What happens in Indo stays in Indo (but fuck I love that place)

 

 

 

I left to Indonesia at 4am of Thursday the 21st. Alex took me to the airport and the feeling was totally different of what I had going to Brazil… after the 12 flights I had within 5 weeks before this one I was feeling home at the airport and not freaking out anymore.

When the wheels of that Garuda plane hit Bali’s soil at 3pm right in between a left and a righthander reef I knew it was on. I was stuck in the customs line for about an hour, then jumped on a cab and took the first room I saw in Uluwatu. It was 5pm so I ran straight out to inside corner before thinking about anything else. That session made me remember why I’m alive. It might not have been the best and my 5’10 was too small, but fuck, that sunset and the speed of the waves… amazing shit.

It’s funny how Bali’s weather is dramatically cooler this year, everyone agrees on that one. I came back in after the sunset and it took me an hour and a half to find the little place I was staying at. Once I did I was still kinda stuck and had to break one of my Indonesian rules: hired and drove a godamn moped to Padang Padang. I’ve always been pretty firm about not ever driving those things, since everyone I know lost so many days of surfing from accidents riding it, but I didn’t have time to waste, just wanted to find the boys and organize our first trip, and of course a hectic night brawl to celebrate my arrival.

 

 

 

That Balinese old lady and I were having trouble to communicate, but she was the only person around to teach me how to drive that lil motorbike. I never knew they had gears, fuck me dead. I took off in the dark slowly at first, then I kinda got the hang of it. Being on a motorbike and feeling the wind on your face as you rapidly win over each k of road makes you feel like the terminator, even if, really, you are just a skinny surfer in boardies on a tiny moped going at 50km/h down a shitty small road. I got to Padang Padang Inn, where most Brazilians stay so I would most likely find people I know and maybe they would know where my boys were hiding. Before I even stopped I heard tchelaos voice calling from a car. I should’ve parked before looking, but instead I fucked it all up and jumped off the moped in movement, nearly hitting another bike in the park and creating a massive domino effect. Definitely the first last time driving that thing haha

I was stoked to see them: Tchelao, Duda, Babysauro, Romy and Greta. We got some dinner and hung out at the 2 storey house Romy has rented for a few months. The vibe was great, but from what I understood the waves had been shit for 2 weeks, since the CT in Ulu’s. Knowing that, I psyched everyone up for that sick night out in Kuta. Everyone was on Vodka, but I decided to honour the Balinese tradition and go for Arak. The results were fucken funny. I was having too much fun, that place goes off ay..

 

 

 

 

The next day I was pretty well fucked up, but not as much as the waves. Spent every single minute of the day planning exactly what my next move would be. My decision was to drive up to Kuta around 5, get a room there, have good dinner, massage, internet and all that crap then go extra wild at clubbing, waking up in Kuta and driving to Cangoo for a surf the next day, since it was the only surfable spot at that stage. The plan was fantastic, but because I would not drive in Bali for any reason whatsoever, I had to get at least one person to come. It took me about 4 hours, but at the end of the day I had a good little army. We were 5. All of us boys got all we desired for, and Greta, a young hottie that blows everyone away every time she steps on a surfboard, decided to just chill at the room we got in Kuta. Before getting too drunk, Me, Tchelao and her sat 1 hour in front of a Balinese travel agent deciding what trip to go for. Because the forecast wasn’t that great I thought G-land would be the pick, so we locked in for the 24th at 10pm. It was even better to go clubbing knowing we would be in the jungle that soon.

We woke up feeling not too bad, rented a car, I got a Bali number (081338771220), and we finally headed to Cangoo. The waves were… quite good for normal standards but not much for Bali. It was pretty chilli again, I used my 6’2 for those 2 footers and it wasn’t quite flowing.Tchelao and Greta were ripping it even though it was pretty average. This sesh pretty much fueled me to leave Bali and spend some time in G-land with much bigger waves and a lot less people out. We were chilling at that Idyllic spot till noon, hanging out with a couple of really nice dudes that have been living there for a year.

We arrived back at the Bukit peninsula quite late, just in time for a local’s barbecue celebrating his birthday. Didn’t stay for too long though.. Just went home early, prepared my shit and had a good sleep before surfing fun ulu’s the next day and leaving to G-land that night.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The 9 hour trip was impressively entertaining for a number of reasons. One of the highlights was totally filling a 800ml bintang long neck bottle with piss and dumping it out of the window before it went everywhere. I probably wouldn’t even remember it was my Birthday if Greta didn’t wish me happy bday at 12 sumfim. The perspective of being on my way to the one place I love the most was overpowering the importance of date I was born on. But yeah, Im twenty fucken 5 now! We got there at 6am. The waves weren’t that great, as they never are in the morning out in this blessed piece of earth. We knew that having a nap and going out once the offshore was on was the way to go. I met maya again, she said it was better than the past days, knowing that this was enough for me to smile.

The late arvo section in that first day was the best, I enjoyed that sunset on the water with the one guy who has been my closest mate for the past couple of years and Greta, whose compelling elation kept us amped 24/7.

 

It would probably be unrealistic trying to talk about day by day, I’m sitting here in the night of my sixth day and it wouldn’t be exaggeration to say that I lived more in the last 150 hours than I did in the past 2 years.

Some say that the human being is never satisfied. Indeed, we are not, ever satisfied, unless we know that what we got is temporary. That set up makes it possible to reach the utopist feeling of genuine reaching a final goal, engraved with conquer of the ultimate pleasure.

That’s why holidays can be so enjoyable, so can the interactions originated in them. Sharing the achievement of a common goal to be seized within a limited amount of time catalyzes human relationships. Fearlessly of any type of further attachment due to the nature of the situation, all that’s left are restless hedonist activities that make the time seem to go by way too fast, yet eternal while it lasts.

 

 

 

 

Tchelao and I dedicated only about 20 minutes of the whole trip to taking photos of each other. Fuck it was worth it! shoulda done it for longer

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

G-land and I have tightened our ropes. The 11 days I spent there were sick. There was a fair bit of swell, pretty much always overhead. Also, we ended up having a few great little sessions at tiger tracks, a mellow, superfun a-frame where you can surf 30 waves per hour. We were meant to stay for only 4 days, but extended it twice. Greta left on the 7th day, I couldn’t go away from that newly arrived swell, I would never forgive myself. It was going off, I got my 6’6 out on those 8 footers. For my surprise the first day of this swell was the least fun of them all. We weren’t exactly the only people out there. The efficiency of the swell forecasting models these days has virtually ruined the possibility of solitude during major pulses.

I never thought G-land could get that crowded. For 7 days we were pretty much the only people in the camp. The sense of privacy and almost ownership I had developed over the place was now lacerated. No longer was I fucking around in the middle of the reef in between surfs like no one was watching. I never got to speak to myself again while watching the waves from the tower. It was a totally different vibe.

 

 

 

 

But with the arrival of 150 blokes, the expressive rise of the swell and the departure of Greta, the atmosphere became a helluvalot more boysh. I was feeling free to fart loud in my bed although the 10 rooms next to mine would be able to hear it as clear as if it was coming out of Pink Floyd speakers. The consequence most times was long and loud farts from anonymous authors in response. Boys will be boys.