Surfing 2

My parallel life as a surfer continues, and it is now not confined to my mind. Here is an update on my latest achievements:
- I gave up the idea of carving my own surfing board. Materials are important, and as much as I love wood, an 80-kg board is far from ideal.
- I went to Uluwatu, Bali, a famous surfing site. I discovered that waves have names, and that there is an official terminology, rather different from the one I had creatively come up with. I didn’t try the 8m high waves (I had one of my mysterious fever attacks), but I sported a perfectly appropriate, worn surfer t-shirt.
- In Kuta, I eventually tried. I was modest and wise enough to renounce to a real board and go for the sissy one, the one you stay on your belly. Immensely frustrating experience. I thought I “knew” the waves, but I seemed to be constantly in the wrong spot, either taking the waves in my face or seeing them pass and break far from me. In the process, I got insanely tired, and badly bruised my belly and chest. Becoming the cool surfer is harder than I thought.

Dengue

I guess few words about dengue are necessary.

It is a disease, similar to malaria, also parasites carried by mosquitoes. I got it. First day I tried to give the example to my assistants, you must work even if you don’t feel perfectly healthy. I ended up crawling back to camp like a tired zombie. Next day I was not able to feel my pulse anymore (too light and fast, over 125 beats/min, against my normal 65 – sadly we don’t have a thermometer). I stayed two days in camp hoping to recover, slightly delirious, only drinking water with sugar, cyclically shivering and sweating. When I wasn’t able to walk anymore, I accepted to be carried out. This involved eight assistants, a sturdy bamboo pole and three sarongs (cylindrical pieces of cloth, traditional Indonesian garment). In addition to the 5 km the poor guys had to walk, the river had flooded, so they had to carry me on their lifted arms to keep me dry (and safe from the waters).

I was taken to Gisting’s hospital, a very comfortable place where I laid seven days (of which I only remember five), constantly attached to an infusion. When I was able to stand, I was taken to another, larger hospital, where they tested me and confirmed I had dengue. I stayed three more days there, then I couldn’t take it anymore (I didn’t have music, computer, books, and I had quite enough of introspection) and left. After two more days I managed to walk back into the forest where I completed my convalescence.