Surfing in Harrisonburg?

Sun Downing's Never Getting OLD

Quote to Us

About the most originality that any writer can hope to achieve honestly is to steal with good judgment.
- Josh Billings

Hunting Season

Stoked that it is finally time to get back in the woods and do some hunting

Counting On...

In a world like this one there are only a couple things that you can always count on:

• coffee and music

iTunes and Closet

Songs on my iTunes are like clothes in my closet. Some get used, some get used a lot, and some never at all. Either way they sit there are take up space.

Sun Downing's Never Getting OLD

land OO lakes

Monday Nights with Bourdain

No Reservations 10pm on the Travel Channel

This might be the coolest guy ever. Man Crush? Indeed

A Few Koozies Left

Don't Let It Pass You By! After GRADUATION how else will you remember some of the greatest days of college that you spent drinking more or less of you face off?

If you don't have one you're only lying to yourself...

$3 each, shoot me at waleslb@gmail.com to get yours today

I Love Thursdays

Not only does the weekend (officially, but not really) begin but TheWorldsBestEver.Com always has this:

*theworldsbestever.com

A Little Piece of Heaven

Feeling OLD

Being Back in Harrisonburg couldn't be more fun. I've liked seeing school friends* and class friends** as well as home friends***; however, being a senior, it has me feeling VERY OLD.

*kids you know from going here. you see them on the weekend when you party together.

**you talk about what your'e doing for the weekend Wednesday to Friday (in class). you say "we should get together, I know of a party, but never do. 3 or 4 times per semester you may see this person at a party. you either (a.) completely ignore them or (b.) go make drunken conversation where you strictly talk about the hot girl in class or how much the last test killed you.

***kids from home that you have known from highschool, or from freshman year that are friends of friends

Step Up Your Game Natty Light!

By far the coolest thing I’ve ever done...

I woke up early my 2^nd day in New Zealand. I made instant coffee and French toast. I put my bed (surfboard bag) away. I drove about 20 minutes out of town. I arrived to skydive. There was 1 guy there. The other was on the way. I tested out a suit and hopped in. The only guy there put the harness on me and started adjusting and tightening the straps. Quickly the man stepped back and looked at me in a confusing manor.

“Ah, I’m not even sure how these things work,” he added as he walked back behind the counter.

“Here we go,” I thought to myself as I gave fake laugh out loud. With the arrival of the other guy, I found out that the first guy was only the pilot. Slightly more relieved, I signed my death wavier liability and paid while I sipped on what could possibly be my final cup of coffee. The harnesses were fastened and we walked out back to the little plane and did a couple of dry runs on what would be happening. Within 10 minutes of arrival we were on the runway in the plane which didn’t have any other seats, besides of course the one for the driver. As the altitude rose I made a conscious decision that one day I would have “Pilot” on my resume. I could see the entire Bay of Islands now. I looked below during one of the steep turns. I enjoyed the view rather than processed what I was about to do in the following 5 minutes. I wish I was more scared. The “old LB” would have been. I tied my camera to a strap which I’m pretty sure isn’t normally allowed. We locked up before the door flew open. That was a noise that I’ll never forget. Holy Shit!

“Head out to the wing,” I was directed.

I proceeded. My eyes were as big as saucers and my stomach was inching north through my ribcage with an intended destination of my throat. I looked south through the clouds to the very hard ground below. I received a tap (meaning the go ahead) and we were off. This was a dream. Surrealism took over my brain and vision as “Won’t Get Fooled Again,” by The Who blasted over the sound of the intense wind zooming past my face. As memories can seem both “like yesterday” and yet “years ago” instantaneously, flying 120 miles per hour towards the earth can seem both like slow motion yet incredibly fast at the same time. Complete Elation...

The shoot was pulled and it all sank in. We were still very high up: cruising, flying, pulling the straps and doing turns. Although there was a huge man of 6’4” and well over 200 pounds, I couldn’t tell. I was free.

4 Year Party

I am entering the last quarter of the 4 Year Party called College. Ole' Mr. James Madison has treated me very well. After a conversation with a recent JMU graduate, who currently has a 9-5, I feel inspired and compelled to carry out what are now his dreams as I know that he will be living vicariously through my stories.

We shall rage... We shall go out even though we have a test the following day. We shall make bad decisions and momentarily call them regrettable. We shall stay up late. We shall cram for tests. We shall only drink 2 beverages: coffee and alcohol. We shall wake up confused, we shall wake up very, very confused. Although, I do not have much intention on landing a "real" job, I do intend on taking full advantage of college and the art of partying in every respect.

School in a Week!

There are only three things I'm going to miss

1. sand in my bed
2. my dog
3. free food

I mean how cool is college? You constantly get to make bad decsions in a playground built for irresponsible freshly ex-teenagers and without parents, there is no one to tell you to do otherwise. The most important thing that you have to do is take a test for 1 hour or write a paper that is 5 pages. That is it! Life is good, Life is oh so good.

JMU, Here I come.

HST VS. LB

* http://www.anticlockwise.com/images/hstssc.jpg

"We had two bags of grass, seventy-five pellets of mescaline, five sheets of high-powered blotter acid, a salt shaker half full of cocaine, and a whole galaxy of multi-colored uppers, downers, screamers, laughers and also a quart of tequila, a quart of rum, a case of Budweiser, a pint of raw ether and two dozen amyls. Not that we needed all that for the trip, but once you get locked into a serious drug-collection, the tendency is to push it as far as you can. The only thing that really worried me was the ether. There is nothing in the world more helpless and irresponsible and depraved than a man in the depths of an ether binge. And I knew we'd get into that rotten stuff pretty soon..."- HST

I had 2 surfboards, 1 backpack, an 8 foot coffin boardbag with 2 broken wheels, over 28,000 miles to go, 1 camera, 1 deck of cards that was full to my knowledge, a whole galaxy of multi-colored stories to come: uppers, downers, screamers and laughers and also, 1 nalgene bottle, 3 pairs of trunks, 1 rusty knife, a growing 5 pound sack of dirty clothes, a limited bank account, and 1 tube of zink oxide. I needed most all of that for the trip, but once you get into a personal core-score battle the tendency is to push it as light as you can. The only thing that really worried me was the bank account. There is nothing in the world more helpless and irresponsible and depraved than a poor man in the depths of a surf travel spending binge. And I knew I’d get into that rotten stuff pretty soon...

