Siargoa

October 20, 2006
Adam and I are in Siargao Island in the Western Pacific, home to the famous wave of Cloud Nine. The Philippines are a breath of fresh air after Indonesia. Most people here speak English, and although just as poor, it is more westernized and things just seem to work in a more logical fashion here. The Island itself is a tropical gem,
as beautiful as any South Pacific island...its
waters being as clear as a swimming pool...its reef breaks being world class when on. Our last few days in Bali, we met a couple of Australian guys who had just came from Siargao, and they dialed us in with a contact and a place to stay. Our contact man Junior Gonzales met us at the ferry terminal and took us to the north shore of the island to a small town called Pacifico. We rented a small house on the beach for $10 a night.....a short walk to a world class left hand reef pass. Our hostess Neng Neng lives in the house with her cousin, and they cook and clean for us for $10/week.

The amazing thing about this part of the island is that there are zero crowds. The daily line-up consists of Adam, me, and the local kid named Dong Dong. It's a pure surfing experience up here, no negative energy, just a bunch of stoked groms who are beginning to ride waves on discarded

equipment and whatever else they can find. One day the waves were quite small and I paddled to a little right hander at a river mouth. I caught a few waves better suited for a long board, when I heard screams from the beach. It was a group of 8 kids, small planks of wood in their hands, coming out for a surf. They wadded out to the line up, filled with the huge stoke and smiles of new surfers. I would catch a small wave and they would yell and cheer like I was some pro tearing it up. The kids would trade off, using their 2x4s as small body boards; a pure surf experience.

In comparison, the town of General Luna (cloud 9) is packed with a motley crew of international surfers and it is very crowded...but luckily they rarely make it up north. Within a 30 mile stretch of coast we can access about 6 insane set ups.





The village of Pacifico is very small, maybe 100 people, and very quiet except for the Videoke (Karaoke). You see, videoke is huge in the Philippines, and what they love to sing is cheesy American love ballads. Yes, think of the most god awful love ballad, the kind that sticks in your head all day and drives you crazy. In small villages like Pacifico, an enterprising family will buy a machine and it will serve as the principle form of entertainment for the town. The first few nights were a blast, we would drink 40 oz of San Miguel beer and find crazy songs to sing for the village (ebony and ivory duet, “The Gambler”, “Roxane”, Whitesnake, “Just the good old boys”, and plenty of redneck stuff) and they would just look at us like we were crazy.
Karaoke was great fun until about day four. The town was filled with teenage girls who would sing all day and into the evening, the same songs over and over again. The songs would stick in my head and it got so bad that I would sing the songs while I surfed- and this definitely had a

bad effect on my surfing. After a week of good surf it went flat....we spent a lot of time in the hammocks trying to read while being bombarded by love songs.
"The closer I get to loving you, the closer I get to touching you,
Just a “letle” more time just a “letle” more time and we will be closer......"
We were also being constantly harassed by a couple of teenage girls who had "crushes" on us, giving us love notes and singing songs for us.

So we went to General Luna in search of some transport so we could be mobile and explore the island. Well we found a motorcycle for rent, and let me tell you, nothing symbolizes freedom more than the Huble Huble. The Huble Huble is the quintessential form of transportation (after the Jeepney and the tricycle) in Siargao. It is a workhorse, a big heavy Yamaha motorcycle with a long banana seat capable of transporting a family of six. It’s common to see a whole family chugging down the road, babies in hand, people hanging off the side, a kid sitting on the gas tank.

The Huble Huble is also used to transport cargo like copra (dried /smoked coconut), fish, lumber...you name it. It took me the hour long trip back to Pacifico

to get the feel for this beast. Not so easy when you have 2 people on the bike, gears that are opposite of the mopeds in Bali, and you have to navigate dirt and partially paved roads, passing through small villages all the while avoiding chickens, children, goats and pigs. After circling the island twice I was proud to say that I had mastered the man-skill of driving a Motorcycle. I even contemplated getting one when I returned to California.

