Apr 20 2008
[Me — Karang Nyimbor, Krui, Sumatra, Indonesia]
P.S. It's not the best picture, the best wave, or the best ride (I'm just digging the rail on that log of mine as hard as I can), but you get the idea.
P.P.S. Suck it, Brooke. 
Apr 15 2008
The drive to Bandar Lampung (BL) was actually quite pleasant in my perspective (One of the nice side effects of having survived the CRAZY traffic of India and Sri Lanka is that anything short of careening down the road pitched over on 2 wheels like Bo & Luke Duke seems like a walk in the park).
We got into BL just after dark, and headed straight to the only steak place in town — another outside dining place where they cook steaks, ribs, and chicken over an open pit BBQ right on the sidewalk. I got 1 order of ribs and 1 order of steak, as did each of the other 3 guys I was with. Total cost (including drinks, chips, and veggies) = appx. US$12.
Gotta love that exchange rate (or at least what's left of it).
After dinner, we headed back to the Hotel Pacific, where I enjoyed A/C and cable TV for several hours before passing out at about 0200 a.m., ready to start running errands the next morning.
Apr 13 2008
Yes, even perfection can get tiresome when not taken in moderation.
I honestly don't know how those professional surfers (and many amateurs) can stay in the water surfing for 6, 7 or even 8 hours a day for weeks on end. Luckily, I had a some great quality time here in the water with absolutely fantastic conditions and a low body count in the water (pictures to come).
But after a couple of weeks going out for several hours a day, my shoulders were constantly aching from all the paddling, my chest was (and still is) bruised from laying on the board so much, and I was just generally waterlogged.
So I hitched a ride with Andy (the owner of the Karang Nyimbor Hotel) to Bandar Lampung for some shopping, to get money from a working ATM machine (which I did), and to simply take a break from paradise for a couple days.
The morning we left, I went out for a quick paddle, hoping to get a few good waves in the swell that came in overnight. It was great — I paddled out easily, missing the set waves, got to the lineup just in time for a set, caught a screamer for a few hundred meters, paddled back around and did the same thing twice more.
Total time in the water: about 10 minutes. It was short, but it was the most satisfying session I had in a week — much how I like my sex (for any hotties reading, I'm just kidding; for everyone else, yah, not so much).
Then we headed into town - a 4-5 hour drive one way, up and down and around the mountains of southern Sumatra. It's a beautiful place, hardly touched but for the occational coffee plantations, rice patties, or small mountain village.
Apr 08 2008
I'm still here surfing in Krui, Sumatra. There have been a couple nice swells that pushed through, providing for some long and tiring sessions over the past week. Nothing much to report after that, other than that I continue to have a GREAT time - I continue to work on my surfing skills (never all that great to begin with, but getting better with each passing day, month, and year), and I got a pretty fucking sweet stand-up barrel this morning in the last of the latest swell.
It's days, weeks, and months like this that make me wonder how the hell ANYONE can sit behind a desk for 8-10 hours a day and still retain any semblance of his or her humanity.
Come out and play, you guys — you will NOT regret it.
Mar 27 2008
Quickly, I'm still alive.
I'm in a small villiage outside the southern villiage of Krui, in Southern Sumatra, Indonesia. I flew from Bangkok to Singapore to Jakarta to Bandar Lumpung, and then a quick 5.5 hour jaunt in a 'taxi' around the sides of a couple volcanos.
But I'm here now. And there's some nice surf … sorta.
There's surf alright, but the afternoons have been dealing up some 'brisk' 20-30 knot winds — which kinda wrecks havok on the surf breaks.
Anyway, this is one of the few places in Indo that has some decent right hand breaks. However, due to the heavy winds ('angin kuat'), I'm thinking of heading back over to Western Java next week. We'll see how the weather unfolds.
I'm staying a great little place called 'Family Loseman' located in an idylic setting right on the beach about 30 minutes outside Krui — total cost for room and 3 square meals a day - apprx. US$12.50/nite. Nice!