If JMU Had A Beach, I'd Never Leave!

Surfing Related Summer Saga

Being bored, I agreed to go sit at the beach and attempt to surf the 8 inch waves that plague the Eastern American coastline every summer. It was Friday at 1:30. Which is an illegal time to surf in Virginia Beach unless you are surfing at 1st, 4th, or Croatan beaches. It is also illegal to surf without a leash at all times. There was no a body in the disgustingly murky waters within 100 yards of either side of my location. I had a beer and entered the water. After paddling around for 35 minutes, I noticed that the end was near. A police officer and his lackey were filling up their running shoes with copious amounts of sand and their head with ego as they flagged me out of the water. I was asked in a sarcastic manner how I could pass my surfboard to my friends with a leash on. I cracked an "are you kidding me?" grin and laughed with a hint of devil. I was asked if I had read the sign at the entrance of the beach. I provided the same reaction. The other guy was being annoyingly nice to the police in an attempt to get out of the ticket. The "yes sirs" and bullshit talk was getting him nowhere. I watched him drown as he gave the officer his details. I sat down and waited for my turn.

I was the complete opposite. I made it as hard for the officer as possible as the tone ego in his voice made words seem almost foreign. I gave him my information. He didn't believe me when I told him that I didn't know my social security number as he shouldn't. He had to call it in and asked for my descriptors over the phone.

"Ok, so he's saying he's 5'11" and 165, that check out?"

I laughed again, being correct.

"Ok, well I have your social if you want it. You might want to memorize it, so no one can steal your identity."

"How can anyone steal my identity if I don't even know it myself," I jolted back.

The officer was frustrated as he stumbled over some non important words handed me hundreds of dollars worth of tickets and walked away, leaving other surfers in the water just blocks down. I walked back to the cooler, cracked a cold one, and recounted the moment before. I complained about being poor to whoever I talked to when I drove home.

I walked in the door and browsed through the mail. Ah, a letter. I opened it without a tool only to find a speeding ticket that I received in New Zealand. I guess my handwritten letter of persuasion about a fake meeting with the admissions office with a graduate school program wasn't believable either, as it shouldn't of been.

A "Working" Vacation

After a year, I’ve made my return, as promised, to a place that I truly enjoy. Although I will not me making my mark for 6 weeks like last summer, my drive here was enough to leave me nostalgic with the memories of Fire Island, rocket fuels, solo brews on the way to the city, nights in the city, (insert rides home from the city here [unremembered]), snow balls, big family house parties, and afternoon cocktails; a genuine working vacation. Sometimes I feel more at home here, than in my native city of Virginia Beach. Not that I know where much is… Actually I don’t know where anything is. I usually ask for directions to the gas station. I have a 15 minute drive to work at the beach off of the Ocean Parkway and I have no reason to go anywhere else than “home.” I am on Long Island, NY in West Islip. I have come here to run surfing camps again, as I did last summer.

It is here that I live like a king. Daily, I drink as many Long Island Ice Teas Vodka Martinis on the rocks with a thin slice of lemon as I eat meals; usually about 4 or 5. These Italians will not let you walk away from the table… literally. After a meal at this kitchen table it is borderline impossible to do anything, but thank the cook and advise others how full you really are. They exchange the same details. At a meal time it is crucial that you eat double the amount that you would normally need in ordinary circumstances. The food is too good to turn down. Homemade Italian from real Italians, need I say more? I look at the meal on my plate and basically everything came from the garden or was created in the pots, pans, or cutting boards that now relax in the bubble bath sink before being massaged clean.

After teaching local Long Islanders, City Dwellers, and Jersey Shore kids to surf all morning my afternoons are completely reserved for pool swimming, book reading, and hammock napping.

Needless to say, life is good. And getting better… I need another beer.

Summer So Far...

Being employed by only the occasional surfing lesson (until now) has given me the opportunity to try out a few things this summer. I have worked as an artist: putting extensive wall finishes in a million dollar home. I have installed windows in a University of Virginia dorms (although they had to be taken out after a combination of carelessness from many allowed them to be put in without the proper measurements). I have completely demolished my sister's bathroom with a sledge hammer and ipod speaker in 3 days.

Finally I'm out of town... After travelling for the better half of six months and going a new place every couple of days for the last two of them, being in Virginia Beach for a month straight has forced the word restless out of every pore of my body. I believe this is some sort adverse effect of reverse culture shock, but either way... it has been good to get out.

After loading my car with surfboards, bathing suits, and a few shirts I was off, mapless*, to Bethany Beach, Delaware to surprise some friends who work as life guards in their parents beach houses for the summer. And surprise them I did. I made my way up the Delmarva Peninsula and onto the beaches of Bethany. There I found my old comrades, whom I spent everyday with in Australia, monitoring the water but paying better attention to the weekly 17 yr old female renters walking along the edge.

I spent the weekend "Lurring" and made my hungover way to Long Island, again mapless, on Sunday. I'll go to the city a few times only to return home next week, more than likely in more financial than when I left.

