I didn't want to talk about my very personal adventures here, but I think there are interesting bits in this one. I'm seriously beginning to wonder if I'm not gonna ask people to call me Dundee.Let me explain.
It was, basically, a nice little trip to go on holidays. Yes it included the nearly desert Asu Island (the Dog's Island) , yes it included a boat trip, and yes we had to bring our own snack just in case. But there were some missing parts in the briefing.
Remember the “road of 55 bridges” ? I am most happy to announce you that I have found a worse one. It's heading to a place called Sirombu. If this name had a meaning, it would be “so damn isolated that you'd better go there by foot”. The first part of the road is nothing but a succession of turns on a very nasty road going up and down, and you'd better have a strong stomach if you don't want to get sick in the car. The second part of the road is nothing but a giant hole sometime topped by some mud in case you'd like like to get stranded. Overall, when you ultimately arrive to Sirombu, you are lucky if you haven't already broken your tail bone and distorted your diaphragm. But this is the nice way, the normal way, the “ok well it makes sense anyway” way. Certainly not the “being driven by an ex rally driver” way. Most unfortunately I and my colleagues had to cope with the second option, I insist to reassure you, we are all still alive.
Sirombu base camp is beautiful, next to one of the most wonderful beach I've ever seen, and everything is quiet, calm, ideal to have a rest. Fortunately. We arrived there after three hours of road snaking and bottom mashing, and directly went to bed, taking the occasion to count our remaining limbs.
The day after, we woke up early and had a breakfast made of fried fish (I'll never get myself used to it) and a talk with the other guys going with us, a pack of jungley-sealy-merry-lads, strong fellows and beverage amateurs. Just time enough to get fully conscious, and it was time to load the boat in the truck.
To load the boat in the truck. Right. What kind of boat can fit in the back of a dump truck ?
You should have been there dear readers, for my face was worth seeing when it discovered that the boat was actually a nutshell lying somewhere between two buildings and two flowerpots (don't ask me for the flowerpots I still wonder myself). It wouldn't have bothered me to use a five meters long boat to have a nice floating moment crossing a lake, even a big lake. But the length of sea that separates Sirombu from the Asu Island... The kind of place where you suddenly realize that you are facing a five meters hight wave when you are gently swimming next to the shore (at least until the wave crashes on your spine)...
Ok, let's load the boat now. Lesson number one, a boat's weight is equal to its total passenger's weight. A boat is heavy. Especially when you are alone lifting one end while the other end is still in the truck, and the seven other guys with you all decided to let go. Lesson number 2, the trapdoor at the back of a dump truck is heavy too. Especially when the seven other guys have decided to think for a couple of minutes about the way to load the boat, when yourself and a torture mate are lifting the door at arm length.
Finally, on the beach, whe came to a point where everything was ready, and we departed. I won't tell much about the sunburns, the sea reflects the sun, I'm not a sea guy, but you can call me crab man by now, and, oh, I'm peeling. In the boat I slowly saw the shape of the island appearing through its misty veil. Small place, you can walk around it in half a day. There may be 20 persons leaving there, sometime not talking Indonesian but only their dialect, living from fishing, farming, and lodging occasional tourists. They define themselves as simple people living a simple life, and they are welcoming and respectful, they don't grin at you as some people do when they see a foreigner, but their smile is honest, as well as their speech.
We finally arrived there at noon, safe and sound, and we moved our bags in the little losmen waiting for us. And it was good. The water was good, the sky was good, the lobsters were good, the reefs with many colorful fishes were good, the magnificent seashells were good, it was a rush.
What was not good was the bathroom it the losmen's kitchen, and for my lady friends, having to pull the water out a well to have a shower. I mean, basic Indonesian sanitary facilities are often resumed to a basin and a hole in the ground, and it's no trouble once you get accustomed to cold water. But in a kitchen, I have to confess that I can't see the interest of it.
Something else was not good. The storm. I was half asleep, on my mattress, laid on the floor of the wooden house's first story, well aligned with my other male friends, and after having launched a searching party to retrieve one of us lost on the beach (I didn't even attended it, personal raisons, the heavy rain maybe) I began to feel a bit more relaxed. That when I felt cold water dripping on my cheek. The ceiling was leaking. No problem, I've seen worse, just pull out the bedsheets and cover your face. And then nothing can happen anymore, except, maybe, if a lightning falls on the house and set it on fire because right now the rain is horizontal and the thunder is breaking my eardrums.
It was a good thing that the storm happened at night. The day after, I had slept 3 hours but I was sure that we could go back to Sirombu avoiding any weather problem. The way back was without difficulties, and once back at the base camp, we had some free time before heading back to our place. I used it playing table tennis. And it was certainly not wise of me, because after two hours twisting madly my legs and arms to get the tiny white ball, I realized that the boat was still waiting on the beach. Loading time again. Well, not exactly loading time, “pushing stranded truck knee-deep in the mud of the jungle and putting stones in the rails hoping it doesn't happen again but anyway it happens again on the way back” time would be more appropriated. And the boat's weight didn't drop in the while, to my great disappointment. The jungle macho men moving stones, it was a nice picture.
So, shower time again, not only red as a cooked lobster but also covered in mud, nice mix of colors. At least after another three hours rodeo, we'd get some rest. I shouldn't hope for things to be right so easily. The driver is sick. We will go back tomorrow morning (ok, well, still there is a nice night of sleep ahead) at 4 am (what was that sleeping part again ?) and head straight to the office to begin our working day (it could be worse I guess... it can always be worse) to install a samba server on a Linux platform (see, I told you).
What shall I think about all that ? After having ridden 400 kilometers of evil road and silver see, witnessed the second worst storm in my life, slept 8 hours in two nights and moved more weight per hour than a mad body builder ?
I liked it. Ok, I complain a lot, but still. All these adventures we shared, the merry men and I, made me live teamwork and cooperation in a way that I had never experienced before, to a point where we didn't even need to talk to know what we were to do next. More, I've discovered a wonderful place, a place everybody dream about one day in their life, leaving a salty blue taste on my lips. It's insane what you can do in two days. In two days you can learn.
PS: Special hail to the surfer mates I met back there, you guys rock.
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