Neng Neng prepares the squid

Grooming-a favorite pastime of Siargao

The Cockpit

One surfless Sunday we jumped on the hubble hubble with Dong Dong and headed to the far north of the island in search of some action. We stumbled upon a sunday cockfighting extravaganza at a place known as the "Cockpit". Cockfighting is the number one sport in the Philippines, especially in the small villages. It is a man's domain for sure, and they take it very seriously. Our man Dong Dong was our guide, and he led us through the gauntlet of men, who were placing bets and showing off their cock’s attributes. Harsh stares and glares of suspicion were quickly replaced with smiles and words of welcome; the Pinoy men were proud to share their tradition with Joe and Joe. Dong Dong led us to a back room that revealed a gladiators pit surrounded by empty bleachers. We took our seat and were soon approached by the big man. In his hands, wedged between each pair of knuckles, were folded up squares of peso notes, each representing a different bet. Behind him the men all began to file in from the front room and took their seats in the bleachers.

Suddenly the first bird trotted out followed by his young owner wearing a tore up WWF wrestling shirt. He proceeded to show off his bird, picking it up and thrusting it into the air, spreading its wings, encouraging it to dance around, bringing the men into a fervor. Adam seemed impressed and placed his bet on this bird immediately. It looked good to me and I followed suit. The big man folded up our money and wedged it between his last pair of knuckles, apparently announcing our bet to the audience. Suddenly the scene erupted into a mad whirlwind of bets and wagers; everyone shouting at the same time, dust and pesos filling the air. Somehow, someway, all bets were taken without a single thing written down.
An old man appeared in the doorway, cradling his precious gladiator with one hand, stroking his long white beard with the other. The fervor of the crowd immediately fizzled into a hushed silence (this was clearly a man of respect, a master cock trainer).
Under the cover of the quiet anticipation, the two opponents carefully tied a sharp razor, shaped like a small sickle, to a single talon on their bird. The old man took his position, squatting in his corner, holding his white bird by its talons while stroking its neck. The younger man did the same in his corner. The two men brought there cocks to the center of the ring, and with the referee’s signal, the battle was on.
Our bird was dead in about 30 seconds. The referee picked up its limp body, dropping it several times to show the spectators that it was indeed dead. A quick flurry of pay outs to the winners and the next cockfight was on que. With 500 pesos out the door, we cut our loses and headed back to Pacifico. Better luck next time.

Full Moon Reef Walk

The people of Pacifico have learned to follow the natural rhythm of the island and the sea. As the lunar cycle waxes and wanes changes occur in their natural environment. When the new moon occurs and the sky is dimly lit only by the stars, land crabs come out of their holes in the tropical bush, and the people are there to harvest the bounty. When an evening low tide occurs simultaneously with a full moon, it is time for the reef walk. Old Tanduay rum bottles are made in to torches which attract octopus, squid, and a variety of crustaceans.








Dong Dong takes advantage of a full moon, low tide, and highly flameable Tanduay Rum.


















Farewell Siargao

Coming soon!

Stay tuned for more adventures from the high seas.......
-Phillipines
-South Western Australia
-New Zealand
-North Western Coastal Outback
-New South Wales

Philippines: Return to the Pacific

Farewell Indian Ocean

October 17, 2006

My last sight of Bali was of a flat day at Airport Lefts, the vista from our business class lounge. Dead tired after surviving our final night in Kuta Beach, we thanked our lucky stars that we didn’t end up dead-dead, care of the “Smiling Bomber” and his comrades from Jemaah Islamiah. We took our final glances of the Bukit Peninsula and its famous surf before the plane veered north for Singapore. Crossing the South China Sea we were on our way to the world’s second largest archipelago: the Pacific island nation of the Philippines.
We arrived to the mega city of
Manila late that night and headed towards its center with our trusted cabbie. The first thing I spotted was the Jeepney. These WWII jeep relics are the quintessential form of public transportation in the Philippines. Picture a jeep, stretched out like a limo, covered with flash airbrushed murals, interior decked out with catholic idols, topped with a neatly stenciled “How’s my driving? Call 444-9922” on the tail.
Cruising down the boulevard practically every American fast food restaurant was represented. Billboards advertising random products in English, the American female DJ on the radio, I started to wonder where I actually was. It felt as though I was in sort of a South East Asian-American hybrid country. It wasn’t until I placed my cold bottle of San Miguel Beer on the counter of 7-11, hearing the girl say (in perfect English) “40 Pesos please”, that I realized, “Hell ya, we’re in the Philippines!!”