---

* MapQuest, GPS systems, or even an ordinary road map (if it is in your native language) can take away from possible opportunities for adventure and thus lead to predictable circumstances

Leaving Singapore

May 24^th-

Singapore Airport: Gate C-16

I’ll tell you… No one gives you shit, when you are walking through Chinatown with a proper backpack that could hold a small child and a surfboard coffin bag that is well, the size of a coffin. No one asks you if you want a massage, to glance at the pictures in the menu, or even to stop for a happy hour Tiger beer. They stare. They stare good and hard, as if they have never seen a person lug around such a large bag.

I was drenched in sweat with sunglasses on and my tee shirt over my shoulder. I was headed to the Chinatown MRT station to catch a train to the Chengi Airport. I vouched to take the train because it would me $2.90 SGD, minus the $1 that I would have gotten back for depositing the card. I made my way through the sea of tailors, money exchangers, and other various street vendors to the entrance of the MRT. I made my way down the escalator without falling the entire way down. I purchased my ticket and made my way through the gate, where I would take the next escalator downstairs to the NE platform towards Harbour Front. BUT… I was stopped dead in my tracks as if I was as crazy as I looked.

“No, no, no,” said the fat, usually tall Chinese man. “No surfboard on MRT,” he screamed.

“I have already purchased my ticket,” I explained.

“We can refund”

“I took the MRT when I got here with my surfboards,” I lied. “There are no signs posted anywhere saying you can’t bring surfboards.”

“No, no. I get refund now.”

“Well, how the hell am I suppose to get there, I don’t have the money for a cab,” I was getting heated.

“No my problem, is it?” He said was a hint of devil

“Not your problem eh?” I was beginning to make a scene. I snatched my money from his hand, which I assume was completely in coinage due to its complete inconvenience. I kicked the gate open and mumbled something like, “you work in a f***in’ train station, you f***in’ (insert derogatory term here).” I had to kick the gate open again as it came closing shut a lot faster than I thought and I almost fell over.

So I made my way back up the escalator and onto the street where I flagged down a couple of cabs and got laughs when they saw my board bag. “I have straps,” I exclaimed to them in pity. After the second one had passed and didn’t have the name of a shuttle I could take, a man walked up.

“You really trying to get cab with big bag?” He said with that stupid Asian grin. (I need to get out off of this continent).

“I can’t walk to the airport,” I said with sheer sarcasm.

“You call the-”

“I have no phone,” I cut him off because I did not see this conversation going anywhere. Just then the guy got out his phone.

“I call shuttle,” he glanced to his wife and child like the hero he was. My demeanour changed quickly by adding in numerous “pleases” and “thank yous.”

He called and sure enough after about 5 minutes (no really, 5 minutes). A white shuttle with the proper license plate number arrived. He advised me: it will only be $45 SGD and that I should not pay anymore; there would be a small fee if I used my credit card; I should make him take my bags. I followed the appreciated advice, thanked the man with a handshake, and took off to the airport. Knowing that I could pay on my credit card put me at ease, as I was attempting to leave Singapore with $11 SGD and I was definitely not trying to get out a pitiful amount of money with the transaction fee probably being more. On the ride, the driver told me that I should have left my boards at the airport in a deposit box like all the other surfers who stroll through Singapore for the weekend. Then, I could have taken the MRT, he told me. I signed for the charge and exited the van.

I made my way over to the JetStar counter very cautiously, first walking by without my huge surfboard bag to size up the lady at the check-in counter that I was going to be working with. After my $100 USD baggage fee from that shitty little airline called ValuAir, and given that I have begun to run really low on funds, I have to go these things.

Knowledge: There is always a carry-on weight limit (this one was 10 kilos). I knew this, but I also knew that the counter persons rarely, if ever, actually weight the carry-on bags, unless they look ridiculously stuffed to the gills with cheap t-shirts and duty free booze.

Plan: I left my bigger backpack on an empty chair in the waiting area… exactly what they preach against doing, and caution everyone to call security for. I was doing this because the counter person would not know that I would be obviously overweight on my carry-on because I would only be holding my little bag, so she would have no reason to weigh it.

I walked to the counter harmlessly with my surfboard bag and my small backpack. I can always tell how hard I am going to be hit with baggage fees by the look on the counter person’s face within the first few seconds that I walked up. She looked at me with a smile. I was surrounded by Aussies and immediately felt nostalgic, as I used JetStar for every weekend getaway while in OZ. I put my bag on the oversized scale to see that it was 10 kilos overweight.

“Will you be paying with credit card, or cash Mr. Wales?” She asked politely.

I love it when I am referred to in such a professional way, but I asked “how much” in a pitiful, young, poor, traveller tone.

“20 Singapore per kilo, sir.” I nearly shat myself.

“I’ll try to put some things in my carry-on, its very light, as it only has my computer,” I lied. Well, not really. This, bag really did only kind of have just my computer in it, but the huge bastard in the corner had enough stuff for a small country.

I transferred clothing, wetsuits, sandals, and a pair of booties until I was only 3 kilos over. I always put a bit of the bag on the side of the scale, so that the measurement works in my favour. We agreed the price of $60 SGD. She asked me again how I’d be paying and I said credit card. But somehow, just then, it slipped over, and the scale revealed the true weight: 5 kilos over; another $40. The nice woman smiled and lied through her teeth as I had been doing and said “it’s only 3 kilos over.” Because I was paying with credit card, her manager would need to sign off on it and she had just walked away. She asked me to come back in 15 minutes. This was perfect because my little bag was kilos away from being able to zip. This gave me time to run back to the big bag that people were probably beginning to think was some kind of bomb and I could transfer things over and get everything perfect. I sat on my bag so that I could muster the strength to pull the zipper shut. Everyone around was laughing.

I left both bags and walked back over to the counter. “Why it is your lucky day Mr. Wales. My manager has waived the fees for the bag from here to Darwin and Darwin to Sydney.”