I'll tell you guys, everything they show in those stupid Corona commercials — that's nothing compared to this type of confortable isolation. It's not too shabby.
I'm working on my Bahasa Indonesian language skills, and things are generally fantastic. I'll write more when and if I return to civilization. Hope everyone is still doing well, and I'll keep up when I can.
Peace.
Mar 14 2008
The latest edition (March 2008) of Atlantic Monthly contains an altogether disconcerting article entitled "Marry Him!", which can essentially be boiled down to the following excerpt:
At their core, many single women pose one of the most complicated, painful, and pervasive dilemmas they are forced to grapple with nowadays: Is it better to be alone, or to settle?
My advice is this: Settle!
That’s right. Don’t worry about passion or intense connection. Don’t nix a guy based on his annoying habit of yelling “Bravo!” in movie theaters. Overlook his halitosis or abysmal sense of aesthetics. Because if you want to have the infrastructure in place to have a family, settling is the way to go. Based on my observations, in fact, settling will probably make you happier in the long run, since many of those who marry with great expectations become more disillusioned with each passing year.
No, I don't think the author, Lori Gottlieb, is trying to be 'ironical.' And no, I don't want to think too hard on the fact that much of her theory is based not on empirical data, but rather, an analysis of several American television shows — Friends, the Mary Tyler Moore Show, Will and Grace, and, of course, Sex And The City ('SaTC').
For purposes of this article, let's just assume the premise that no in-depth discussion of the modern female condition would be complete without a critical analysis of SaTC. I wonder if the author is gonna have a conniption fit when she finds out that Carrie Bradshaw is getting married to "Mr. Perfect' (i.e., 'Mr. Big') in the upcoming SaTC movie. (No, I haven't seen the script or the trailer, but c'mon — it's a movie about an unmarried 40-something 30-something horse woman geared towards attracting an audience of similarly situated women whom ALL look forward to their wedding day the same way most men look forward to a nice T-Bone steak — let's just call it an educated guess.)
That said, based on these obviously well-reasoned theorems, the author claims that:
[Most women], like me, would rather feel alone in a marriage than actually be alone, because they, like me, realize that marriage ultimately isn’t about cosmic connection—it’s about how having a teammate, even if he’s not the love of your life, is better than not having one at all.
Good grief, I thought I was a disillusioned cynic, but this broad far surpasses me in that department. Truly, I don't want to even think about the size and quantity of skeletons in this woman's closet that would make her sink to this level of premeditated desperation. Really, I don't.
I am, however, admittedly curious as to the general reaction by the female ranks to this article — one better suited to Marie Claire or Cosmopolitan magazines than to a purportedly respected journal such as the Atlantic.
Have things gotten so bad that the USA has devolved into nation full of desperate women willing to dismiss major character failings (oh, and lest we forget … halitosis) in favor of simply having a full-time companion about whom they can kvetch to their girlfriends? Because if the majority of American women feel, as the author of this article does, that it's about time they too settled for something a little (or a lot) less than perfect … well, then I guess I should catch the next flight back to the States!
Is this really what 'true love' has been reduced to in the minds of contemporary success-oriented adult women:
So if you rarely see your husband — but he’s a decent guy who takes out the trash and sets up the baby gear, and he provides a second income that allows you to spend time with your child instead of working 60 hours a week to support a family on your own — how much does it matter whether the guy you marry is The One?
Aww honey, shush … you had me at 'mundane.'
Mar 08 2008
Nota Bene: I struggled with publicly posting this long and somewhat contemplative entry because I don't wish to convey to my friends, family, and/or other readers that I'm in any way depressed, because I'm not. To the contrary, I am settling in here in Bangkok quite nicely. However, I wrote this back in India to pass the time whilst confined to my hotel bed in the final throes of the Dengue Fever. I wasn't feeling quite as 'upbeat' then (although I was, ironically, listening to the same U2 song as in my last post). So I'm posting it, confident others will understand, as I do, that context is everything.
