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.