Jungutbatu, Nusa Lembongan

(Note: these posts usually take a week or two to get finished, due to the wonders of Third World Wi-Fi. Getting the pictures loaded and linked is the hardest part, but I know anyone reading this will appreciate them. We left Nusa Lembongan on the 21st or 22nd of September.)

It's almost exactly 8:35 PM here in the village of Jungutbatu, on the island of Nusa Lembongan, and I've just snuck in an order of fried bananas and ice cream before the kitchen closes. I'm sitting out back of the Puri Nusa Bungalow & Restaurant, where small white geckos are still skittering along the walls and into the finely carved stone lamps mounted on each the pillars that support the roof. They've been at it since we arrived here three days ago, and we're not sure if they've found what they're after, or if they just want more. Perhaps they are fleeing from the Gecko King, a dark behemoth almost half a foot in length, who made an appearance on the first night to survey his domain before slipping back into the thatched ceiling overhead. We hear an impressive ruckus every once in a while and assume it's him, hounding his subjects to and fro in the labyrinth above.

The dining area here is built upon a stone embankment that is meant to keep the water back when the tide is high. Tonight the swell is strong enough to dash the sea up against the wall, shooting it into the air and then raining it down upon the chairs and tables and guests positioned closest to the edge. Jenna and I got drunk on Bintang the other night after an unfortunate motorbike incident (which I won't go into because everybody is fine), and later that night we took a running leaps off the stone wall into the water. I had an "oh shit" moment as I left the ground, but it was deep enough that I didn't quite hit bottom. We all swam about in the ocean a bit under the full moon before going to bed.

When the tide here is low, you can see the dozens of small square seaweed farms that stretch all the way out until the reef begins. When the tide is high, the shadows of these green and brown plots make it look like rectangular clouds are floating overhead. In between low and high tides, the locals slosh around harvesting the seaweed and heaping it in big heaps on their boats. Beyond the seaweed farms lays the reef upon which two of the local waves leap into existence: Shipwrecks and Lacerations. Great names, huh?

I ran out right away for a surf when we arrived, and made the rookie mistake of going while the tide was low and dropping. I gingerly picked my way across a coarse variety of broken coral, staying in between the rotting wooden posts and ropes that specify one farm from the next, feeling especially grateful for the pair of reef boots I bought in Bali. The first foot I planted on the reef sunk a few inches with a crunch - the waves out here break on very sharp, presumably living coral rather than rock. I slowly made my way out to the wave, admiring the mottled colors through the shifting surface of the water, occasionally glimpsing a bright blue starfish or the silver flick of a fish in motion.

I had a good surf that first evening, with only three locals and an Aussie out to share it with. The water was warm and cold in patches. When I paddled into the lineup one of the Indonesians, a chatty, playful young guy with long sun-bleached hair and a chipped front tooth, flashed me a cheeky grin and said, "You find good wave here, bru. Welcome home."

The next day we went out on a higher tide. The paddle to Shipwrecks takes about 10 minutes, or, as we learned later, you can give the guy on the local "water taksi" 1,000 rupiah ($1 USD) for a ride out. Shipwrecks breaks fast on the reef, but even wiping out on the larger waves I only scraped bottom once. A new swell was building quickly that second day and the crowd had grown much larger and more serious. Australians wearing zinc sunscreen war paint smeared across their cheeks patrolled the outside of the lineup like junkyard dogs. Wiry, leathery old veterans sat stolidly in the distance, tired of scrapping for smaller waves, waiting for the sets to roll in.

The skilled crowds and powerful waves in Indonesia can be intimidating, but my friend Kyle once said something that has stuck with me: "surf time is play time". Everybody is elated to be at the point of this one particular pin on the globe. If you look around, it's easy enough to remind yourself. Alongside the somber surfers, the bronzed blonde girls still flash Colgate smiles as they paddle past, and the local kids still sit on the inside splashing each other and laughing. The sun plays hide and seek behind the clouds and when the big waves roll in, whistles and hoots come from the boats parked in the channel. Days like this are paradise in time and place alike.