I honestly don't know where to begin, or where I'm going with, this post. I really don't. I'm still a bit fevered still, so I guess I'll just have to talk (or write) it through.
With so much time on my hands lately (see post re: Dengue Fever), after sifting through too many books and movies to even recall, I find myself now at a point where I can do nothing more than lay in bed, listen to my music, and think. It reminds me of how I used to pass the time when I was in high school.
Now, most of my thoughts rifle through memories of the people I've met, the places I've seen, and the things I've done throughout my adult life. For some reason, most of my thoughts begin by centralizing around old friends and past girlfriends.
I use them as 'indicators', since I immediately relate certain friends and girlfriends with different chapters of my life — my formative years, high school, college, law school, working in California, living and working in Miami, and — most recently — my travels abroad.
And then I get distracted, lost even, in recollections about the smaller subplots during those times that gave each of these larger chapters their own particular context and flavour — the different jobs, cities, friends, lovers, hobbies, movies, and music.
When I was younger, this 'meditative recollection" used to be a truly enjoyable exercise. It gave me the opportunity to recall some remarkable things I had otherwise forgotten. However, as I've grown older, it's become more and more difficult to keep track of the ever increasing number of chapters — with more and more characters and subplots lost to time. The difficultly lies not only in the loss of time, but in the accompanying melancholy that comes with the realization I can no longer fully recall people and things which at one time meant so much.
It is for this reason that, while I do not condone, I understand those people who, despite not properly 'fitting' with their friends, spouses, or loved ones, choose to maintain such limited connections simply because it allows such people a greater, more immediate connection with their past. Peripherally, it also helps to limit the number of 'chapters' in their life — possibly to a more manageable level. The less chapters, the less likelihood of remembering JUST how old you are, and JUST how far away those lost years are.
I could of course be wrong, I mean, what the hell do I know?
Fortunately or unfortunately, I am not one of those people. I'm much more demanding and restless. And while this allows me to meet a greater number of people and visit a wider range of places, there's only so much time to maintain friendships … and there's only a limited amount of space in my brain to remember all of those lost years and friends.
No, I'm not trying to recreate my youth. But yes, I do miss it. Very much so.
I miss my youthful exuberance. I miss knowing the better part of my life is yet to come — set out in front of me as a fateful mystery. I miss my old friends. I miss my old girlfriends (even the selfish bitchy ones … okay, maybe not them so much), I miss my old toys — the motorcycles, the cars, the surfboards, the snowboards. And I miss my old homes — the apartments, condos, and houses, and the cities, states, and countries. I miss them all.
And while I'm still glad I had the time to have experience all of those things and I still eagerly look towards the future, I simultaneously curse time for wrenching my past away from me — without my having even noticed.
So that's what I'm doing now — I'm sitting here awake at 3 a.m. in a half-fevered stupor in some shithole in India, listening to U2's "A Sort of Homecoming", trying to think about all the great places I'm heading this summer, but instead lamenting over all of the friendships, places, and experiences I've lost to time.
I know I can't return to those times. And I know I can't recreate as they once existed the close friendships I had before everyone got married, and divorced, and had kids, and got re-married, and moved, and got new jobs, etc., etc. And yes, I am thankful for all of those glorious memories from my past.
But goddamn it, I really wish I could, just for a moment, go back 20 years to that time when I could hang out in my room listening to "An Unforgettable Fire" with my friends dreaming about everything still to come, laid out before us as a glorious mystery.
This just isn't quite the same.
Mar 06 2008
(A view down Phloen Chit from the Sukhumvit line BTS station)
One of the best things about traveling abroad with (relatively) no time limitation and (relatively) no agenda is the ability, and indeed, the tendency to randomly meet a larger range of people than you might otherwise by simply living in one place. Indeed, one of the reasons I initially decided to leave Miami was due to my ever-diminishing circle of friends — whether due to marriage, relocation, diverging interests, or whatever.
