Reflection for a Century: 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.