Manila Dog Days
We found a good hotel in a bad side of town. Smack in the middle of Manila, home to 11 million people. Right down the street from the US Embassy, the neighborhood used to be the go-to spot for American GI’s, full of bars and “Bar Girls”. The bars are still there, along with the girls and what Adam and I referred to as S-exPats.
Despite the shady nature of the area, this is where we needed to be to take care of business. Navigating the gauntlet of Philippine bureaucracy for our visa extensions, sorting out transportation to Siargoa Island, and purchasing a cell phone took us three days. Yes indeed, world travel is hard work.
Unfortunately we couldn’t fly directly into Siargao since the flights were booked solid. Instead we opted to fly to the town of Butuan in the province of Mindanao. From there we would take a bus to the northern end of the island and simply take a ferry over to Siargao. Too Easy.

Road to Siargao
Flying over the archipelago made up of Jewel like islands surrounded by brilliantly clear water, we arrived to the town of Butuan located on the top of Mindanao Island. Reading the Manila paper on the flight I discovered that a terrorist bombing, involving the Muslim separatist group Abu Sayyaf, had occurred sixty miles to the south east of Butuan a few days earlier. But I wasn’t afraid of the terrorists. I was more afraid of the guy who just struck up a conversation with Adam upon landing.
A balding white man in his mid fifties, Frank claimed he was in Mindanao for SCUBA diving. He accompanied us to the baggage claim in the tiny rural airport, babbling how this was his first time back to the Philippines after his tour of duty with “Air America”, some supposed CIA covert stuff. To me he seemed more like the type of guy who worked at an army surplus store, dreaming up shit like that all day long. I had this guy pegged for what he was.
After grabbing his single duffle bag from the baggage carriage (mind you no SCUBA gear), he asked where we were heading. Adam and I negotiated a taxi to take us the one-hour journey to the north and we offered to drop him off at his hotel in Butuan. Stopping at a gas station, we used the opportunity to get some cold drinks. Frank decided to get out, said his farewell, and preceded to walk towards the mall, his duffle bag in hand. Minutes later he returned saying that they wanted to search his bag before he entered and there was “no way in Hell” he was going to let “these people” search his bag.
What was the big deal? After all, with the terror threat in the Philippines, mall front searches were common practice. He clearly had something to hide in that bag. What was in there I could only speculate (child pornography?), but I was sure he was some kind of sex tourist.
The Philippines have the infamy for being the sex tourism capital of the world. I began to look at all non-surfers as S-expats, especially the pasty, balding, middle-aged white men wearing Hawaiian print shirts. I know it was a prejudgment as many men are there for legitimate reasons, on business or looking for a wife (fair enough). But I couldn’t help suspect that the vast majority were there to exploit women and children, taking advantage of a desperation created by poverty.

Surgao City, Mindanao
We arrived in Suraao city in the afternoon, giving us enough time to find a hotel and sort out our ferry ticket to Siargao Island the next morning. The town’s main form of public transportation came in the form of “tricycles”. Consisting of basically a motorcycle and side cart, the tricycles buzzed around like robots from some science fiction movie.
The fee for a tricycle was a fixed rate, something unheard of in Indonesia. We took the tricycles to fetch money and get a bite to eat. Upon returning to our hotel, Adam discovered that someone had stole $30 from his room. It was obviously an inside job and we were furious. The staff was not friendly to our complaints which made the situation that more uncomfortable, and we couldn’t wait for morning. I barricaded my door with my bed and a few chairs and flicked on the television. Low and behold was a Discovery Channel documentary on the 2002 Bali Bombings. I shouted over to Adam’s room and told him to have a look. The documentary put things in perspective for me, but due to my location and circumstances I must admit that I was a little paranoid.

