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.

THE picture

I promise I will soon update this blog, several things occurred that prevented me from writing. But this picture I must post, I am inordinately proud of it. I swear it has not been prepared or retouched. I thought it should be shared with friends.

Flood 3: in the forest

(or: ‘nobody will say he has done a stupid thing without me!’)

Opo decided to go play with the ‘boat’, which is an inner tube and two plastic paddles (visible in this rare photographic document of the event). We go. The excuse is a big tree that the last flood left across our bridge, obstructing the way. We hope we can take it out. Clearly, we cannot, it doesn’t even flinch with three people jumping on its tip. We then try to follow it in the current, and take 2 hrs to paddle our way back upriver. It is amazing the amount of spiders, insects, centipedes, lizards and snakes that are stranded on logs, half-submerged plants and ourselves. It is epic, perfectly recalls many Amazonian novels. It is also an excellent chance for an entomologist (better than those bastards that smoke entire trees killing everything that lives on it).

We go further upriver, with the idea of then running down the fast current to camp. Then we see a heavy log coming down. We decide to let it to go first (safer). Then, instead, we end up catching up with it (less safe). Then, I decide to jump on it and “surf” (rather not safe – but a lot of fun). I fall three times (the bloody thing keeps rolling) and manage to climb back up, I am all happy and excited when Opo, suddenly quite far, makes me notice that I am past camp, so I must dive and struggle to get ashore (quite downriver from camp). Excellent. Tired.

Flood 2: in the forest

(or: ‘trunkspotting’)

Today no observations, it rained all night, the river flooded and the “bridge” is under 2m of water. We sit in the café, sipping our teas, at 6a.m., staring down at the river. The water keeps rising, the current is strong and brings down massive trees and rafts of debris. The view is perfect, the waves come powerfully out of a bend, head straight toward us and then bend again under us. We probably look stupid, but the flow has a hypnotic quality to it. Beautiful.

Don’t look for what is not there

Or: the elephants

Encounter 1: I am alone, following group E, far from camp. I had seen signs of elephants in the area (dung, thrashed vegetation), and then I hear them, about 50m from me. Luckily the group doesn’t seem interested in them. But they keep approaching. I must have looked funny, looking up at the siamangs, down at the PDA to enter data, and around to check if they appeared. When I thought they were coming, they communicated a bit with a farther group, and went that way.

Encounter 2: the following day, Mislan and I. Same thing, but this time, after one hour of unbearable rising tension, they finally appeared. First one, large, brown, old, 30m away; then another, small and light, black, about 15m, and while we were appreciating them from behind a large tree, we realized that it was a wave, many of them, one of which we hadn’t seen and was heading straight to us, about 8m away. It is one of those moments in which a decision should be made. Either we hide among the roots and hope they don’t see/mind us, or run like hell. Seeing Mislan suddenly darting past me resolved the doubt, we ran away, laughing like idiots. Which, interestingly, startled the elephants, who ran as well, luckily in the opposite direction. It was impressive, they were more than I thought, about twenty, and dispersed like rays of thumping noise.

Encounter 3: the following day, Budi and I. We are in an unknown area, looking for a group we have never seen before. Budi found the elephants, and run on top of a tree. Waited there. Finally climbed down, ran toward home, he thought, but found himself in the same place, again with the elephants coming toward him. This time he hid behind a stone in the river. Tried to escape again but once again was led back to the same place (and here an interesting digression on how believing in magic changes the way you understand your own experiences). Finally he escaped, ran home, but in the wrong direction, so that he found himself almost at the edge of the forest. He got home exhausted and in shock. In all this, I had found the group and followed them, while calling out for Budi and worrying. When Mislan and Usman, who were following another group, got home, they were told I was not yet there, so they came to look for me. Who was then swearing against the group, in the worst home range ever, going up and down thorny and steep hillsides and across rivers (and not even thinking about going to sleep!). Luckily it all ended well.

Encounter 4: the following day. A group of rangers patrolling the area spent the night in camp. In the morning, Budi and I heard several gunshots not far from where we were, and as we had thought, the rangers on their way out had met the elephants (and tried to scare them). And, symmetrical to Budi the previous day, the commander of the unit, when the less-than-brave group was dispersed, had run in the wrong direction, and went back all the way to camp. Funny.

Banjir (the Flood)

I came back to Jakarta. I had decided to stay only one day, I had to buy many supplies but figured I could be very quick and efficient and finish everything in one day. A fresh start, new energy, renewed enthusiasm and hope. It rains all night. I wake up, and there are 50cm of water evenly covering the whole city. I wade to the restaurant to have breakfast. Buses are not running. I convince an ojek driver to drive me to the place I need to reach. We sink in hidden holes, he tells me how he woke up when the water reached his bed early in the morning, amazing how the motorbike manages to keep going in the water. He drops me off when we cannot go further, and I manage to reach the mall, only to find that it is dark and closed. A black-out. Everthing closed. Water up to my thighs. So much for my fresh start..