My newest exciting post

Today I looked for work. I didn't get a job yet. Pray for me. Thanks.

International Escape Artistry

Do I owe anyone an apology? I must. At least myself. I told myself a post a week- a post a week.
Well I've got plenty of excuses, that's for sure.
C'mon Chris get it together.
Sorry.
I forgive you.

So for my first post since I've been back, a little story of international escape artistry. My last day in Bali was pretty rad. I went surfing at a place called Airport Lefts. It's a break you have to take a boat out to. As you're surfing overhead waves, big airliners are sailing in and out of harbor right overhead. Not much like getting shacked with both the rumble of waves and of twin-turbo jets echoing in your ears.

After my buddy and I scored some good waves here for a couple of hours, and incidentally with a couple other guys who were from San Francisco and Santa Cruz (pretty much the only Californians I surfed with my whole summer), we had to hustle. I had to strap myself to one of those twin-turbo jets. So we caught the next boat back to shore, and threw our boards and selves on the seat of his little motorbike.

Now I forget what the rule is in America, but in Indonesia, the law is that both people riding a motorbike must wear a helmet. Especially if they're Western. Especially if they have money in their pockets. Espeeeecialllly if they're in a hurry to get to the hotel and need to pack all their things up so they can fly. Even if his name is Chris and he manages to get away with many things he probably shouldn't get away with in life. Or especially if his name is Chris and has life hand him some ridiculous punishments for his risks taken.

So I hop on the back of the bike, consciously unhelmetted. Florian at the helm, properly helmed. We're jamming down the Indonesian roads back to my hotel about a half-hour away, when halfway home we suddenly get veered over to the side of the road by a rudely ridden motorbike. This turned out to be an Indonesian Polisi. "No Helmet" he says. Of course.

While I'm wondering how much it's gonna cost to pay this guy off, he motions us over to his little police shack. He pulls his bike in next to the shack and motions us to do likewise, not seeming to understand either Flo or me as we ask "How much?" or "I have to go to the airport." It's almost as if the law is more important than what we're saying. I don't get it.

Now I start noticing this Polisi didn't really do much to cut off our exit. Nor did he make a chase an easy next motion for himself, having parked his bike pretty much behind his shack. We teeter between pulling in behind the officer, as he is currently motioning us to do, or hitting the open road. About ten seconds of indecision that seemed like an eternity. I lean forward and quietly say "Flo, gun it!"

So off we go, weaving around traffic, surf boards shaking from the wind, me constantly looking behind us, expecting to see a whole battalion of officers with guns drawn pulling out from behind every car or side street we pass. The scooter's throttle is wide open. A scooter laden with two dudes and their surfboards probably doesn't go as fast as one man's. The only two things in our favor is our considerable head start and the fact that the road has lots of cars and motorbikes on it. We're managing to put quite a few of these between us and him.

I pay my respects to the afore-blogged Nicaraguan freedom fighter as we fly by him. He had a wistfully proud gleam in his fiberglass eye. I knew we would be alright. We turned a fifteen minute ride into about 8 minutes. We both knew that if we managed to even get close to the hotel without him visibly behind us, we would have taken enough side streets for there to be no way for him to find us. Pulling into the hotel, we begin nervously laughing for about a minute. Safe and sound.

Now I just hope I don't get an email from a friend of Flo asking for $5000 to help bail him out of prison cuz the cop traced the license plate back to him. I'm a big dummy.

Grandpa Diatribe

Sooo, seems like sometimes things are made just to fall apart. The wheels of capitalism are oft greased by the fact that some people just don't wanna make quality goods. Take for instance this here surfboard. Over the course of this summer, this thing has received about 15 nasty injuries that another board would easily have avoided. Bad glass job. Hey, just keep sending it to the ding guy, or buy another one...





This one shown here was probably partly my fault. Notice the crack right across the middle. Pretty much can fold the board in half now... makes for better travel I suppose. When you paddle out at a spot where no one else is, you can bet there's a reason it's empty. And in my case heavy surf kills crappily glassed boards. Me so sad.
The lesson I would like to preach- if you make something, don't be greedy- make it to last. Cuz they just don't make things like they used to.

Pho-toes

So, I've been working on this masterpiece post. I was thinking it would be done in like a matter of a half hour cuz all the thoughts are just so dang clear in my head. When it comes out however, it's like reading a junior higher's paper analyzing the depth of characters in East of Eden. Yeah, exactly like that.... maybe some loosely recognizable ideas, but just not quite there. No offense if you're a junior higher, but let's be honest here, you've got a lot of English classes ahead of you for good reason. Maybe I should have likewise.
So, instead of posting the greatest post ever written, I'm gonna show you some more photos of my experiences.
This one I just have to show you. I drive by this thing everyday, and seriously laugh every single time. I don't know how long it's been here, and how much it's selling for, but I'm pretty sure I don't wanna know the guy who buys this. Do Central American guerrilla nationalists really vacation in Bali? I guess one might happen to drive by this particular statue shop. This thing is seriously at least 30' tall. Our wealthy freedom fighter is gonna have to have a pretty big helicopter- and a lot of fuel- to get it to Nicaragua.

