I've been to Bali too 🎵

The plane flies this afternoon so there should be time.

A pod of dolphins are mingling in the dawn light.  A large group, about 30 circling back and forth, guests at a family do. 2 youngsters are out in front diving into the air and splashing back into the water.  The surfers huddle together.  Crappy waves anyway.

I surf Manly.  Micklosh tells me about G-land -- “it’s bigger but kinda softer”.  He is hopping, trying not to get his hair wet and rubbing sand on his wax for grip.  Grey hair, goat beard and a billy goat gruff.  I opt to sit by myself down the beach.  Noah goes past, his fin just stroking the surface but I see him.  A fast, sleek, black 6 foot torpedo.  6 feet under.  Death by fish. I stroke in and go home.

At the airport -- the confusion, tickets, bags, people. So many different people.  I am sure many of them are not real, they are just bit actors and constructs in the story of my life.

I change $500 into IDR at the airport.  4 thick wads of cash come out of the Clerk's draw.  I start to tell her I will change less money because I am not sure how I will hide a 4cm thick pile of cash.  “This is not all yours” she chuckles.  Relaxing, I take the smaller wad of money she presents me and hide it in my document bag.

Make peace with the world for take off. I will never get used to plane travel.  It’s a tedious movie marathon.  A voyeurs festival of perverted western horror.  The euro chick next to me has a cold. She did not go to the toilet once in the 6.5 hours.  She is obviously a machine.

I have been sweating blood all flight because I have to declare a “sharp object” in customs.  I wish I never brought a pocket knife in my board bag.  Will they lock me up?  No, don't be silly, it’s just a knife.

Everyone is up early on landing.  Breaking tradition, I join the waiters, the queuers.  The pressure gets too much and we  burst out of the plane and spill into the airport.

The airport is lazy and warm. Sleepy yawning officials and passengers.  The pace picks up as we flow through to baggage.  Grab my boards and then out.  Customs don’t want to stop me, so I exit into an arena full of asian faces holding name signs. It's a reverse zoo.  Or maybe the monkey cage at the zoo?  Monkeys hooting and chattering, holding name signs, pushed up against the bars in the crush.  Hands sticking through asking for peanuts.

Bali smells different -- it is a sweaty, incense infused mix.  Sweet Indonesian cigarettes and bike exhaust mix in with a sea of asian faces.

I have done this before, the airport prices are inflated so I follow the other savvy passengers away from the terminal.  300,000 for a taxi, no 200,000 … okay?  Will it fit the boards?  “Yes yes”. Get the customer and then worry about the details :)  The boards are in my coffin bag.  28kg of bulky joy.  My second family.  They fit through to the front of the car and pressure the driver. “I drive slowly” he says.

I get a sim card for the phone. I am ripped off (no doubt -- I am not used to the currency yet).  Getting dropped at my AirBnb -- or so I think. Google has placed me in Uluwatu, but the accommodation is wrong.  Wrong place “maybe down the road to the left” a night local says.  Octopus logo on his hat and boardshorts.  I search, get my phone out, use the torch, get the laptop out, read, message, and lug the boardbag.  It’s a late night game of blind man's bluff. Dogs bark, I snarl back -- no biting please, no rabies please. 1 hour later, wet with sweat, I follow my path back and stumble into the location.  Nothing is easy :)

I wake before dawn -- 5am Sydney time.  Break out the boards and snap the fins in.  The surf break is 10 minutes by foot -- it is hectic because there are no footpaths -- I hug the road edges to get out of the way of the buzzing bikes and angry cars.

Locals don't walk, they ride scooters and motorcycles.  You often see the proud head of the family with 1 kid, wife and mother on one bike.  It looks like a circus trick without safety nets.

Uluwatu is a long reef break at the foot of white cliffs.  It’s a coral reef so don’t hit the bottom.  The golden rule is never put your feet down. You climb down a sketchy set of stairs to paddle out through the cave. The cave breaths as waves rush in and out.  Hmmm -- 20 years ago there were no stairs -- it was a climb down into the cave.  I ride the 6'1" Sharpeye but find it hard to make the fast walling sections.  I am hungry too because I did not get the chance to eat last night after the plane ride. 

Not liking crowds I paddle 1km up the reef to a place called Temples.  I see what looks like ears sticking out of the water.  No not ears -- fins.  A scaly head pops up and eyes me -- big fishy eyes in a reptilian head.  Man these green turtles can manoeuvre in the water. 