(I didn't take many pictures in Nusa Lembongan - these are from Jenna's Flickr account. She went on plenty of solo adventures while Phil and I were out surfing. I think these shots are terrific and all credit for these photos, of course, is hers.)

We rented bikes to explore the area, which took about an hour. This is taken from the highest hill we could find. You can see the main road running north behind the tree in the lower right - we stayed on the beach between the far end of that road and the crowd of boats.

"The bear went over the mountain / to see what he could see / and all that he could see / was the other side of the mountain"

Nusa Lembongan's own Golden Gate, leading to Nusa Ceningan. Felt remarkably like that scene from Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom.

There are two things to do in Nusa Lembongan: grow seaweed, and surf. After a long and heated debate, we chose the latter of the two.

Tide on its way back in, and the locals spring into action.

95% sure that's Bali in the background.

Your mouth is watering.

Baby blue.

Plenty of beautiful ships everywhere we went. The names of watercraft here are not as punny as in the states, but they have their own unique charm.

Old Abdurrahman had a farm, E-I-E-I-O...

Bukit Peninsula, Bali

I'm sitting up high on the deck, listening to the waves as they break against the shore, one after another. How high this deck is, exactly, is hard to say exactly. I'm on the second floor of the Full Moon Warung, which sits nestled perhaps halfway up the face of the sheer cliff that rises from the clutter of broken coral and sand called Bingin Beach. The warungs are packed so densely into the cliff that all there is left to see of the cliff itself are the steep steps carved into the stone, which wind their way between the buildings in rivulets until they reach the bottom. The sand down there is mostly small white beads, perfectly spherical grains that remind us of sesame seeds. I'm up here on the deck listening to the waves break and peering into the darkness.

The sunsets, as you might imagine, are breathtaking. The sun sinks behind a layer of ocean mist that must run all the way out across the sea, and at its lowest point, you can stare straight into it as it slips below the horizon. At some point between the sunset and the evening, a string of lights appears along the horizon, and we still cannot decide whether its the shore of western Bali, or south eastern Sumatra, or some odd assembly of watercraft, appearing night after night without explanation like some phantom fleet from an old pirate story. There are no stars, just this string of lights marking the intersection of sea and sky. The waves out front, at least, are close enough to identify and watch in earnest: one dark line after another creeping towards us until they begin to break, and the white explosions rush along the length of smooth dark ribbon like a series of demolition blasts, until finally they reach the end and the whiteness spreads out thin and disappears, like a bit of butter smeared across a piece of toast that slowly melts away. We've seen fireworks both nights.

I'm up late by Bali standards. It's about 10:30pm, and since I surfed twice and stuffed myself at dinner, I should be passed out on top of the sheets with the old rusted fan blowing at me through the mosquito netting. I stayed up late to finish a book I borrowed from Jenna, one of the people I'm traveling with: Norwegian Wood, by Haruki Murakami. She finished it last night, or maybe this morning, and handed it to me after confessing, "I'm not sure how to tell you what it was about, but I kept reading it until I was finished, which hasn't happened with many of the books I've picked up lately". I'm not sure what to tell you either, except that I've had the same luck with books this last year, and after tonight I can now eagerly recommend it to you.

A few days ago, I left my quiet room in Kuta by the pool to rendezvous with Jenna's boyfriend Phil, a good guy that I knew from high school and surfed with every once in a while in San Francisco. Before going to Outside Lands however many Sundays ago, we went out for a surf at Ocean Beach and he told me they were going to leave in September for a few months exploring in Asia. I told him I was leaving too, and that I would spend some time in Australia before I'd come to join them, and that was that.