The next one I tried to load small. This is just to let you know that I too have to suffer a little bit while in Bali. Don't click on the photo if you don't wanna see a bigger version, but if you're intrigued.... I got this from some reef at a place called Lacerations. Shoulda got the hint that reef booties are a must. This little cut here is 3 weeks old in this photo. After about week 2 of constantly surfing with it, my foot looked like it was gonna fall off, so I had to stop surfing for a week (ok, maybe snuck a session in here or there... I was getting desperate).

And this one is kinda cool. It's the moon. It was dancing.

And this one is what I see when I go to sleep at night. The bright lights on the horizon are fishing boats getting some nocturnal fishes. Mmmm, fishes. Ahh, stars.

For love of San Francisco

So, it's no lie that I am a bit homesick. Homesick in paradise. Missing dear friends and family I probably realized not near as dear as I do now. Missing the familiar places of home. And the fantastic truth is that this is a nice feeling. I love where I'm at, and I can't wait to be home either.

Still not sure for how long I'll end up in San Francisco after I get back, I feel nostalgic for that foggy place. I am reminded of it a bit when I read a book a good friend recently gave to me. The subject of today's brief blog. I'm just gonna excerpt it and change the name of the city for the reader's sake-

If we think what is really best for San Francisco we shall find the thread of thought leads to the throne or the mystic and the arbitrary. It is not enough for a man to disapprove of San Francisco : in that case he will merely cut his throat or move to LA. Nor, certainly, is it enough for a man to approve of San Francisco, for it will remain San Francisco, which would be awful (somewhat debatable in my chosen city, but considering all the shortcomings of San Francisco one could agree it too should not only remain as it is). The only way out of it seems to be for somebody to love San Francisco: to love it with a transcendental tie and without any earthly reason. If there arose a man who loved San Francisco, then San Francisco would rise into ivory towers and golden pinnacles; San Francisco would attire herself as a woman does when she is loved. ... If men loved San Francisco as mothers love children, arbitrarily, because it is theirs, San Francisco in a year or two might be fairer than Florence (!!!). G.K. Chesterton, Orthodoxy

This charge is awesome. We should love something not because it is good but because we ought and loving it makes it more lovely. I am inspired by this idea.

Bali is pretty lovable in many respects. I often find people who are here to escape the lack of love they have for their home. Not my reason for being here. Today I think fondly of all that is home.

Strand and story

The other day I was walking on the strand about 100m behind another.
I looked down and noticed he left only the faintest footprints, while mine sank deep in the sand.
I wondered which type of man I would rather follow.

I used to think movies were not very worthwhile. I now realize that story is one of the most compelling forces on the human soul.

Smurfing

Alright, so since majority rules and Kevin is the only one who voted, and my vote counts for 3, I'm gonna post whatever I feel like. Today I feel like talking about smurfing.
The waves here are dare i say incredible. Sometimes. Sometimes they're totally lame. And sometimes like anywhere else there are beastly locals who think they own the water. I just try to shoot mind darts at them so they don't take my waves. They can have theirs. If I'm honest, they kinda do own the water. To watch them surf these waves is pretty impressive. I don't want to show you what they do, but here's some shots of me surfing.

It doesn't really happen like this in the California.

At least not as often.

You should see the waves I get when no one is photographing!!!! They're like "this" big.

So a little story-
I was guiding at a spot I'd never surfed before- yeah, I know, blind leading the blind right? Yep, that's pretty much how it was. We were surfing from the boat: the boat pulls up from the back of the wave and if you see a big splash you know the wave is big. Benefit- less paddling and no need to duck dive to get out to the line-up. Draw back- you really have no idea how the spot is working until you get into the line-up.
So I paddle with another guide and 5 guests to where it looked good. I told them to wait back further out so they didn't get eaten if a monster came in. I caught a head-high wave in and started paddling back out. Did the guests listen to my warning? Did it even matter? Below is what I saw when I started paddling back out.

Ten feet of heavy towering/toppling water and my precious guests becoming appetizer, 1st and 2nd course and me as dessert. About 3 more like this, I make it out, look around for the guests and see them coming to consciousness- except one is missing. The other guide looks at me and nods his head to where our wayward cargo is. Deep inside, like a boat without a captain, washing against the jagged reef, nearing entanglement in the rigged nets of the seaweed farmers (a profession of some along the coast). Right in the pounding shore break. Sounds dangerous? Yep.
Guess who gets to go in to get him? I catch a smaller wave in and start paddling over to him. He's making half-hearted attempts to paddle out. Really he's just doing anything to get washed further into the reef and the nets and anything to not paddle into the heavier waves- so going nowhere. His face the visage of a shell-shocked young soldier.
As I see this, I remember he's in the German Army. So I swallow my own fear (a bit concerned myself) and become Drill Sergeant McSlaterpants. I bark at him "paddle" "faster" "go" "don't stop" "here" "no, not there" "straight!!!" "what are you doing?" "come on!!!" all the way back to the outside. I had to go 3 times as slow as I normally would, which wasn't that comforting knowing another set would soon arrive.
Despite a bit of doubt from me, we made it without further event.
Once safe, he shows me his reef cuts and says he wants to paddle back to the boat. I nod in agreement, watch him paddle away, and for the next hour catch some waves of which I'm not too afraid. The only other one with me was the other guide. Some surf guides we are. It was nice- and frightening.
My reward? A big slice of chocolate mousse from my wave-washed guest back at shore. Mmmmm, chocolate.