You know when you're a kid and you dream of that perfect vacation?
I remember as a little person, lying on my bed looking at magazine pictures of people catching waves on perfect white sand beaches, with little bungalows dotting the shoreline, and thinking to myself "how much cooler would I be if I could do something like that?"
I guess I just got a whole lot cooler.
------
Indonesian paradise, a few friends, a couple of beers, a beachside guesthouse and some waves.
It wasn't a traditional Christmas, but it sure was an amazing one.
The day would begin with the sunrise, as the sound of water lapping the shoreline roused me from a night being rocked to sleep in a hammock stretched between two palm trees.
Gradually the team would emerge from their respective abodes, rubbing sleep from their eyes and reaching for a cup of coffee.
Ten minutes later, boards tucked under our arms we would head down the beach to the waves that rolled and crashed in the distance. Allegedly the swell wasn't that great for those of us endowed with natural talent. For a beginner like me the magic of a first surf trip was enough to keep any and all complaints at bay.
A few hours of battling the waves, with a few explotives uttered under my breath as mother nature continually attempted to drown and bash me against the reef was all worth it for the two waves I would catch each morning, as the sun rose over the jungle covered hills that surrounded us.
Returning to our temporary home, the rest of the morning would be spent eating breakfast, sitting in lounge chairs, watching the water, catching rays, and generally enjoying the easiest and most beautiful moments life can offer.
Afternoon surf time: do it all over again.
Come back from the second session of the day, play scrabble, laugh, drink a beer.
Get invited to a local mining party (food and alcohol complementary...we thought we'd all died and gone to heaven...Jack Daniels and giant prawns on the house? Merry Christmas indeed!!)
Stumble home from the party arm and arm with friends, and collapse in a heap on the sand in a fit of laughter.
Lie back under the southern hemisphere stars, mesmerized by the fact that the sky above is completely different from the one at home.
Laugh some more. Make a few memories.
Move from sand to hammock, and let the wind rock you to sleep.
---------
The days we dream of, the nights we will remember forever.
The moments I never thought I'd be lucky enough to live.
Pack up those backpacks kids....
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Monday, December 14, 2009
Remembering
A few years ago a very dear friend of mine passed away. It was an incredibly difficult time for all of us who knew him, especially considering that he was the best of all of us. Talented, beautiful, kind, wonderful in every way.
When you lose someone like that, those who remain forever young, it makes you re-evaluate a lot of things in your life. How much should I be trying to achieve? Am I wasting my life? What can I change in my daily functioning in order to ensure that his death was not in vain?
....
I've been thinking about my friend a lot these past few weeks.
In that space between here and somewhere else, where his soul or memory or whatever you want to call it is drifting about and watching over all of us, what does he think of the choices I have made?
When I'm sitting on the beaches of Bali sipping my umpteenth Bintang and planning what to wear for that night's dancing and debauchery, it's hard not to think he might be disappointed. It's hard not to think that maybe I'm wasting my time; maybe I should be doing something far more productive and meaningful with my days here.
Then, one night, I had a moment.
With a group of friends, we headed to a local bar/club - a classy house away from the beach that opens up on Friday nights for drinks and dancing.
As I sat on plush cushions surrounded by smiling healthy bodies, weaving my body this way and that to try and catch an occasional whisper of fresh air blown by the fans in the corners of the room, I noticed how happy everyone there was.
Every face shining with the knowledge that they were living the good life. That every moment of their day was filled with pleasure and fun and doing the things that they LOVED.
Surfing. Swimming.
Playing. Dancing.
Spending time with old friends, making new ones.
Grabbing the boards and heading out to discover a new surf break.
Catching a wave and knowing the sheer exhilaration that only the power of water and wind can give you.
Joy. Pleasure.
Even if it isn't the most refined, the most analytical or questioning manner of living, maybe that's ok.
Maybe sometimes a full life is the one that is the most enjoyed....end of story.
If that's the case, then the people here are living the fullest life I have ever seen.
So my dearest Laurent, wherever you are, I hope you can look on me and this life I am leading and still be proud. Because this is the life that I love.
This is a life worth living.
Tu me manques, mon ami.
When you lose someone like that, those who remain forever young, it makes you re-evaluate a lot of things in your life. How much should I be trying to achieve? Am I wasting my life? What can I change in my daily functioning in order to ensure that his death was not in vain?
....
I've been thinking about my friend a lot these past few weeks.
In that space between here and somewhere else, where his soul or memory or whatever you want to call it is drifting about and watching over all of us, what does he think of the choices I have made?
When I'm sitting on the beaches of Bali sipping my umpteenth Bintang and planning what to wear for that night's dancing and debauchery, it's hard not to think he might be disappointed. It's hard not to think that maybe I'm wasting my time; maybe I should be doing something far more productive and meaningful with my days here.
Then, one night, I had a moment.