“Damn,” I though to myself. I wonder how much stuff I could have left in there before I really had to pay for the whole lot.

On "On The Road"

My bed is constantly changing...

I shut my eyes on couches without cushions, floors both hard and carpeted, in airports, apartments, airplane seats: middles, windows, and aisles, train booths, surf board bags, buses, beaches, camper vans, and back seats of cabs

Backpacks, sweatshirts, towels, and balled up t shirts become makeshift pillows

My clothes are worn day in and day out; stains like scars should be worn with pride and accompanied with a story

My hair can be shaped in any desired direction and as it grows longer, can soften the uncomforting blow of sleeping on a solid floor

With a little hunt and a bit of luck I find little gems for brekkys, lunches, dinners, and meals in between

Over these cheap local eats, coffees, and beers, I swap stories, converse worthwhile conversations, and compromise card games with complete strangers, fellow travelers, and solo wanderers

I crunch exchange rates, negotiate over pennies, and walk away with black bags, a full stomach, and a good buzz, if I was looking to find one

I’m not ready to say goodbye to an intoxicating amount of complete liberation and elation

See you later,

LB

Going Home Feels Like Surrender

Well, I stopped writing. I can't really put a finger on it, but I think not having a good light at night while I was in my camper van in New Zealand had something to do with it. During the days I was typically surfing, cooking, driving, or map reading. By night I watched a movie and usually fell asleep, wrapped in my surfboard bag, parked in some illegal fashion.

I am going home tomorrow. I may not be ready to go home, but I am ready to leave Fiji. I'll explain the place in a later post. It is going to be strange re-entering my native country after being gone for so long. Back to a life of not much myster-"ity." A cell phone will become a Global Positioning System for others to find out where I am and what I am doing at all times. I will be able to complete a full day without attempting to choke down another bowl of instant cup noodles. That will be good. I will not have to really worry about the bed bugs, or much of bugs in general. I will not have to convince myself that the ants crawling over my food will be a good source of protein, especially since I have been lacking any form. As far as food goes in general, I will be better off in the States.

I plan on attempting to sit first class on my flight home. I have a plan, and a backup. If they do indeed fall through, I will be sitting on the aisle in coach. Window gives for a better sleeping position, but I'm thinking ahead. After all the booze I plan on consuming on the 10 hour ride, an aisle seat will allow me to move to and from the bathroom as I choose without disturbing the unlucky soul that will watch me drown my fears of going back to a place of responsibility; a place where credit card debts are real and these people called parents will be the first to tell you.

Currently Packing,
LB

Losing Things and Leaving Indo

May 11^th- 15^th

Padang Bai, Bali – Lembar, Lombok

            I departed Nusa Lembogan this morning at 8. After an egg, cheese, and avocado jaffle, coffee, and fresh banana, melon, and pineapple covered in squeezed lime, I hopped on the public ferry. Not before doing a quick once over all my things. I realized that another prized possession was a victim to “the road.” My precious Nalgene bottle, only just purchased in January…

            My Lost List:

1.      Favourite Jeans

2.      Rain Jacket (my Dad’s)

3.      Good Jumper (sweatshirt)

4.      My Nalgene

The combination of grey skies, sprinkling rain, and an unbalanced boat (slightly to the left) led to some children with green faces and predictable consequences.

            Nusa Lembogan was expensive, but worth it.

            I arrived at the Sanur Harbour to a freshly drenched motorbike and helmet, and flat waves. I consulted with some guys selling ferry tickets in regards to the Padang Bai Harbours ferry times to Lombok. I glanced at a map for a general location and took off.

            Although the road was pretty well paved and newer than most, the surroundings were nothing of the sort. Rice paddy fields with a few local workers in the foreground and a volcano in the background.

            I made it to Padang Bai in a typical fashion to my travels, I was lost once. As feared and previously forewarned the only ATM within one hour was out. Not of cash, but of Visa because it only took MasterCard. Who has a MasterCard anyway? A man told me that there was a Visa ATM on Lombok, so I purchased my ticket and left with only about $10 after my 80 cent lunch.

            I have never seen more heckling than on the boat here. With the ferry riders stuck in their respective seats they are waiting targets for a close to mobbing experience. The couple across from me was really getting it badly because they had one thing in their hand, thus showing that they were willing to buy more and they did. Smarter, I ignored the hellish vendors with my a blasting Ipod and sunglasses.

            The ride was much bumpier than I expected it would have been given the size of the ship. At one point, I even went down below to make sure that my scoot was still in tack and had not fallen to kill my boards.

            We arrived to the Lembar port within five hours and thanks to a previous heads up, I knew that it would be another hour until we actually exited the ship. The longer we sat in the harbour, the darker it became outside as the sun slipped behind the mountains and the clouds were filled with water. This was going to get interesting.

            Finally, I took off in search of Shengigi, as I was told that there would a Visa ATM there. I was going North. I drove until the rain started really pouring to badly that I could not see 15 feet in front of me. I pulled over at a mechanic’s and so did a few others drivers that lacked the necessary gear to drive through cats and dogs (literally dogs too, wet ones).

            Just as it seemed the rain was slowing down, it would just start dumping again. It had to have been close to an hour that I waited, but I got a young guy to draw my up a map of where I was heading.

            Out of boredom and hunger, I left the next time the rain slowed. It wouldn’t last long. It came down hard and my poncho, although reluctantly covered my bag, did not cover my lap. Eventually I was driving down a road with water so deep that it was constantly coming up over my feet.

                        The power just turned off… I wonder how long this will last.

15 minutes goes by

                        Ah, not too bad

            This would go on for a long ways. Not to mention the road wasn’t exactly even legal to ride on by United States standards, but it was so drown that you just had to hope for the best.

