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.
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