As I took my first step off the airplane, the intoxicating mixture of sweet incense, burning trash, ocean trade winds and Indonesian cigarettes hit me. I was in Bali.
My luggage was waiting at the door and consisted of one bag packed with three surfboards and a backpack with all the clothing I would need for a month of traveling.
For my friend Matt and I, this would be the surfing trip we had been talking about since high school.
Jetlagged but eager to start our adventure, we found our way to a "home stay" which cost 100,000 rupiah, or roughly $10, a night. It didn't take long to estimate out how far we could go with a good exchange rate.
After renting motor bikes, we secured our boards and headed to our first destination.
The beach at Uluwatu Temple was like a dream. It is a travel destination for any surfer who wants long peeling waves that barrel over a fluorescent living reef.
We watched near the cliffs as the women knelt with offerings to the gods and fishing boats sailed past the 6-to-8-foot waves wrapping around the point.
My first wave in the warm Indian Ocean sent me speeding past other surfers and allowed many turns. The wave gracefully pitched over my head encasing me in a watery tube, then it forcefully spit me out.
After a long surf session we ate at a local warung, ordering the traditional dish nasi goreng: rice, vegetables and chicken with a fried egg on top.
On the way back to our home stay, we noticed several locals carrying large tuna from the beach. We stopped to see what was happening and saw a huge ship tipped sideways on the reef.
Authorities told us it was an abandoned Taiwanese ship that had been missing for months after the Balinese crew mutinied against the captain and shut off all communication. The boat crashed into the fragile reef of the famous surf break Padang Padang early that morning, and now the locals were throwing fish and computer equipment from the freighter to smaller boats below.
After a week and a half surfing beaches across Bali, we traveled to the nearby island of Java. Leaving in the middle of the night on a hired transport, we boarded a ferry and then trekked down a long, rough dirt road to reach the Bay of Grajagan, known as G-Land.
When we finally arrived in the morning, Matt and I stood speechless as we watched 18-foot waves exploding along the shallow reef at Money Trees. Behind us a troop of monkeys swung by in the dense jungle and the sounds of birds could be heard in all directions.
From Launching Pads we got thrown into some serious barrels, but survived without too many collisions with the reef. Other surfers weren't so lucky, breaking boards and even tearing ligaments. The wave there was so long that some guys could pull into tubes for 100 meters and still see the light of day.
The four days we spent in Java went by in a blur, but it was the closest I have ever felt to being Indiana Jones running through the jungle.
The eight-hour ride back left us feeling lethargic, but there were still plenty of waves to be ridden in Bali. Because we both turned 21 on this trip, we had a celebration on the beach with all the people we had met while traveling and locals who had helped us find waves.
A pig was prepared and roasted for five hours, and plenty of Bintang beer was consumed. Local music played while we each shared stories from past adventures and the warm night rolled on.
The 23-hour plane ride back to the United States gave me plenty of time to reflect on what I experienced and to dream of future endeavors. One thing is certain; the Indonesian spirit will always be with me after a trip such as this.
Patrick Makenen can be reached at pmakenen@montereyherald.com.
