Batu Karas and Bule Goreng

Our plan was to ride a van to Batu Karas in the morning so we could spend a few days surfing. The van was to arrive at 7:00.

At about 5:45, we got up and leisurly began packing and getting ready to go. At 6:00, there was a knock at the door. The van was already here. We grabbed our gear in great haste and piled into the 16 passenger van. Matt had the good sense in all the confusion to procure some of the donuts that Pian and Eka's mom makes, so we'd have something to eat on the way. Those are by far the best donuts I've ever eaten. Matt has some delivered to his house every few days.

The driver drove around town picking up the other passengers, changing a flat tire in the process. There was a metal-scraping sound whenever the van accellerated from a stop, as if there was a bad wheel bearing or something of the sort. Most vehicles in Indonesia drive around at or beyond their storage capacity, and this was no exception. Our group filled half the van: myself and Matt, plus a few of Matt's fellow students, Derek from Ontario, Johnathan from North Carolina, and Koos from Holland. (Together we represented a significant portion of the caucasian population of Bandung.) Also we brought Eka, Pian, and Herman (often referred to collectively as "the kids").

The van ride was about eight hours, with one stop in the middle to buy snacks. Our fare was 35,000 rupies a person, or about $4. The driver drove like he was in some kind of race. Indonesians seem to have no issues with cutting in front of traffic or passing around blind corners.

There were a few good toll roads that were mostly smooth (except for one good bump that we may have caught air off of) and fast, but most of the way was like driving through Lincoln City: one long continuous town.

About two in the afternoon, the van dropped us off at a hotel in Batu Karas across the road from the beach. A short ways down the road there were three restraunts and a bit farther on a few dozen warungs all selling the same things, mostly shirts and snacks, where the road ended.

The beach had a large outcropping of coral that rose about twenty feet out of the sea. Smooth waves between two and four feet high broke on the west side, aside from that the water was flat, since Batu Karas is in a bay shielded from the ocean surf. The weather was warm but not too warm, though the sun was bright and quickly burned any unprotected skin. People hide from the sun there the way people hide from the rain in Oregon.

We rented surfboards from an Australian and rode some waves. I periodically hear tales of certain beaches where the water is "warm as a bath tub". This is a myth. Batu karas is the only beach I have been to, however, where the water is sufficiently warm to swim in indefinitely without a wetsuit or the need to emerge periodically to warm myself in the sun.

I've body boarded a few times, but this was my first time surfing. I caught a few waves and occasionally got up one knee before the wave dwindled away to nothing. I always rode the frothy whiteness as opposed to the elusive smooth face the the more skillful members of our party preferred to ride.

For the eight of us, we rented three hotel rooms, each for 40,000 rupies a night, or about $5. The hotel was going to make us barbecue fish that night, but the boats didn't go out that day so we ate at a restraunt. Meals were about 6,000 to 10,000 rupies, plus another 3,000 for a fruit drink. Indonesia could rule the world with their fruit drinks - mellon, banana, pineapple, avocado (though they were out of that at the time), and a few others.

There was no water in the hotel room when we first arrived. Fortunately, the situation was soon remedied when someone turned the pump on. Most nice houses and businesses have elevated water tanks that hold a few hundred gallons, and must be continuously refilled by electric pumps.

The next day was spent surfing. Let it be known that prolonged contact with a surfboard can cause severe chafing if one's skin is unaccustomed to such things. We all had rashes of some sort on our chests. Koos looked like someone had reached in and torn out his liver. Matt had big rashes in his armpits from his surfing shirt, which compelled him to tear the sleeves off. My left nipple felt as though it had been ripped off, though a periodic check showed that it was still there.

The hotel cooked us up some fish, rice, and vegetables for lunch, which we hungrily devoured. My fish was staring at me, so I let Matt eat the eyeball which he declared to be "the best part".