Terror Cells

News Flash: Two of the Bali Bomber masterminds, Dulmatin and Omar Patek (part of Jemaah Islamiah), were believed to be hiding in the southern Philippine island of Jolo. Dulmatin was a protégé of Azahari Bin Husin –killed in 2005 by Indonesian police, putting the other members of Jemaah Islamiah on the run. Dulmatin was the master bomb technition of the 2002 Bali bombings and has a $10 million US bounty on his head. Dulmatin was also suspected of being responsible for numerous terrorist attacks in the Philippines. At the time we had no idea that the Philippine military and US Special Forces were hunting down Khadaffy Janjalami –leader of Abu Sayyaf. On top of this, the Philippine Abu Sayyaf was believed to be in control of the Indonesian Jemaah Islamiah. In other words the Mindanao province was a sketchy place to be.

G-Land

Mid-October 2006

Grajagan Land, otherwize known as G-land, lies just across the Bali Stait on the tip of the Tajung Blambangan peninsula in Java. To get there we boarded our overnight bemo ride in Kuta Beach, crossed over to Java by ferry, and headed south through densly populated eastern Java. Reaching Grajagan Village at sunrise, we awoke to the morning prayer echoing from the local mosque. The local fleet of Javanese fishing boats, with their unique design and outboard motors


that resemble giant weed wackers, were waiting
for the incoming tide to fill the bay. After loading up our gear into the speedboat, the captain headed out through the river mouth. His timing was poor, and we were almost capsised by the final set wave before making it to the saftey of deep water. After a 30 minute journey we reached the peninsula and saw the mechanical left hander breaking in the distance. We had arrived to one of my favorite places in the world.

Grajagan fishing fleet.











Bucket full of fish.










"I know what you're looking at so stop staring!"
Located in Alas Purwo National Park, G-land was discovered in the 70's by two surfers who spoted the set up from the air and decided it had good potential. Taking motorcycles from Bali, they charged up the beach from Grajagan village until they reached what is arguably the world's best left. Much has changed since then, with four surf camp/resorts now firmly established. To visit G-land, the traveling surfer must book an all-inclusive trip with one of the surf camps, our choice being the legendary Bobbie's. Even with the development, G-land stillholds its magic. The forest is still there, the offshore wind still blows, and the wave never dissapoints.

Jungle meets the reef system.










Bamboo forest dweller.










The wave intriges and inspires. I spent a week here in 2002, and it wasn't until the fourth day that I had learned enough about the wave to truly charge it. The final day was magic, and my last wave was the best of a two month trip through Indonesia; a stand up, no-grab, backside barrel through the Speed Reef section. I made a promise to return one day.




There are surfers who are more intrigued with G-land than me. Many come year after year, some staying months at a time. I learned from these guys, through conversation during the morning check or out in the water, and more importantly by watching and studying their approach to the wave. I was blown away by the surfing of a young Kiwi, who had the wave mastered. I later learned that it was his sixth time to G-land, and that he had studied under the legendary Camel from Margaret River (just like in Kung Fu movies).

The surfers who inspired me the most were the old timers (or almost old timers). Don (45) from Oahu would surf for 5-6 hours in a single session, getting more waves than anyone and absolutly killing it. One day I tried to stay out as long as him but had to go in out of sheer exhastion. He continued on for 2 hours. Then there was 65 year old guy from Australia. This guy was as old as my dad, and was taking off deeper than anyone on the biggest day. Not only that, he spends his winters in Colorado as a ski patroler. And Tim (50) from California, this guy was built like a rock and was a standout indeed. These guys made me realize that a surfer continues to improve their skills throughout their life, but more importantly, I realized that I will be surfing and traveling until I'm a shrivled old man.

The reef system is enormous.
Inspiration is best when it's a two way street. Some of the older crew took inspiration from our global surf oddysey and were eager to check the blogs out. After hearing our tales from Banda Aceh, Tim decided to go check it out for himself, after G-land. And then there was Pierre from France. We first met Pierre while surfing in Madagascar. At the time he complained of his stagnent life and his reluctance to return to his father's resturant business. When he spotted me out in the water at G-land he was estatic, explaining how we inspired him to quit his job, break up with his girlfriend (not my fault!) and travel the world. Ispiration is contagious, be careful- you might catch it!


