No I have not skipped off to Bali again! I wanted to share my experience of driving a moped for the first time in the madness of south east Asia and the adventure of finding a surfing spot. The writing is new but for some the pictures will be familiar. Please, enjoy the ride.DreamlandI had a horrible sleep, one of the worst in ages. I thought I was supposed to be here relaxing on a holiday? I just have to make it through this day and I will be fine I told myself. After fueling up by the outdoor pool with my daily dose of banana pancakes, a fresh pineapple smoothie and some divine and earthy coffee it was now or never. I was off to Dreamland.
There must be a mistake with the price as it was far too cheap including the insurance but I had to remind myself that prices in Bali are a just a tad different than in Vancouver. A few days earlier my bank account took a dent of four million rupes to buy my first surfboard. $350 Canadian got me an elegant eight-foot longboard that looks brand new. In the rentals office, the studious woman is all business and hands me a helmut. That’s it? I feel embarrassed that I need a woman to show me how to use a scooter. Guys are supposed to know about everything cars and motorcycles, right? Not me. She gave me a quick tour of the bike and dismissed me. This was not like the last scooter I drove when I was fourteen; a little put-put job that you could run faster than, this was basically a motorcycle. It had a clutch with manual gears and went at a good clip. The bike came with a surfboard rack so about four feet of my board trailed behind it causing me to imagine fatalistic Marks Brother’s scenarios; Not very safe but pretty standard for South East Asia. It required fuel but I was at a loss where to find it so the shopkeeper’s husband, the owner, sensing my apprehension generously offered to show me where it was. He had his scooter and I just had to follow him to the gas station. No biggie. Yeah, right! I have an eight-foot longboard strapped to the side of my scooter, it has manual gears, the narrow streets are swarming with people and vehicles and they drive on the left. Plus I will have to read my hand scrawled directions while in traffic. Not an easy task if you have had the misfortune of trying to read my handwriting. I am already sweating and it is not from the warmth of the tropical morning.
Once on the bike I slowly release the clutch while giving it some gas. A little bit too much gas as I lurch forward almost running over some toes in flip flops and careen to avoid one of those mini bus van things that you only see in these parts. And we’re off! I follow along with a thousand percent concentration and we soon arrive at the utilitarian gas bar. I get off of the bike. It drops and crashes to the pavement and the owner rushes over with concern. He is going to be pissed and make me pay some huge fee to fix it I reason. “Is your board okay?” he asks with genuine concern. Confused I check. It is. Thanks for asking. He helps me up with the bike, I pay for the fuel and thank him. With a warm smile and a pat on my shoulder he is off leaving me alone to face my destiny.
I am aware of what is just ahead of me. It is the thing that has been keeping me up all night. It is the dreaded left-hand drive traffic circle. I had a good look at my nemesis a few days ago from the back of a scooter as a Bali beach boy took me on a tour of Indonesian furniture stores but that’s another story. In Asia lanes are mere guidelines as the traffic flows like fish funneling up a stream. It is very crowded but like birds in flight they somehow manage to avoid collision. This circle is a four lane wide sprawling beast with five tentacles that flow in a perpetual state like blood cells through and artery in one of those grainy medical films. It is time to slay this dragon. Just do it. My memory of the event is hazy but I do remember that it was not such a big deal after all. My fearsome tiger was just a fat house-cat after all. What a relief!
I have some sketchy notes from a surfing guidebook about how to find Dreamland, a spot that is on the top of my surfing to-do list. Most of the surfing spots in Bali are only accessible by scooter. I came here to surf so I have no choice. Local road maps are only of so much use as many of the turns are unmarked and signage is random at best. Whizzing by I noticed that the palm trees, sun, and the tropical air are countered with harsh diesel fumes, scattered garbage, and Stalinesque strip malls next to open-air road-side shops.
With Kuta behind me I make a few turns and the landscape changes from urban to rual. Soon I am maneuvering through a narrow Wizard of Oz tropical meadow. I reach the weathered wooden arrow hand-painted with the words Dreamland and take a self-portrait while on the lookout for Munchkins. The path cuts through a farmer’s field and leads to a breathtaking cliff with Dreamland below. Beautiful. I park the bike and stand on the edge. Long gentle waves roll a the beach that is dotted with a few rattan shacks where surfers can spend the night for seven dollars. You might splurge with a couple of simple meals and a few Bintang beers costing you fifteen dollars all in. The waves are too sleepy for surfing and I wonder what it must be like here when it is really going off? After chilling out for a bit and taking some pictures I decide to check out another spot. I get on my bike and try to start it and it will not. Great. I am all by myself at the top of a cliff in the middle of nowhere without a cel phone and I know squat about most things mechanical. The moment I give up the bike starts. I roll my eyes and silently pray for it not to stall. I thought vacations were supposed to be relaxing? It is one thing to challenge yourself but seriously, where do you draw the line at adventure and being mildly suicidal?
I have my back to her as I put my helmet on preparing for liftoff. I am tempted with the desire for one final glance. I rationalize that this is not unwise. I convince myself that it will not break my heart as I know that I will see her again soon. Over my shoulder I sneak my last look at her. The simple clarity of her beauty is mesmerizing to me and my eyes are magnets that find it hard to pull away from her.
Like a black-and-white movie starlet from a by-gone era, hard-core surfers do not think much about her these days. New discoveries outshine Dreamland with better sessions being had nearby. Her name is not as deceiving as Surfer’s Paradise in Australia, which fails to hold her promise. For an avid surfer, a pretty face and an alluring name is not enough, she has to deliver quality waves.
The golden rule states that the first surfer that claims her gets to name her. Her location is whispered as surfers love their secret spots and jealously guard her from others.
Back at the open-air restaurant next to my hotel on Poppies Lane II, I sit at the bar sipping my well-earned Bintang and I begin to imagine the experience the Namer had upon her discovery and conquest. Some say she is over-rated and the mystery is gone. But those who give her a chance will be rewarded with her graceful charms for Dreamland is still a classic beauty to behold.