Since then, however, I have been alternatively blessed and cursed to meet some truly amazing people throughout the course of my travels. The blessed part of this is, of course, getting to meet such great people. I now have people I very much want to go visit all throughout the world — the UK, France, Australia, the Philippines, the Netherlands, Sweden, Indonesia, Sri Lanka, and yes … even India (among others). The downside is that, due to the transitory nature of my life, I don't get to spend much time with these folks which, to put it simply, really sucks.
It truly is one of the larger issues in my life right now — how to regularly deal with new 'best friends' whom, in all likelihood, will soon lose that 'status' whenever one, or all of us, move on (or goes home).
Another, and connected major, issue is the fact that I have no home. As I've mentioned previously, my friend who was so kindly putting me up in his extra room in Singapore has since 'flew the koop' — he's moved back to Miami with his new fiance. Similarly, my other mate who was letting me crash on his couch in Singapore will, in all likelihood, be moving back to the States in the near future (plus, staying with him was never a long term option anyway; indeed, I haven't even been back to Singapore since early last November).
However, another benefit of living with (relatively) no time constraints or agendas is the ability to simply 'ride the crest' of whatever wave may be passing by at any particular time — both literally and metaphorically.
Presently, due to a bizarre sequence of events I'm not at liberty to discuss, this 'wave' comes in the form of the ability for me to take over a friend's lease here in Bangkok for 1-2 months. Initially, I thought twice about doing it since surf season in Indonesia is just about to pick up. However, after thinking on it for a bit, I thought it just a bit too coincidental that an opportunity like this would come up right now.
Given these coincidences, it seemed the right thing to do, y'know?
Don't get me wrong, I'm still heading to Indonesia for a surf trip in a few weeks. But at least I've got a home to come back to — which, quite candidly, is a greater comfort than I ever thought it would be.
And no, it's not perfect. I mean, I've been living in bamboo huts for the greater part of the past year, and Bangkok is a huge, modern, crowded, bustling city (very similar to NYC, in my opinion). And Bangkok is more expensive than India, Sri Lanka, or even the rest of Thailand (again, think NYC vs. rest of USA).
But it's still relatively cheap (around US$250-300/mo. rent at a good location about 1/4 block from the Skytrain). And I have friends here I'm looking forward to spending time with. And the rail and bus lines are easy. And the food is both diverse and delicious. And English is spoken pretty much everywhere.
And most importantly, I have a place to call home for a month or two. Tonight, at last, I am coming home.
Mar 03 2008
I was 19 years old when I got my first tattoo. It was 1990, I was a sophomore at Arizona State University, and I guess I thought it was about time to get a tattoo.
Recently, however, I haven't been able to pinpoint just why I wanted, or how I even came to the decision to get the tattoo. Nor have I been able to recall exactly the thought processes that led me to pick that particular picture — the one directly above — to get permanently etched on my skin.
This image in question is of Calvin & Hobbs, the 2 title characters in a popular comic strip popular in the 1980's - 1990's, written and illustrated by Bill Watterson. For those of you not familiar with Calvin and Hobbes, the comic followed the humorous antics of Calvin, an imaginative six-year old boy, and Hobbes, his energetic and sardonic, albeit stuffed, tiger (named after Thomas Hobbs).
Granted, my mom wasn't thrilled to see the tattoo — especially when she realized it would not come off no matter how much soap I used. But when I got the tattoo, the comic strip was ubiquitous, well-known, and loved by both men and women. At the time, it was the best of both worlds for me — guys thought the tattoo was cool, while girls thought the tattoo was cute. It was great.
Unfortunately, times have changed.
My tattoo no longer held that same sway with my audience of late, thanks to a variety of factors — Bill Watterson's retirement of the comic strip in the the mid-1990's, the ravages of time and sun exposure to my skin, and the seemingly ceaseless efforts of American rednecks whose numbers are legion who chose THAT particular comic to decry their outrage over the quality of Ford trucks.