The Right Photo: John Hepler
On the oposite side of the Tajung Blambangan peninsula lies a series of right hand set ups rarely surfed. The waves here are good during the rainy season when the the wind is blowing onshore at G-land. Since G-land shuts its doors during the rainy season, Bobby (owner of the camp) wanted to investigate the possibility of setting up an off-season surf camp on one of the rights. Since Adam had a professional video camera, we were recruited on a mission to get some photo and video documentation of the surf
potential. Four other surfers, along with myself, sacrificed a day at G-land for what could have been a hoax mission. As we headed out in the fastboat we all watched sets peel down the G-land reef and pondered the choice we had made. Sometimes you gotta role the dice in the name of adventure!




Photo: Hepler
Surfer: Berquist


As we headed south, then east, and finally north along the coast, I came to realize the enormity of the peninsula and the Alas Purwo National Park. Vast tracks of forest remained untouched, except for the occasinal boat on the beach poaching bamboo from the park. I decided that there was a fair chance some Javanese Tigers might still roam this side of the park.

Photo: Hepler

Photo: Hepler

No one in the crew had ever actually been to the spot, all they had was a rough description and a shipwreck for a landmark. We pulled up to what they thought was the spot. The winds were offshore with good size sets, but it looked as though the tide was wrong. We paddled out to sample a few while Adam and photographer John Hepler headed up the coast in a small dingy to investigate. The wave we surfed turned out to be garbage. In the meantime, Adam and John found the real wave and it was going off. John told the boat driver to go and get the surfers and bring them back to the real spot. Instead the boat driver decided to help Bobby look for a possible water source on shore. By the time we were picked up and redistribited into the proper line-up we had lost valuable time. The tide was turning and our session lasted about 45 minutes until the tide bottomed out, turning the spot out right dangerous. On a very memorable wipe out, my body spun underwater as my leash wrapped around me like a spider wraping up its prey. It wrapped around my legs twice, and then around my arms and upperbody, rendering my limbs useless. I had to spin my body underwater and unravel myself like a yo-yo before swimming for the surface.

Cracking!

When we returned to G-land camp, we found out that the wind had been onshore for most of the day thus we hadn't missed much. The next day was our last, and like my first trip to G-land, it turned out to be the best day of the trip. The waves jacked to 8 feet and the winds blew perfectly offshore. This combined with a full moon hightide midday resulted in the G-land people dream of.





As we left G-land early the next morning, watching the wave slowly fade away, I realized that this trip had brought me one level higher towards G-land mastery, but I had a long way to go. I wasn't ready to leave, nor is any surfer. But I promised myself I would one day return. And deep down I knew I would.

Packing up.....

.......and heading out

Puma delivers the Balinese-Hindu morning offerings.

Bali

After the five weeks of brutal travel through Sumatra, My appreciation for Bali was magnified as if looking through a brand new lens. I was able to look past the tourism, overdevelopment, and crowded surf on this island of 3 million people. The Hindu culture of Bali makes “The Island of the Gods” a truly magical place. The Hindu temples, the architecture, the daily offerings to the gods and evil spirits alike, the good nature of its people, and the awe inspiring surf, come together to make Bali one of the most unique islands in the world. Sadly, outside forces have infiltrated this island paradise with their cowardly terrorist attacks, spreading fear and thus crippling the tourism based economy, and ultimately the livelihood of the Balinese people.

* 2002 Bali Bombing
Kuta Beach
October 2006

Our first week was spent in Kuta Beach; a place infamous for its hedonistic lowbrow nightlife, made notorious by the 2002 Bali bombing. "Karl we're so happy that you are finally in Bali," exclaimed my mom over the crackling Wartel phone connection. Obviously thrilled that Adam and I were out of Muslim Sumatra, I didn't have the heart to tell her that we were probably safer in Banda Aceh than in Kuta Beach. The 2002 terrorist attacks at the Sari Club and Paddies Bar had occurred 3 weeks after I departed from Bali that same year. Walking down the main strip of Jalan Legion, it looked as though the atrocity might never have taken place, a nightmare long forgotten. It took the memorial to bring it back home.

