I think today I started to get it. That Bali appeal that has been missing for me on some vibratory level under the consciousness. If I had to pinpoint the experience, it would be when I was floating in the ocean on a surf board, watching the sun set and riding as many sets as I could. I stayed out until there was no more light on the water than the moon and the beach bars. I was accompanied by live drumming at one bar and one of the loveliest ladies I've met in the water. She was in her 20s, slim and muscled at the same time, German, and the only other person out there that late. On the beach, when picking out my board, I made the mistake of standing downhill from the stacks and picked the biggest board they had, a mere 6-6.5 feet. I emerged with that tiny board having stood on it for every ride I wasn't tossed by, without my sunglasses, my suit askew, and grinning ear to ear.
The sun set behind tall clouds, casting long gold and red light over the water, the moon giving chase high overhead. Other than drums, I could hear the water lapping at the board and the faint roar of breaking waves behind me. I didn't want to get out, I didn't want the day to stop. This is why I'm here, was the thought.
I had a wicked hangover too. The kind of pounding headache that kept me on my stomach most of the time in the water because the altitude climb of sitting upright set off chiors of mechanical monkey's with cymballs in my head. I hadn't eaten all day either and was all too happy to forego dinner for a precious couple of hours out on the water.
The day started on the beach, actually. I had one of those nights that went until dawn. Getting off of work, I shut my computer as Aaron blew in from a night on the town so I could follow him back to the party on my Scoopie. A Mexican restaurant opening, invite only party was on the tail end of free tequila shots night and folks were DRUNK. I walked over broken glasses to join Aaron's group of adoring ladies and chat up a woman with an intoxicating Balinese accent, long brown limbs, and dark, sad eyes. A few shots of Patron later and I was following her on my Scoopie as she held onto Aaron and we sped off into the hot Bali night in search of the next hot spot. We ended up at a club with good music. I fended off an Egyptian, a Brazilian (complete with UFC tee-shirt), and a Frenchman by the time I left. Aaron almost came to blows when one particularly bold would-be suitor tried climbing on the back of my bike as I left.
clouds
beach dog
Aaron points flowers
What do spirits like? STROBERI!!!!
So beautiful
Morning
We dropped off sad eyes and shared a bike to the beach and watched the sun rise with the same spectacular rainbow of color and light as it's departure from the day. Still in our party clothes and sharing earbuds, we listened to music, walked in the water, and watched the families, dogs, and vendors start their days. I don't remember the ride home, but I woke sweating around noon, dark eyes had already left, and I was still swimming in Patron and Bintang. My sunburn had turned to blisters, hard and small, leaving my arms to appear as though I'd just broken out into a sweat all day. We stopped by the french woman's boutique and admired the variety and quality of the shop she tends. As Aaron puts it, the best shop in Bali. I agree. Need a 30 pound necklace made of conch shells as big as your fist? This place has it. Along with necklaces made from hand-woven wire fabric, leather purses with complicated cutout patterns and cow fur still attached (but dyed neon pink), a chaise from a single slab of wood, and a host of high quality Thai goods too. Aaron busied himself with creating quiet chaos as we wandered through, turning one Buddha the wrong way in a line up of Buddhas, putting a blue bracelet into the yellow bracelet area, and leaving a breadcrumb trail of mischief that had us both in quiet hysteria with his childlike antics.
We followed that up by a hair-raising motorbike ride-stop-ride-stop to Kuta beach. I've been warned about Kuta and it basically lived up to its reputation as brash, tourist-centric, and trash-littered. You couldn't step 2 feet down the beach without some vendor asking "What do you want, boss?". It was hot and the sun merciless. I would challenge anyone's base tan in this sunshine for two hours. You WILL burn. (any actual takers of the sunburn challenge have to be officiated by me, so get here quickly, and I promise to apply aloe every couple of hours for 48 hours after the challenge)
Fortunately I had my "Spiderman" SPF costume with me and I dunked myself in the surf wearing a long-sleeve rash guard shirt to prevent blister-on-blister proliferation. Sexy? Hell no. We met up with Aaron's date and sat on bench/seats under an umbrella while her two kids played with sand. I avoided the romantic tableau on the beach chairs and hung out with kids who collected shells and gave long-winded stories about real and imagined events in that run-on-sentence sort of way kids do. I was a patient third wheel and played with kids when I wasn't swimming. An hour before sunset I split to surf (let's be really honest here folks and call it almost-surfing), the ride back much shorter than the one there.
The OG Burn
I'll be honest, I got to the beach, saw a calm ocean with a handful of hopeful surfers and almost turned around to find the nearest Warung to chow at. At best, surfing has been a pie-in-the-sky kind of dream for me. I spent many summers in the Pacific ocean around San Diego and Los Angeles boogie boarding and body surfing for hours a day. But never surfing. One of my all-time favorite bands is the Beach Boys (still). And my one attempt prior to this was a total disaster. Andy and I gave it shot one day in Costa Rica, renting huge boards and boldly getting into high, fast, and dangerous surf. I had just finished OT on my left elbow and couldn't get on the board, it was so weak. 20 minutes later we emerged, walked down the long road of shame to the board rental shop and at that time I thought I'd never surf. It was just too hard, I was too weak.
Cut to five years later, including two years of cross-fit, and I'm nervous approaching the board rental guy, hestiant to go without my instructor, having all of the fear thoughts that a semi-rational 36-year-old would have. Like, they're all going to laugh at me, what if there aren't any waves, I've never done this alone and only two times with a teacher, and they're all going to laugh at me (it gets two because it really circles back that way mentally). He quoted me 70,000 rupiah ($7). Having asked my instructor the prices, I laughed and he gave it to me for what I was willing to pay. Putting on my blinders, I ignored the crowds gathering at beach restaurants and marched into the water in my boardshorts and bikini and joined the small cluster of locals and foreigners out in the waves. Bangkok Aaron had told me to just get out there and swim with the board, get used to being in the water and paddling, used to the board. I could do that, right?
Within 30 minutes, I'm standing up on a short board as the wave benieth me picks me up and carries me in as the sun sets in all of its glory on the shores of Bali. This is it, why I'm here. I imagined how to get a board rental for a month, where to get the board hooks for my Scoopie, spending every morning and every sunset in the water, and cleared the skin from two toes as I veered away from running over a pedestrian I was so in my head on the ride home. We'll see, eh? But I imagine a month wouldn't be long enough of that feeling. Especially if I ever get any good.