri look at each other like, “What the fuck?” We’re just spoiled in our western ways. Bad customer service, but we can’t do anything about it. There’s a language barrier. For all I know, this little kid might be only allowed to make roti bakar for his homies or something, I don’t know.
Regardless, we’re turned off. We end up going to Indo Maret to buy three ice creams. We bring one back to my brother and tell him the whole thing.
The ride back to the compound was the first time when I was in a rush to get back, probably our worst day here since we’ve arrived. A good but small window of surf to start, a shitty evening sesh with the crowd, and then roti bakar guy isn’t there.
Yet, tomorrow we’ll be inside of a week left. Even though we have more time, we’re already starting to feel short like our vacation is about to end. Despite how today’s events transpired, East Java has been so good to us. It’s gonna be hard to leave.
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| Aris, the Martabak Man |
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