I met them at Balangan beach, the northernmost of the famous surfing beaches on the southwestern corner of Bali that spread along the nub of the Bukit peninsula. A row of identical warungs runs right along the beach at Balangan, all with deck chairs pointed towards the surf and small baskets full of odd condiments and worn out menus and sea shell ashtrays. The views there are terrific, but being up so high above the water here in Bingin affords us a birds eye view of the knotted crowds of surfers vying for a turn on the relentless, effortlessly barreling waves out front. Just north of Bingin is a beachbreak called Dreamlands, and south of us is Impossibles, Padang Padang, and Uluwatu, and we can see them all from our little deck up here on the cliff.

Tomorrow morning we'll rent a few motorbikes and explore those areas just south of here. Uluwatu is perhaps the most famous, in part because of the temple of the same name that sits high above the water. You could spend far longer living along this stretch of coast than we will this time. Tomorrow night we'll make our way north and east to Sanur, a quiet port town fondly nicknamed "Snore", to explore the night market and search for live music before taking the early boat to the nearby island of Nusa Lembongan. Three well-known surf spots await: Shipwrecks, Lacerations, and Playgrounds. We may stay there a night or two or perhaps a week. Jenna is entertaining the idea of pursuing a diver's certification there, and Phil and I will be happy anywhere we have cold Bintang and surf nearby.

After that, we'll make our way to Lombok, hopefully to find Corie and Kyle, who are traveling this way from deeper east, Komodo or Flores, I can't recall which. They'll leave Corie's sailboat that they've been traveling with - the Rutea - and spend some time on foot with backpacks and boards in tow like the rest of us. I'm eager to see them. Lombok is less developed and has a string of playful surf along the southern coast. I exchanged e-mails with Julian, a tan and lively man from Tasmania, who has shared our deck these last few days, who is also heading to Lombok, and who we may be able to see again once we arrive.

The last few days up here have been serenely peaceful, and tonight I felt like I finally arrived at the place I set out to find. Australia seems like weeks ago, and Balangan fades quickly in the rear view. The momentum and intent I had wound up while pushing myself to get here has unravelled, and now the days pass more slowly, my surfing is leisurely and unhurried, and we spend the last bit of our evenings sitting together in silence and letting out long sighs of relief. All the same, we're excited to keep moving! Things can only get better as we continue to tune ourselves to this special corner of the world.

Bangalan Beach

Offshore winds at Balangan

The curtain at Balangan

          Short clip of riders on a new swell at Impossibles

Impossibles, firing on all cylinders

Impossible sunset

Heart of the sun

All quiet on the Bali Sea

Gold Coast, Australia

I'm walking on the left side of the path without thinking about it. I realized this an hour ago on my way to the corner store to buy some groceries: eggs and bread. I've got another full day here before I take the train to Brisbane the morning after; I figure if I eat 3 eggs at every meal I can finish the dozen. I surfed twice today, and my athlete's appetite has returned. So now I'm sitting out by the pool here on my laptop; I've checked Gmail, Facebook, Reddit, Instagram. I might watch a movie in a bit. I'm on the wrong side of the road, but apart from that, how is this different than home?

That was the first thought I had when I landed. I stepped through the glass doors onto the street and immediately sat down to switch my shoes out for sandals. Looking around, it's the same as any airport. I sniffed the air a few times just to check - no tropical fruit or foreign spices to detect sitting here next to the loaded ashtray. It wasn't until I was halfway to the hostel that a shrill cry from the bushes drew my eye to a fierce looking jet-black bird with a brilliant yellow beak, challenging me with one beady eye! That's the one thing that's consistently different here. There are weird fucking animals everywhere.