*
Looking like a mini version of the Vietnam Memorial in Washington DC, the Bali Bombing memorial brought tears to my eyes. Each of the victims names were etched into the wall grouped by country. The flags of each nation swayed in the south east trade wind, as if trying to speak for their lost children. The sad irony was that the majority of casualties were Indonesian (followed by Australian). Only two victims were from America, the intended target.
The fact that a suicide bomber blew himself up at Jimbaran beach in October of 2005 didn't make us feel any safer in Bali. It was October after all (October had become known as "terrorist season" in Bali), and world terrorism seemed alive and well. There was only one thing we could do; keep an eye out for nervous sweating men wearing bulky vests, and vans riding low and overweight. There were some nights when I decided to go home early, and I couldn't help but wonder if I might hear bombs go off while safe in my hotel. Like when people miss their flight and later they find out the airplane had crashed and burned without them. In the end I figured my number's up when it's up, and did my best to put my fears aside. Besides, I probably had a better chance of crashing on my scooter than being a bomb victim.


Based in Kuta, our surfing involved renting scooters with surf racks and making the mad trek to the Bukit Peninsula. Our first day I led the charge and Adam followed. If he made it to Uluwatu and back without a scratch, he was ready for anything Bali could throw at him. Through the Kuta gauntlet of narrow one way streets, in and out of Denpasar traffic, riding on the left side of the road, families of four on scooters passing us like we were standing still, up the steep hill and hairpin turn, and past the Korupsi Police Shack, we made it to Uluwatu without a scratch.
Bali's most famous surf spot was 6-8 foot and clean with only six guys out (what??). We were straight out through the cave and out into the line-up. I dialed myself into the cleanest and greenest wave of the trip. Beautifully backlit from the dropping sun, its perfection was my welcome back to Bali.

Dinner Party, Japanese style
Back at our hotel Adam and I enjoyed a whiskey on the rocks (we fantasized about this moment while in Aceh) when we met Don and Mune. Don was a surfboard manufacturer from O-Ah-OOO (Oahu), and Mune was president of Channel Islands Surfboards in Japan. These guys had been coming to Bali for like 20 years and had the place completely dialed. Mune turned us on to the spots on the east coast of the island, and on several early mornings we scored some absolutely incredible right handers with only a handful of people. It just goes to show that even at some of the world's most crowded surf destinations, if you know where to be and when, you can score. But that knowledge takes years to acquire, and I'm very thankful to Mune for showing us the ropes in Bali.