            A huge ATM 24/7 sign grabbed my eye, so I immediately pulled over only to find two security guards “working on it.” I belted a four letter word and they sent me off in what would soon be the wrong direction.  I did find an ATM eventually.

            After getting some cash I now needed a bed. The security guard here apologized for his lack of English, but the poor guy would suck at Charades too because he couldn’t make out my sleeping hand gesture and my big bag and face of despair didn’t give it away.  

            This went on for a while until I got a solid lead and I was close. I found the reception desk only to find out that they were out of rooms because of a conference meeting (even though the place seemed dead and it was about 7pm). I asked the guy for another place to stay and after talking broken English and sounding out every consonant and vowel, as if this would help him much away, I got yet another lead. I lost it quickly in the darkness and rain, so I went back to asking window food cooks and street vendors. My last hope and it came in English. It was not the man’s native tongue, but it would suffice.

It was pretty steep at about $10 a night, but it did include free brekky and a 4 channel (no English) television set. The woman asked me if I needed to shower. I answered that for 100,000 rupiah a night I would be taking a couple. This flustered her because for no apparent reason most of the showers in the rooms were out of order. I suggested that maybe we could work on the price as I am far more use to not showering then paying so much for a room. She quickly declined and thus got back to looking for a room with a shower. After about 10 minutes she was in luck. I showered and went out. I found the cheapest internet in all of Indonesia at 5,000 rupiah an hour and a quick bite to eat. The food was only a window stand, but it was fabulous. A fried wrap tortilla with egg and veggies inside covered in homemade chilli sauce.  

The following morning I used the cheap net out of its cheapness of course then hit the road down to Kuta, Lombok. I was asking for directions just to get out of the capital and most of the time the directions were either conflicting or none were given at all as most of the people in this reserved Muslim island turned their backs to me. I would often just laugh loudly and buzz to the next stand. I was finally spotted by a fellow surfer; a local. He saw my boards and the fact that I was going inland and set me straight for the coast.

I stayed in Kuta for a few nights. The place was a lot mellower then Bali and equally as cheap. I surfed a few times at a couple different spots. I met up with some the Aussies again from Nusa Lembogan. I went out to dinner with people that I never plan on seeing again. It was cool, but I was very happy to get back to Bali. It was a full day of travelling to make it back to Bingin after about 3.5 hours on the scooter and a 5 hour ferry ride, I was in dire need for a feed and a large Bintang.

I surfed for most of the next following days. I was sad to find out that the swell would be maxing out during the weekend (and I leave on Thursday). That’s just how it goes I suppose. I have still gotten some great waves the past few days.

I started lugging my stuff up the 175 uneven stairs in sections on Thursday evening. It was a weird feeling to leave since I had spent almost a ¼ of the time that I spent in Australia, just in Indonesia alone and it had flown by. Just quick trips now. Singapore for the weekend…

5$ a Night for a Room on the Beach

May 1^st- 10^th

            Well we went south today after the morning surf. We scooted out around 12ish and after a few simple directions we hoped that signs would begin to help. They did. It was basically a straight shot out to Uluwatu. The roads were not as crazy as the ones around Kuta, so we could really open it up. We were riding through tunnels of trees and overgrown vegetation. The city life came almost to a complete halt and besides the occasion petrol station or drink and snack shop, there was nothing but fields and forests. We scooted around the mountainsides in search of a place to stay out here as we knew that swell was coming for the weekend. After a few suggestions from a friend we settled on Bingin Beach. We were literally on the beach. Although we sacrificed personal showers and toilets, the price dropped to $50,000 rupiah (less than $5 a night). The owner of Juni’s Warung, Juni, told us that she would have space for us tomorrow, when we mentioned that we would be returning. The sun was setting quickly and the dark drive back to Kuta was approaching. We were racing down the steep roads now, and still people were passing on scooters. People with friends, people with families, people with bathtubs. Horns were beeping left and right, but not always bad beeps. Some beeps were to tell someone they could pass, some were saying not yet, and some were the standard “get the hell out of my way.” 

            Due to the dimly lit streets and lack of signs the three of us were split up and wouldn’t meet up until later at the hotel.

            The following morning we arranged for a cab to take our stuff to our new place around 1130. With some time to kill, I packed my things, bought some cheaper standards, and checked the internet to converse with the other side. 

            We arrived and setup our rooms. I went for a surf before coming home to come great cooking.

The past couple day’s lunch and dinners have consisted of Nasi Goreng (rice, chicken, bacon, served over rice) with sweet soy sauce coupled with hot sauce to liquefy the solid, or Noodle Soup with chicken, bacon, and vegtables. Brekky has been a cup of Balinese coffee, and either three pieces of French Toast (for $10,000 rupiah), a plater of bananas, apples, and pinapples smothered in honey and lemon (for $15,000), or a jaffle stuffed with bananas, honey, and peanut butter (for $15,000). Needless to say, I am being feed, and very well at that.

Although the waves haven’t been anything to brag about, I have been surfing about three times a day and loving it. There have been some other people on the peaks, but after the Gold Coast getting a wave here is a cake walk. And how much can I complain when I am writing this from a hammock over a Bintang, after an awesome dinner and after having just watched the sun set over the ocean? NONE. Life is good, although it is hot.

May 3^rd

            I rode my scooter up to the Uluwatu temple this afternoon after the internet. Despite the mod of Chinese people that were unloading from busliners like a herd of cattle and the sarong that I was forced to wear in respect to the Gods, it was very interesting. The temple itself was off limits for guests, as it was reserved for rituals, and the monkeys who basically owned the entire side of the cliff. They were stealing waters, sunglasses, and whatever other goodies they could get their hands on from tourists in hope that there would a later exchange of a bag of bananas or peanuts. Not wanting to pay more than the $60,000 that it cost me to park and to get in I opted against the food bags, but tricked one instead with a peanut shell to snag a picture.