As such, for the past several years, the result has been a bluish blur on my left shoulder resembling something some people in some places vaguely recalled seeing at some time in the past. Moreover, this problem was exacerbated after I left the States. As a result, lately, all I seemed to hear was:
"Oh wow, is that an old tiger tattoo on your arm? What, were you in the French Foreign Legion or something?"
Uh, not so much … no.
So I've been searching for years for a 'replacement' tattoo to cover up ol' Calvin & Hobbs. Either fortunately or unfortunately, I was never able to find something I liked enough to replace them, nor have I been in many places where getting a tattoo was a practical (or healthy) idea.
But eventually I designed my own cover-up tattoo, and I'm now in Bangkok — one of the premiere locales in the world to get 'inked'. So I figured it was about time to finally ink it over up with the new design.
That's what I did today. Actually, THIS is what I did today:
The design itself is larger than I otherwise would have gone with, but it was necessary to cover the original. And the photo isn't the best — it doesn't show some of the smaller details (there are some wave designs and cross-hatching that my camera can't pick up), but all in all I'm pleased about how it came out.
Given all the issues with the old tattoo, I thought getting this new one would be a non-issue. And quite frankly, it was … until after it was gone. It was only when I saw the figures of Calvin and Hobbs slowly disappearing under a blanket of fresh black ink that I finally remembered the underlying reasons, and circumstances of, why and how I got that first tattoo.
I won't bore you with those details — most of which are inane and irrelevant to everyone but myself and my former college roommate Stacey (who came with me and got his first tattoo at the same time). But I will say this much: I am a bit sorry to see it gone.
Although it was old and faded and much of its initial meaning lost to the ravages of time, every time I looked down at my left shoulder, I was unknowingly reminded of an earlier — and very happy — time of my life. I haven't consciously thought about those college years for quite a while. Nor have I thought about the comic strip itself for a while.
My apologies, but I'm keeping my fond youthful memories to myself. I will, however, remind those of you who are interested of at least one of the reasons why I chose those particular comic strip characters to first decorate my skin.
So, to summarize, I quit my job and life in the States to go goof off traveling around the world for a few years, where I eventually go and cover up a tattoo of a comic strip poking fun at the same societal norms condemning goofing off from which I fled.
Well goddammit, if that ain't irony, I don't know what is.
Feb 26 2008
Since I left the USB cord to my camera in Singapore, I haven't been able to upload ANY pictures ever since I was in the Philippines in November. I'm returning to Singapore next week for a few days for a bit of 'rest and relaxation' (i.e., air conditioning and hot water), at which time I'll pick up the cord and upload my pictures from the past 3 months.
However, I will also have to buy a new camera since my old one just went tits up after I dropped it about 5 meters while rock climbing. Oops. Heh-heh, never saw THAT coming.
In the meantime, above is a picture taken on my computer showing the backdrop at the beautiful Railay Bay Resort here in Krabi, where I'm currently stealing borrowing free Wi/Fi. It's not THAT bad of a setting for late February, huh?
Happy winter everyone!!
Not much else to report other than I'm still trying to figure out where to go surfing for a couple months in March and April before heading back to the Philippines to meet up again with the royalty over there — right, princess?
I've been looking at the surf reports, and although it pains me to say this … Indonesia, and Bali specifically, is looking mighty, MIGHTY fine right about now. 4-6 waves with 12-15 second intervals, and 3-5 knot offshore winds. Pretty tempting, but I've still got the itch to head out into the Pacific for a bit — Micronesia, Tonga, or Palau, for example. Once again, pretty tempting.
Regardless, wherever I head, I'll make sure to bring some limes, just so I don't sink (Extra credit for picking up the reference).
Jan 17 2008
(a view of Mirissa bay, where I'm currently staying, with a view of the point in the background)
Despite the chaos slowing making its way down south, I'm heading up into the hill country next week — mainly to get my Indian Visa. This, of course, means that after Sri Lanka, I'm heading to … wait for it … wait for it … India.