With a group of friends, we headed to a local bar/club - a classy house away from the beach that opens up on Friday nights for drinks and dancing.
As I sat on plush cushions surrounded by smiling healthy bodies, weaving my body this way and that to try and catch an occasional whisper of fresh air blown by the fans in the corners of the room, I noticed how happy everyone there was.
Every face shining with the knowledge that they were living the good life. That every moment of their day was filled with pleasure and fun and doing the things that they LOVED.
Surfing. Swimming.
Playing. Dancing.
Spending time with old friends, making new ones.
Grabbing the boards and heading out to discover a new surf break.
Catching a wave and knowing the sheer exhilaration that only the power of water and wind can give you.
Joy. Pleasure.
Even if it isn't the most refined, the most analytical or questioning manner of living, maybe that's ok.
Maybe sometimes a full life is the one that is the most enjoyed....end of story.
If that's the case, then the people here are living the fullest life I have ever seen.
So my dearest Laurent, wherever you are, I hope you can look on me and this life I am leading and still be proud. Because this is the life that I love.
This is a life worth living.
Tu me manques, mon ami.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Tourist time.
Bali.
Sun. Sand. Scantily clad people. Freedom and lack of responsibilities, a party everywhere you look and a thousand tourists prepared to invite you into their play world.
The first thing I noticed when I stepped off the plane in Jakarta was the smell. That unmistakable scent of the south asian tropics - dripping with humidity, layered with pineapple and mango and a hint of sea spray. Within a few seconds, olfaction was overpowered by touch, as the 30 degree heat created a fine glow over my entire body. Palm trees swayed in the breeze, flowers bloomed, reggae beats pumped in my ears.
Southeast Asia....I'm back, baby.
Vacation time.
It seems strange to consider this a vacation, when some might say that my entire year has been a vacation. And yet, this is a vacation. A break from being a traveller, replaced by something simpler, something a whole heck of a lot easier.
Here the locals don't stare at you as you walk down the street (even if you're just wearing a bikini!!). Here there's McDonalds and Starbucks to appease the nervous westerners who fear local cuisine. Here the streets are clean, the temples are hidden from view, everyone speaks English. Here you get to be:
just.
another.
tourist.
Which is a-ok. Because after the chaos of the last seven months (seven months!!) of being a traveller in central asia, being in the relative calm and anonymity of Indonesia's white sand beaches is like a breath of fresh air. Constantly fighting to understand the local culture, being completely confused and lost at all times, battling pollution and poverty tends to take it's toll on your system. I don't think I had really realized that until I got here.
But let me tell you, it sure sunk in pretty quickly as I lay on the beach in my tattered shorts and bikini top. The warm breeze seemed to be chanting to me "relax. have a massage. buy something pretty for less than 3 dollars. take a break. we are here to make your stay as pleasant and easy as possible. no challenges necessary."
How can you say no to that?
Sorry mama and papa, I might not be seeing too many temples during this round. But I'll bring you back a nice souvenir to forgive my lack of cultural exploration...
Surf's up kids.
Sun. Sand. Scantily clad people. Freedom and lack of responsibilities, a party everywhere you look and a thousand tourists prepared to invite you into their play world.
The first thing I noticed when I stepped off the plane in Jakarta was the smell. That unmistakable scent of the south asian tropics - dripping with humidity, layered with pineapple and mango and a hint of sea spray. Within a few seconds, olfaction was overpowered by touch, as the 30 degree heat created a fine glow over my entire body. Palm trees swayed in the breeze, flowers bloomed, reggae beats pumped in my ears.
Southeast Asia....I'm back, baby.
Vacation time.
It seems strange to consider this a vacation, when some might say that my entire year has been a vacation. And yet, this is a vacation. A break from being a traveller, replaced by something simpler, something a whole heck of a lot easier.
Here the locals don't stare at you as you walk down the street (even if you're just wearing a bikini!!). Here there's McDonalds and Starbucks to appease the nervous westerners who fear local cuisine. Here the streets are clean, the temples are hidden from view, everyone speaks English. Here you get to be:
just.
another.
tourist.
Which is a-ok. Because after the chaos of the last seven months (seven months!!) of being a traveller in central asia, being in the relative calm and anonymity of Indonesia's white sand beaches is like a breath of fresh air. Constantly fighting to understand the local culture, being completely confused and lost at all times, battling pollution and poverty tends to take it's toll on your system. I don't think I had really realized that until I got here.
But let me tell you, it sure sunk in pretty quickly as I lay on the beach in my tattered shorts and bikini top. The warm breeze seemed to be chanting to me "relax. have a massage. buy something pretty for less than 3 dollars. take a break. we are here to make your stay as pleasant and easy as possible. no challenges necessary."
How can you say no to that?
Sorry mama and papa, I might not be seeing too many temples during this round. But I'll bring you back a nice souvenir to forgive my lack of cultural exploration...
Surf's up kids.
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