May 4^th

            Rory and I started out to Ubud to get away from a couple days given that the waves have gotten pretty small. After running a red light, Rory zoomed ahead of me and we were immediately split from each other. I was ok with this. There were little to no signs that mentioned Ubud, so I was constantly pulling over to window food vendors or little petrol stations to verify that I was indeed going to the correct direction. I reached the city midafternoon and grabbed a Bintang and walked around the town. I watched a kids soccer game and tried to figure out which bars where I was most likely to have a good time. I wrote Rory to meet me and we eventually met up for dinner. We went to a great little place called Arie’s Warung Before we did any ordering Arie himself came to show us a book of former eaters and their compliments about the place. The critics came from all around the world, and Arie was quite proud of his stack of reviews. The food was amazing, the beer cold, and Arie’s jokes could not have been cheesier. It was perfect: for under 5$ each we had an appetizer of spring rolls, a big Bintang, Arie’s special, and fried banana for desert. Can life get better?

            We grabbed a couple beers and hit the street in search of some live music. After a couple lame bars we settled for just cruising the streets. Until we heard music… We were at the edge of town and the music was coming and going as we walked down the streets. We found ourselves going down an alley way with a couple locals scattered along the sides. The music was getting louder. We walked around the corner to find about 50 people all playing different instruments and a couple of dancing girls. I was embarrassed and attempted to go in reverse, but a man said, “Hello, how are you?” I said that I was good and he offered us a seat to watch, but we would have to cross the entire group. We watched drumming, strumming, gonging, fluting, humming, and xelaphoning for the following hour and a half. Talk about getting local. We were the only white people and they knew it. They didn’t seem to mind though. We asked the man to the left of us what all this was about and he said that it was for the White Herring and that they were practicing for tomorrow night. They immediately invited us; directions and all.

            On the 5^th we did the Monkey Forest and hit the road. We would not be attending the concert tonight. We stopped to check Nusa Dua on the way back to Bingin Beach, but there wasn’t much going on since the winds had already picked up pretty heavily. To get into Nusa Dua there was a security check mark and inside the grounds there were tons of people dressed in military outfits. We got some window food at a place that seemed more than sketchy. Rory did not eat his egg, but I finished my plate.

            We had an afternoon surf at Ulus and it was pretty fun. We had some great cooking back at Juni’s and talked to Wayan for a long time about starting the place from the ground up. I only wish that he knew more English, and I knew more Indonesian. He had a lot to say, only some of which I could understand, but I nodded along constantly.

            He’s a real nice, genuine guy. Even so nice as to let me leave my things with him while I travel for the next “few days.” Unbeknownst to him, my computer, external hard drive, and a few other pretty pennies. I’m free with only my boards and my backpack.

            After three pieces of French toast and a coffee I took off, today to Sanur. I was headed to Nusa Lembongan. It was about a one hour scooter ride and another hour and a half crazy ferry ride. My boards were up top taking a beating, as the winds prevailed on the open seas, and neither the captain nor the crew seemed to care that the boat was completely lopsided from all the goods that they were carrying. The wooden planks that the group sat on were only held down with each his own body weight and thus constantly shifting with each ride over another wave. People suddenly falling to the flooded floors happened on more than one occasion.

            We arrived and grabbed our things. We walked north, as the sign directed, to the Nusa Indah Bungalows, where I was greeted with open arms as Justin’s friend. The waves here only break on specific tides, so I heard about a cockfight and ventured to it. I still couldn’t figure out how all the betting went down, but the scene was wild to watch.

            The waves turned on for the evening, the food was good, and the beer again very cold, which counts for a lot around here. It’s perfect… maybe a little slow, but definitely the kind of place that isn’t hard to get used to.

            The island’s chief export is seaweed. It grows out front in the lagoon before the surf. It is picked by little boatmen and women during the lower tides from shallow boats that are pushed around by the driver with a stick. After the seaweed is accumulated in the boats, it is taken to shore and loaded into baskets that are toted to the villager’s hut, where it is placed onto a tarp and left to dry by the blistering sun. After a couple of days, the seaweed is loaded onto a bigger ship where it is taken to be made into different types of cosmetics. The dry seaweed is sold, stolen, from the villagers at 500 rupiah (less than 5 cents) a kilo.

May 7^th

            Earlier I used the internet which was about five times the amount that I was used to paying back in Bali (1$ an hour, so 5$ an hour). I don’t think that I’ll use it much out here anymore, although, I should so I don’t forget things like my best friend’s birthday (which I did). I am looking forward to dinner again. It’s nice to eat with your feet in the sand and a tall Bintang in your hand… sad to say that Rory has left and would not be joining me, but I enjoyed despite the circumstances.

            After two surfs divided by an egg and cheese jaffle, fresh fruit, coffee, and an orange juice, I made my way back to the cockfighting circus. They seemed to be starting a little late today so I grabbed a few goat skewers, a mound of rice, and some chicken soup. I would later find out that the chicken in the chicken soup was from the losing carcass after being punctured to death by the opponent’s blade which is tied to the back of the left foot.

            I still couldn’t get a grasp on the betting system, but an Indo asked me if I wanted to bet in fairly good English. I did. I had a $5,000 in my hand, but I had seen more $50,000s and $100,000s than I even knew existed in Indonesia. I knew that these people meant business. Not only because of the amount of money and probably daughters that they were throwing around, but also because it was one in the afternoon on the second day and none of the two hundred plus people here were at work. I dug deep for my own $50,000, remembering a line from a travel note that read “take risks.” I eyed up the two chickens. I went with the smaller, red and brown one on the right.