I'm heading to Kerala, India at the start of February. Kerala is on the Southwest coast of India, and has little to no surf. I'm heading there ostensibly to practice on my Yoga in preparation for a potential career change (should I ever decide be forced to go back to work, of course). I've been getting fairly involved in my Yoga (Ashtanga) during recent years — mostly in an effort to increase my strength and flexibility for surfing (and tantric sex, of course).
As described by one commentator, in Kerala:
Mosques, Hindu temples, Christian churches, Jewish synagogues and Chinese fishing nets exist companionably side-by-side. There’s a heady scent of spice in the air and Arab, Portuguese English and Dutch influences.
Kerala is also, from what I've learned so far, a fairly laid back area of the sub-continent, and fairly devoid of the fruity, cultish, neuvo-hippies on holiday from the West, seeking 'enlightenment' at a 7 day course in some random Ashram. I only hope I can better my yoga practice down in the Kerala province while avoiding these nutjobs as best I can.
If anyone has any suggestions as to other places I should hit during my two (2) month stay in southern India (other than Goa), suggestions and comments are greatly welcome (but not from you fruity nut-jobs, tho — no offence intended).
Nov 06 2007
Wow, apparently November is the beginning of high, and I mean HIGH, tourist season in Thailand.
After about 30 hours in transit, I arrived safely back in Bangkok. Comically, upon returning to my hotel, the neoprene carrying case that came for my Viao was still waiting for me. Huh, whoda thunkit?
I spent a couple of days in Bangkok - honestly, a couple more than I wanted - for no other reason really other than cuz one of my old friends and his wife are taking their honneymoon in Thailand, and I got to see him and his new wife for about 10 minutes before they went their way and I mine.
Due to scheduling conflicts, I haven't had much more than that with him over the past 4 years anyway - it's funny how patterns maintain themselves.
Anyway, after Bangkok, I took a 14 hour overnight sleeper train (upper lever, no A/C … trying to save money for all the hookers, y'know) up to Chiang Mai. I'd heard that Chiang Mai up in the north towards the 'Golden Triangle' area (the area where THailand, Burma, and Laos intersect) is a great place — rock climbing, white water rafting, hill trekking — and much more low key than Bangkok.
Well, yeah, it is … sorta.
Chiang Mai does have all those really great things going for it. But at the same time, because of those attractions, the whole area is also infested with Westerners. I mean INFESTED!!
Yeah, fFor some reason, I neglected to hear that this whole area - while beautiful - is a complete tourist mecca. Egad.
Oh well, I guess it's just like any other tourist town. C'iest la vie.
I'm gonna do some of the more 'able bodied' activities while here (they've got some Class 4 rapids, some decent back-country hill trekking, and some nice rock climbing formations — indeed, there's tour guide places on every corner, and I've been spending much of my time looking for the ones offering the more formidable activities, as most of them are geared towards the traditional tourist and backpacker sect).
Yes, the locals also seem pretty nice (except, like everywhere, they seem to get a bit sick of tourists from time to time - much like I and other Miami natives did during the high season there). But I really don't think I can stay here much longer.
Having lived in Miami for 7 years, I just can't stomach tourist towns … anywhere.
* P.S. There's no spellcheck, so none of you fucktards give me any shit.
Oct 16 2007
Okay, just so you jackasses out there (not you, though … you and me? we cool.) don't think its all darkness and gloom and apocalyptic type shit going on in my head (cuz it is, … but it's not, … but it really is), I thought I'd go back to a musical post.
This time is a band that I admittedly should have paid more attention to last year, before I am now considered to be one of the 'bandwagoneers' (but I guess that's what makes 'bandwagoneers' to begin with, so whatever).
Great indie rock band, a great catchy sound, and it doesn't seem they take themselves too seriously (at least not yet) … and, best of all, the lead singer's sister is a professional choreographer, so they've got some really cool videos — like this one (which, if you notice, is done in one single camera shot):
OK Go - Here It Goes Again
Alright people, as you were.