More surfing. Despite excessive use of sunblock, my pale bule skin had been vaporized off my nose, and my forearms were showing signs of redness. We had dinner again at one of the restraunts. (We alternated between two for our evening meal. The third didn't ever seem to be open when we wanted to eat.)

On sunday, when I woke up, Matt was returning from the beach. His rewards for rising early were very small waves and a jellyfish sting on his right arm.

Our breakfasts generally consisted of coffee made with the hot water and instant coffee packets delivered to our front porch every morning by the hotel, then ramen at a local warung. If having drank two cups of coffee in my lifetime prior to coming to Indonesia qualifies me a connoisseur, then I will say that the instant coffee in Indonesia is quite good. Actually, it tastes as much like hot chocolate as coffee.

Many of the local warungs sell cooked ramen in a bowl with or without egg.

After breakfast, we went on a short hike up into the hills behind all the shops. There was a winding trail that led up onto a ridge that went parallel to the shore for maybe a mile, then led down into an orchard of bananna trees and a secluded beach. The waves weren't much use for surfing. Skinny dipping didn't seem like a bad idea until someone mentioned jellyfish. After looking around awhile, we hiked back to the hotel. I didn't do any surfing that day. I hiked down the beach the other way with Herman. We came to some fishing boats. They all had a canoe shape with wooden outriggers on either side attached by bamboo poles and a flag in back. Most of them had fiberglass hulls and some had engines. A few were made entirely of wood. Herman said he was afraid of some small friendly-looking dogs and wanted to go back, but our return route was cut off by more of the little dogs so we went forward to take the road back to the hotel. Usually I'm willing to give people from unfamiliar cultures the benefit of the doubt, but I think it's an undeniable fact that Herman is downright odd.

I spent most of the rest of the day taking pictures of the others trying to catch smaller-than-usual waves and dodge hordes of swimmers. There was a stage set up on the beach for a rock concert that night. It consisted of a few local musicians, a few of whom attracted enough spectators to outnumber their own band.

That afternnoon we all walked down the beach past the fleet of fishing boats Herman and I had seen, and past another fleet a mile or two farther on, until we arrived at a point beyond which the beach turned sharply inward. We turned around and walked back, stopping to watch some of the locals drag a boat up onto the shore and empty the nets into a basket. It was a true "National Geographic" moment, but alas, my camera's battery finally gave up on me after six months, and my spares were back at the hotel.

Monday morning, Johnathan and Herman took the van back to Bandung. The rest of us did some more surfing. The waves weren't very good, and there was a strong current back towards shore. I would wade through waist-deep water parallel to the coral outcropping until I arrived where the waves were breaking. If I didn't catch a wave right away, I would find myself back at shore in a minute or two. I persevered for a few hours until I stubbed my toe on an unexpected piece of sharp coral, and decided it was a good idea to limp back to the hotel.

Tuesday afternoon was our ride back to Bandung. We spent part of our morning trying to navigate the trails behind the warungs to find the secluded beach we'd found before. After some debate and backtracking, we found an intersection we had overlooked, which took us down to the beach. We swam in the ocean and practiced our batting skills hitting small coconuts with short lengths of bamboo, then wandered back over the ridge, returned the surfboards, ate lunch, and packed our gear.

The ride back was similar to the ride there. When the van stopped at a restraunt at the halfway point, we got some rolls (the first bread I'd eaten since I arrived in Indonesia) and bananas. To our dismay, they were "kleenex bananas" - they initially taste like normal bananas until after about fifteen seconds of chewing they seem to magically transform into some kind of paper product.

We arrived at the house late at night, and there wasn't any leftover food so I had a "pop mie", which is the Indonesian equivalent of those cup-of-noodle packages that come in styrofoam cups that you just add boiling water to. The Indonesians have surpassed our cup-of-noodle technology by including an ingeneous unfolding fork in the package. I told Matt that I would "Make it an heirloom of my household. For it is precious to me, though I buy it with great pain."