            He had had his blade tied on first and thus had some time to become mentally prepared to stab the guts out of his opponent. His owner was flustering him up and the feathers on his head were looking like a lion’s mane. I placed my bet to the man and he said, “You win, I win. You lose, I lose.” I pointed out my chicken. He ran away to go up to another middle man and my money finally reached the man two guys running the show. The rush that I had on Anzac Day during the game of Two Up was back, except that this time I would know the verdict almost immediately and confidently. I stood on my chair and cheered on my chicken. Screaming like the mad man that I was, I realized that I was the only white person around. With each close call a sigh and each close stab a yell. There were a couple of quick scuffles, but nothing substantial. Then, my chicken ducked from a jump then stabbed the white chicken in the gut. It’s white chest quickly changed to red as the blood dripped from his chest until he fell to the ground in agony. I had won! Complete Elation! Now I must find my bookie. But instead he ran up to me, cheering and we exchanged a high five as he gave me my first $100,000 bill of the trip.

May 10^th

            The surf hasn’t been ideal, but fun nonetheless. I had a scooter ride over to Nusa Chennigan this morning. Nicely abandoned houses littered the beach there. I was surprised. After my lunch, surf, and daily cockfighting watching, I attended a ceremony. For what, I’m still not very sure, but it was very interesting. I borrowed a sarong and head piece and entered the temple. I was the only white person until some older Aussies walked in. All of the women had baskets of fruit which the laid near the temple squares. Everyone sat on the ground with their sandals under their behinds. Although the temple was surrounded by a high border wall and it was a religious ceremony cigarettes were still smoked by the locals. Once the ceremony proceeded there was a speaker with a man talking. A line of men carrying flags entered as did the musicians. The drumming and xeylaphoning  began. The girls next to me, all of twelve years old asked me if I wanted to participate in the ceremony. I agreed.

            They handed me an incense stick and a set of flowers wrapped in a green leaf. I followed their hand gestures and sipped three handfuls of water from the white gowned man in front of me with the pale of water. After the sips, which were all done separately, I dabbed my hand in a mixture of wet rice and placed it as directed on my forehead and chest. The flowers were then placed in the back of my piece and another in my ear.

            I met some good Aussies and tagged along with them for a great seafood dinner, Bintangs, and cards. The game was an Aussie, simpler, version of Asshole. 

Looking Forward To:

I made a little ongoing list of what I'm looking forward to once getting home (besides friends and family) to help pass the never ending time that I was spending in the airport.

1. Free food / Opening my fridge
   
2. Milk
3. Mexican Food
4. My dog, Ramsey
5. Beach bar dives
6. Doc Taylor's brekky and bloodys
   
7. Cheap beer and liquor in general
8. $100 Days with Andrew
9. New car (which I keep forgetting about)
10. Cover bands playing at the 5th street stage
11. Bikes on the boardwalk all summer long
    

On Writing

I really fell off with the blog for my trip home, but as a blog, unlike a book, is ever changing, I'm ok with this. I still wrote down a lot of what was happening while I was in Indonesia, but lack of free internet led to a downfall in my postings. I now have free internet in Singapore, where I arrived last night. I will probably throw in some older things about my travels in Indonesia apart from Bali, but I'm not too sure when.

Leaving Bali was good, as I am becoming more anxious to get heading back home. I know that this will only last a week or so until I become restless again, but you have to go back to realize it. Leaving Bali was not so good in that I got whacked with a 100$ US baggage fee for being double the amount of allotted weight.

Where the Wild Things Are

April 26^th- May 1^st

Over the Outback somewhere… Somewhere I never go to see, but I’m not worried because I will, someday. Well the long trip home is underway… I’m going through my second worst hangover in Australia, after my final night of Goon (Stanley’s Red Lambrusco) consumption. I cannot split the attribution between last night’s alcohol or the crying I was doing the entire train ride from the Robina Rail Station to Brisbane. I held back when I was dropped off, but after I was left with nothing but my bags, thoughts, memories; I lost it. Unable to comprehend that everything Australia related was over, I could not help myself. Time went by quicker than one can ever imagine, until it actually does. The entire trip seemed like a good weekend and although I was really on summer break, I did not want to be. Things will never be the same. That life and those friends are forever going to be different.

I miss them already. I know that I’ll see them again, but it’s never the same back on the other side where shit is real. Reality? Not sure. Maybe for some. I feel like living a life anything less than what I have been is just settling for less.

I made it. Bali, Indonesia. Talk about Culture Shock… I couldn’t imagine things getting much wilder than here. After negotiating with a cabbie by telling him that I have been here before and that I knew how much a cab cost to Kuta, I paid less than $5 for a 40 minute ride through traffic saturated streets. I arrived at a place that costed $60,000 rupiah a night. When I first checked into my room all I thought I was in Apocalypse Now. Still in Saigon… The fan twisted above my head as my Bintang stood next to me on the bedside table pouring sweat, just like me. My room is better than any rooms I have had in any college semester. I have my own shower, toilet, balcony, and bed. I love Bali already. I have two twin beds, but I am going to be switching into a large one soon*. My balcony overlooks the yard with trees bearing the flowers used in the little boxes that burn incense outside of every workplace. The boxes hold flowers, fruit, crackers, and sometimes cigarettes. I am told that these boxes are offerings to the Gods (of Hinduism).

I used the internet for the first time this morning after brekky. The breakfast was delicious, although the portion was small. Fresh cantaloupe, watermelon, and green melon coupled with a cup of coffee and a warm jaffle stuffed with sliced bananas. I can get used to this. The internet reminds me that there is another world away from here where the environment doesn’t call for continuous cigarettes and Bintangs. Life in The States is now known as The Other Side. The internet is the only way of even attempting to get close to remembering that life.