Sep 03 2007
That is a picture taken at sunset from Nemberala beach on the Indonesian island of Rote (a.k.a. "Roti"), looking out towards the Nemberala reef; where I've been for the past month.
Rote is the most southern island of the Nusa Tenggara province of Indonesia. It lies about 200 kilometers from the city of Darwin on the northern coast of Australia, and about 20-30 kilometers south of of the island of Timor. As such, Rote is one of the last destinations in Indonesia open to the beautiful long swells of the south Indian Ocean.
(The beautiful left break at Nemberala, Roti, which, when breaking properly, would extend around the reef for up to 100-200 meters)
As with all the islands to the east of the Lombok straight, the hot dry SE trade winds provide for an arid landscape, in direct contrast to typical Indonesian tropical climate of Bali, Java, and Sumatra (Flora and fauna have links to Australia as opposed to Asia). During the traditional surf season (April to October) trade winds are consistent and off-shore, and the climate is very dry and sunny with almost no rain.
As with the people of Timur, the resident of Rote are very respectful, and mostly Christian people. In this respect, however, they are not nearly as low key about their religion as the majority Muslim population, or even the Hindu people that populate Bali. Indeed, as Indonesia is, as you may know, an Islamic state, some of the people on Timur and Rote show are almost evangelical Christians — almost as if they're trying to counteract the image of Indo as a Muslim country (which is ironic, since most of the Muslim's I've met in Indo are very, VERY low key about their religious beliefs). The very first person I met in Timur — my taxi driver from the Kupang airport — asked me almost immediately after I got in he car if I too had taken "Jesus Christ" as my "personal savior."
Riiiight.
It was really very nice of him, actually. Shit, I felt like I was back driving through Northern Florida, Alabama, and Mississippi. Ya' really gotta love fanatics, no matter what religion they've chosen to delude themselves and use as an excuse to fuck with other people different from them.
Traditionally, the main activities on Rote are fishing, agriculture (goats and pigs are everywhere), and the exploitation of both coconut and lontar palms — like the one the guy in the above picture is climbing to tap. They use the lontar for everything from building materials, to eating it's palm sap/sugar, to making liquor (including "soppi", a rum-like drink that will get you pissed quicker than you can say "Where's there a fuckin' Taco Bell in this place?")
The town of Nemberala, where I went, is in the south west of the island. It's truly beautiful and, but for the small but never-ending steam of surfers, a nice break from the traditional surf-tourist trail. Unlike Bali and Lombok, nobody offers anything or tries to sell you anything, the smiles are genuine and the traditional arts and crafts were being created not as much for the "tourist" market, but to sell to other Indonesians (although there is the expected "westerner price" as opposed to the price for locals - which I think is fine considering we obviously have more money to spare on such goods than the locals). Well, it's either that or the fact that the locals can't be bothered with the hassle of selling things to tourists. Everything is either "no problem, mister" (well, the Rotean equivalent, "Tidak apa").
Ikat cloth weavings showing flowers, horse riders and crocodiles could be seen, half-finished, hanging from the palm trees by the beach. The shore is lined with bamboo huts where fishermen and their families, not backpackers, lived and work by farming agar (seaweed used in cosmetics), fishing and selling the occasional Ikat weaving to traders who sell them on the beaches of Bali.
Not that Nemberala had no tourists, as there are quite a few. It's just that these tourists are mostly "surf-tourists" like me, as well as the few old school surfers who have been visiting Nemberala for decades — all of whom speak fluent Indonesian and Rotean. However, no real "tourist" industry had sprung up, and most of the people there ‘were staying there for months rather than days. But now, with the huge crowds inundating Bali, Sumatra, and the rest of northern Indonesia, even that's starting to change.
- Next »
After wasting 10 years of my life practicing law in the bowels of various soul-sucking law firms, I sold everything but my surfboards, a laptop, and a suitcase full of clothes. Now I'm traveling across Asia and Oceania in a desperate attempt to reclaim my soul.
