Bule Nyesat II

After returning from my trip to Singapore/Malaysia/Sumatra, I only had about two weeks left in Indonesia. A few days were spent in recovery from the trip, then I started to get morose because I am leaving soon. I do love it here.

Anyways, rather than sit sad and alone in my room, I decided to visit a beach I had never been to before. As no one could come with me, I looked at a map, decided on a route which I had never been on before, and took off one fine Wednesday morning (Nov 30).

The drive was beautiful. I am rather shocked that I had never traveled down this particular road before.

As always there were some very interesting, and very unexpected, things to see.

Like this driftwood lion prowling the side of the road. Yes, it was just on the side of the road. Maybe it was for sale. Perhaps it had just slain a driftwood antelope and feasted upon its driftwood flesh. I have no idea.

Anyways, after about 30 kilometers, I was pretty sure that I was near the beach. Unfortunately Indonesia does not invest much in road markers nor in making sure that maps are accurate. I pulled off on a side street in the general direction of the ocean (not difficult as this is an island the size of Louisiana... the ocean is everywhere). There I asked a kindly man whether the road went to the beach. He smiled and sent me on my way with a warning that the road was bad.

It was very bad. 12 kilometers (7.5 miles) of bone-jarring rocky mountain paths. This picture doesn't do it justice. My arms, butt, and back were severely jolted by the experience.

Finally I arrived at the beach, but it wasn't the beach I had planned on visiting. I still have no idea where that beach is.

Nevertheless it was beautiful. And I was completely alone.

Thus I had to position my camera carefully on a rock and use the self timer to take pictures...

It is harder than it sounds, and I made many attempts before I got a decent picture. One of the major disadvantages of my solitary lifestyle, I think.

Anyways, owing to the fact that I was beach-deprived as a child, I started rooting around in the sand. I was determined to build a sandcastle that would rival Taj Mahal. After a little while, I was growing frustrated. About that time I looked up to see two fisherman standing nearby staring at me. Yes, there was a strange white man digging in the sand. What do you say in a moment like that? "Um, hi... I'm building a sandcastle. Want to help?"

After that it was a little awkward. I stuck around the beach as they fished for a while, then I headed back out the rocky road.

Along the way home I was caught in a monsoonal downpour for almost an hour, which left me relieved that I was wearing my swimsuit. It is extremely hard to drive a motorbike in a downpour.

It was probably my last trip to the beach in Indonesia. That's kind of hard to admit. Sometimes I add the phrase, "this time," to make it hurt less, but I also know that it is unlikely that I will ever get to live here like this again. That makes me sad.