The Korupsi Shack
We would run the daily gauntlet from Kuta to Uluwatu passing the police station on the way there and back. It was all about timing. Sometime during the day, the police would decide to set up a checkpoint and pull over anyone, especially surfers, intent on taking bribes. Fortunately for us, our luck was on and we were never "fined" for lack of an international driver’s licence or whatever else the Polisi could muster up. Our Balinese friend Won, who toured us around with our Japanese friend Mune, wasn’t so lucky. The polisi pulled us over and taxed him for not having a "tour guide" permit. He had to pay 50,000 Rupiah, which equals the daily age for the average Balinese worker.
*
One afternoon back in Kuta, I had to run my passport over to Bobby's surf camp office which was located about six blocks away. Due to the short distance I decided to go without my helmet and international licence (which I lacked anyhow). On the way back I was routed down one way street where, at the intersection, sat a small shack on the corner. On the front was stencilled "Polisi" in block letters, inside I saw the silhouette of two figures in uniform.
He spotted me a mile away, no helmet, blond hair, surf rack on the side of my motorcycle; easy money. I mumbled obscenities as I was forced to pull over into the lion's den. They told me to turn off my bike and motioned me to come inside of the building.
Knowing what to expect, I entered with a smile on my face and my game ready. The older of the two Balinese officers sat towards the back, with a very serious expression on his face. The younger of the two did all of the talking. He asked for my international licence which I lacked, and informed me that I had two infractions; no licence and no helmet. I also had two choices; take care of the fine here and now, or go to the courthouse in Dempasar. Keeping my good composure and maintaining my smile I asked him how much it would cost to pay the fine now and he replied 200,000 Rupiah (US$20).
*
The normal payoff for a traffic fine in Bali never exceeds 50,000 Rupiah and there was no way in hell I was going to pay 20,000. I had to think fast, take my time, and use my Korupsi Communication Skills (KCS) that I have learned over the years.
I had a small amount of Rupiah in my pocket (60,000) which I carried for such occasions. I also had 500,000 stashed in a secret pocket and my passport. I weighed my options and developed a plan. It was sort of like a game of chess.
My first move was unwise. I explained that I didn’t have my helmet or my licence because I was on a quick ride to bring my passport to Bobbies Surf Camp office. I also told them that I only had 69,000 in my pocket and this was all that I could pay them.
With a smile the officer grabbed my passport and looked it over. "I will hold on to your passport. You go back to your hotel to get your license and 200,000 Rupiah."
Now I was screwed. Never give a Korupsi cop your identification (I had noticed that when people in Indonesia show a cop their licence or paperwork, they hold on to it tightly as the cop looks it over). I had to revise my plan. I couldn’t let him have my passport. No way. But if I pulled the rest of the money out of my stash pocket to try and pay him the 200,000 he wanted, he would take the remainder as well. Then it came to me.
*Anti-korupsi poster
First I informed him that it was not possible for me to leave my passport with him since it was a legal document belonging to the United States Government and it was actually illegal for me to surrender it to a foreign diplomat. Second, I attempted to renegotiate the bribe. I explained that the average fine in Bali was 50,000 Rupiah; 50,000 X 2 infractions=100,000 Rupiah, not 200,000. I then added, "You’re a good person, I'm a good person, it's a beautiful day outside, let's say you let me off with 69,000?"
He was smiling now and I started to feel like I might pull it off.
"You must speak to my commanding officer," he replied.
"Shit," I thought to myself. For the past 20 minutes the man sat in the corner without saying a word, maintaining a look on his face more serious than the answer to HIV. I repeated my offer and he replied that he would take 80,000.
My next move was risky, but it was all I had. Since I couldn't pull money out of my stash pocket I told them that I had an ATM card (which I didn't). "Let me go to the ATM machine and I'll have your 80,000 but I'm going to need my passport back." Amazingly he handed over my passport, but held on to the motorcycle registration.
I walked down the street to a corner store. Once inside I bought an ice cream in order to break a 50,000 note. I put together a wad of 80,000 Rupiah and carefully stashed the rest in my secret pocket. I walked back to the Korupsi Shack and entered with my half eaten ice cream. I handed over the money to the boss man who still looked as serious as sin. "What about the rest of the money?" he inquired.
Doing my best not to smile I replied, "I spent it on ice cream."
They knew that I was full of shit, but they both started laughing. Checkmate! (Well not exactly since I still had to fork out 80,000 Rupiah, but it was better than paying 200,000).
After giving me a short lecture on the dangers of not wearing a helmet, they handed over the bike registration and I was on my way.

Tips for Successful Korupsi Cop Negotiation
1. Always keep a pocket full of small bills
2. Keep your composure
3. Smile and use good humor
4. Use terms of respect i.e., Mr. Officer, sir
5. Try and make the cop laugh
6. Make it obvious you know the drill
7. Patience, patience, and more patience
8. If they don’t respond with good humor or a smile,
just pay the man what he wants and get the hell out of there!

Ok all you Hip Hop fans, take it back to '89, and pull out KRS-1's all time classic "Black Cop". Now drop the beat and replace words with my lyrical rendition:
*

Korupsi Cop

Indo Cop
Indo Cop-Indo Cop-Indo Cop
For robbing poor people
you are going to drop
You don't even get paid a whole lot
That's why poor people pay fine on spot

Take your M16-put it on lock!
Take my passport and put it on lock!
Looking for Bule when you walk down a block

Here in Indo you have the cop shack
If you pass by you gonna catch flak
They gonna tax you and search your pack


They're posted up on a Kuta block,
They're posted up on an Aceh block
In Kupang they getcha for your boards on top
See 'em lurking at the ferry dock
Ready for you with they're gun pon cock

Indo cop
Indo Cop-Indo Cop-Indo Cop

30 years ago, there were no Korupsi cops
They fought crime and
put honesty on top

Recently they turned greedy
Now they get rich off the poor and needy
Tourist you better take heed


Well after a week of Bali madness it was time for a vacation from our vacation. We were off to G-Land on the island of Java. Located in Alas Purwo National Park on Java's south eastern tip, G-land tops as one of the world's favorite destinations for traveling surfers.




*Denotes stock images utilized from internet (with permission of course).