Feeling my legs are on the point of cramping I head back in through the cave and sit in Jeffreys Warung.  A long black and 2 serves of nasi goreng set me straight.  Relax then back out for more surf fun.

The warungs and surf businesses on the cliffs surrounding the Uluwatu reef have grown up haphazardly.  The Balinese smelling the tourist dollar, crammed in and used their favourite material -- concrete.  This is no planned minecraft construction. Concrete business bunkers are crammed in and jostle for the best view of the surf break.  "Grab your space while you can everybody! This is the 3rd world and we need the money :)"

The paths and stairs twist between the businesses. Some are two lane and sometimes one way traffic. When passing the other surfers we look at each other but never communicate.  It’s a distrustful acknowledgement.  A distance of countries and cultures.  You can meet someone at the warung, but they are a stranger again in the water -- don’t get in the way or get my waves.  Crowds and crowd surfing -- it’s a tough game.

A girl suggests we meet at “Single Fins” bar.  I head there at dusk and use my phone as a torch passing through the car park with the “We organism road” sign and down the long flight of Uluwatu steps -- then up the stairs on the other side of the point. The place is five star luxury on top of the Uluwatu concrete chaos.  

At the bar I order a beer.  65K (about $6.50) for one beer -- you're joking.  I look around at the people -- the fakers.  I gaze out to sea -- hmmm the other island looks so close.  Wait, that is not an island, it's a fleet of fishing boats sitting off the coast.  So many -- this place must be fished out.  I hate this scene, fake people getting drunk to have a good time.  I leave and head back to my bungalow.

Up at dawn -- I have recalibrated to the waves.  Riding my Banks 6'4" now, I am making sections.  I saw a good one coming, paddled as fast as I could and back doored a section.  A good tube with messy exit :)  Yay -- first one of the trip.

I decided to go dancing last night.  “Jonny I need to get to Seminyak” -- “book transport boss -- 350K”.  Man that is expensive!  $35 AUD -- I decided to walk and see if I can pick up a ride on the way.  15 minutes up the road I pass a house with 2 tigers flanking the driveway.  The house is walled, like most Balinese houses. “Do you want transport Boss?”, “how much” I respond, 400K.  Way too much -- we talk and I get it for 300K -- still expensive -- car hire is 200K a day.  Putu wants me to wait 10 minutes so he can pack his family into the backseats and drive to Denpasar.  It takes about 1 hour through fast flowing streams of motor bikes. We beep the horn, flash the lights and tailgate everyone and everything.

I like speaking with Putu. He is mellow and relaxed.  He breaks into Indonesian to speak to his wife and daughter.  Someone has popped off in the car and he winds down his window.  The relief is short lived as the hot air runs into the car.  In Australia we are aggressive drivers, man I would have given the bird to about 5 people by the time we get to the destination, but there is no loss of temper with Putu.  I wonder what it takes to trigger him.  I know this man -- his colour, eyes and manner remind me of my ex-brother-in-law.  We swap WhatsApp numbers and I promise to come around for a coffee and maybe a surf if he has time.

Seminyak is tourist central -- shops and massages, bars and beggars.  I need to kill 2 hours before dancing.  I eat, get coffee and wait.  There is always the seedy corner whisperers, “you want marjuana, valium, xanax, viagra”.  You want to spend the rest of you life in a Balinese Jail?

The “Red Carpet Late” is a champagne bar, the blokes are dressed as bell boys and the girls are in kinky little outfits -- some hotpants sailors and some with short skirts and frilly petticoats.  The place is a plastic themed, drunkard perverts dream.  I am not drinking so I order a Coke.  Hang on -- $50K for a Coke!?!  On arrival the can is half size too!

The dancing is always too much fun.  There are some European but mostly Indonesian girls. I like the  Indonesian girls, they are so small, pretty and slim. Watchout Ian!  Anyway, I dance with every girl in the place and get a ride back to Uluwatu.

Putu convinced me I am riding too long a board so I am back on the 6'1" The waves are slow and lazy -- barely overhead -- I smash some lips but no real magic.  I see Noah -- he has changed his colour but he is there.  This time an 8 foot brown smudge below the waves.  A ghost, a trick of the light.  A different country and time. He is following, tracking my scent -- my inescapable destiny.

Mani tells me that Noah comes to Bali in the rainy season -- he tastes the filth and dirt of the mountain in the stormy runoff.  It excites his senses. He prowls the river mouths and chomps the unsuspecting surfer.