It’s is freakishly easy to see how this place grabs people and never lets them leave. Everyone is friendly (for the most part) because they are in paradise. Although your typical slow going beachside day with an umbrella drink can be found, the lifestyle in Kuta is quick-paced place under the sun where even walking seems to be ubiquitous with danger: people driving up one-way streets with Bintangs in hand, some on the road, some on the sidewalk almost mowing down tourists and drunken Aussies, some carrying a backpack, some with a bathtub, some with three children. Anything goes on the streets here, and nothing seems surprising. That’s the frightening part.

I looked back yesterday and saw Rory in my sideview mirror: squeezing the handle (as I was), eyes wide open, passing cars, street vendors, and petrol stations. We drove through the Indonesian back roads next to rice paddies and big brown cows with blue skies and a beaming sun. Where am I?

I myself have a scooter, and I’m excited to finally get down south today away from Kuta. Life is going to be simple again: surfing, eating, writing, storytelling, conversation holding, and people meeting.

---

* This never happens. 

Itinerary (as of now)

As if, I wasn't already I am officially on Summer Holiday. As in, I have no more tests to take, papers to turn in, or classes to show up for. But altogether I have been on summer break since the moment I stepped off the plane in Brisbane back in January. 

Typically, everyone know that weekends, spring breaks, and even summers go by entirely to quickly. Before packing up your weekend supplies, flying home from spring break, or pulling out of your home's driveway headed back to college, there is always a moment where you stop and think: "where in the hell did the time go,?" "I just finished class on Friday, landed at my destination, or bombed my last final of last semester." Well, my friends if you think that time passes quickly on these minor occasions... then you have another thing coming. 

I feel like I met my friends here yesterday. I remember the cold, rainy morning that I was being driven to the airport. There is a moment of contemplation when thinking about the time since I got here. I feel like I haven't done much (even though I have), and that my time has just begun. The two way street that although you know so much more then when you got here and you feel like you've been here forever, but on the other side you feel like its only been a week. 

Time since I have gotten here has sped into a warped dimension. I truly never knew that time could move this fast past my own face. Whirling by and crossing out days on my calendar, taking no time to slow down and rest for even a second. No matter how much I told myself to enjoy the moment and soak up the scene, I will never feel completely satisfied. Which is why, nowadays I sit back grin, happily realising that I'm ok with that. 

A good friend's favorite quote, who showed and proved this to me:

"They have worries, they're counting the miles, they're thinking about where to sleep tonight, how much money for gas, the weather, how they'll get there --- and all the time they'll get there anyway, you see. But they need to worry and betray time with urgencies false and otherwise, purely anxious and whiny, their souls really won't be at peace unless they can latch on to an established worry and having once found it they assume facial expressions to fit it and go with it, and all the time the time it all flies by them and they know it and that too worries them to no end..." 

On The Road, Kerouac

A Couple Updates

I leave Australia in 10 days. I will be in Bali for about a month, Singapore for a long weekend, New Zealand for 2 weeks, and Fiji for 1. That puts me back in Virginia Beach on June 11th, unless I hang out in California for a couple days which I have recently thought about. 

Although I'm ecstatic to get on the road for a while, back to travelling, I'm no where near ready to come home. (except maybe to see my dog, score a homecooked meal, and get some money) 

While in the water surfing D-Bah yesterday, in between getting barrelled, a friend paddled over and said "I'm trying to tell myself right now: 'Just remember how happy you are right now!'" I agreed, but only to show it by a big grin. I paddled back to my own peak in the water, when I thought about that comment and how I just wanted to take a little bit of that afternoon home with me in box. Somehow capturing the sun, clear water, jumping dolphins, countless barrels, and my thoughts. Then I was reminded by a quote I had heard before "somethings you just have to keep for yourself." 

March 16th- April 5th

Well I’m behind… way behind. However, without the weekend travels, I haven’t had anything too exciting to right about. Not that life in Australia has gotten dull, but overall it has been repetitive; in only the best way. The past few weeks have been filled with coffee mornings, surf sessions, afternoon naps, and late nights. The surf has been consistently big and really fun.

            School work is beginning to come up… and fast! I have some papers that I need to tend to, but due to my new obsession with Six Feet Under, they’ll have to wait. It is not Australian or even current. Six Feet Under was introduced in the States in 2001 and ran until 2005, but for me: 2009. I’ve yet to get too immersed in a new book and I think the show is to blame.

I need to spend some time in the library working on my research papers, but I need to spend more time outside… living. I’m into my final month in Australia now, and I do not like it one bit. School is winding down. I am beginning to have less and less class as the weeks continue.

            The feeling of burning flesh in my lower back along the left side of my spine is beginning to subside, although I cannot tell if that is because I have been eating Advil Liquid Gels like candy. After a fall at the local Beer Garden last weekend, I am finally able to move about, for the most part, freely and without dying. The crowd went wild went the local cover band, Punchline, began jamming the likes of Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spirit.” I made a quick appearance before being in the wrong place at the wrong time and sequentially lifted up by my comrades. 

The MRI went well the other morning. I was late, but my spot remained open. I was told to drop my “tweeds” and in a mistaken translation process dropped it all. I was told to put my “undies” back on the chuckling middle aged woman who waited on me. In between moments of the horrendous loud sounds bouncing my bones and muscles around to make an image and my aching back twitching out of traditional despair, I actually found the process quite relaxing.

The cyclone has left the past week continuously overcast and the ground saturated. All the time indoors has led to some productive studying and proceedings in Six Feet Under.

I have a couple finals ahead this week, some papers the following, and a couple tests there after. Then el FIN.

As most of my friends here aren’t travelling to quite the extent that I am… Forgetting about my solo escapades of Asia, New Zealand, and Pacific islands…I am growing increasingly more excited to see familiar faces back home. I think I’ll be ready for some green money, common accents, and cheap beer by the time I reach home; for a little while anyway.