Not in the ways you usually hear about, like giant spiders dangling from doorways or scorpions in the toilet or anything like that. At least not that I've seen. But there are awkward, long legged birds with curved scimitar beaks prowling the paths by the beach, and scrawny bush turkeys boasting bright yellow wattles scampering about beneath the trees. I saw an impressive lizard, perhaps two feet long from teeth to tail, sitting as still as a statue on the side of the path; when I rolled up next to him on my rented beach cruiser, he scurried away with surprising speed, and I could have sworn he was running with only his hind legs. One type of bird calls out in a weird, lonely whistle that, when walking alone at night, sounds as if it's following me. I was surfing at Duranbah and noticed a neon blue air bubble on the water, which turned out to be a small jellyfish with three circular sails propped up on it's back. I kept my distance.

The first day I got here, I rented a bike and cruised along the water. The surf was incredible. Long lines of swell stretched away from the beach, marching in one after another, and from Kirra to Snapper rocks, about ten minutes on the bike, the water was littered with surfers. I just saw a picture uploaded to Instagram of Joel Parkinson, the 2012 ASP world champ from Australia, tucked inside a big blue barrel at Snapper Rocks; I didn't see (or didn't recognize) him when I was out watching, but barely a wave went unridden, and there was plenty of talent to admire. If one big wave managed its way through the first pack of human specks without being claimed, someone from the next group would grab it, or the next, or the next, or the next. It was like watching coins fall into their specific slots along the conveyor belt of a sorting machine.

The boards for rent at the hostel were far too large for surf in the head-high range. I stopped in at a few shops to check the prices on their used boards and rentals, then treated myself to an Australian cheeseburger and a local beer called Big Head (AUS 18.50 at the cheapest spot). My flight to Bali, via Virgin Australia, allows boards to fly without extra fees, so I resolved to find a board to take with me. I asked the guys at the burger joint for a lead on where to find a beater board, and they directed me to a Cash Converters (read: pawn shop) just around the block.

Eureka! I found a pile of two dozen used boards, ranging in price from $50 to $250 AUS. I poked around through the heap for about half an hour; most of them were in decent condition, and the wounded ones I would be able to fix. My friend Dan, who recently returned from a trip through Asia that lasted just shy of a year, had recommended I find a board with a rounded pin tail, which helps hold the board in the face of the steeper, faster waves I'd find out in Indonesia. I wanted a small board, but one with a little extra length in case a swell popped up and the surf went overhead. I can't say just how nice it is to have a bit of extra foam under your feet when you're scratching your way into a wave that size and looking over the edge to see tropical reef rushing by under a few feet of water!

I had to get back to the hostel with the bike before it got too dark so I left without buying a board. I went and talked to a Kiwi surfer working at the hostel about needing gear and he pointed me in the direction of a surf outlet a few bus stops away. Early the next morning, I rode out to the shop for a board bag and a leash. I got there before they opened, so I wandered through a nearby pet shop - lots of pretty birds and scrappy looking rabbits, even though apparently you're not supposed to own rabbits in Australia. I never quite figured that one out.

I headed straight back to the pile of used boards and picked out a 6'3" board from Brazil with the tail I wanted for only $80 AUS. I hurried back to the hostel, grabbed the old wetsuit I brought out with me, and took the next hostel shuttle out to Snapper Rocks.

The surf had completely fallen apart. Steady winds had whipped up from offshore and were blowing all the waves over into crumbles. I still surfed there the next few days, and I can only imagine how amazing that place must be when the conditions are right. It reminds me in so many ways of Steamer Lane, where I spent those few years falling in love with the whole crazy idea of surfing.

How is this different from home? Wild, long haired kids taking off on bucking waves twice their size, racing past the rocks and into the clear. Getting up high and watching the corduroy creep its way in from the open ocean and then smash against the shoreline. Beach cruisers, beer cans in the rocks, cars slowing down to stare. Broad chested bros with mirrored shades and store-stiff caps on. I'm a world apart, and I feel at home, and I know that I'm not. Weird stuff.

Rainbow Bay/Snapper Rocks overlook from Greenmount Hill

Peeking through to Rainbow Bay

Raptor on the move

Wild groms at Snapper Rocks