(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.)
