“Keith’s Asian Odyssey” – August 12, 2004 to February 14, 2005.
Keiths Biography
My name’s Keith, the red kangaroo, I was born on Australia Day (January 26) 1970, I stand over two metres tall and can put a man on the ground with one good hit, not that I get into it, we’re pacifists really, us big reds.
As I like to say, ‘the world is Keith’s Oyster’, and recently I left the country on a travel in South-East Asia and India. It is a real eye-opener for me to compare and contrast the Asian culture with our own fundamentally euro-centric and conservative lot.
This is the story of my “Tour of Duty”, surfing the breaks and climbing mountains in Indonesia, tracing the war histories of Thailand, Cambodia and Vietnam and Laos on
"the great eastern grand prix circuit" and generally crossing paths with a cast of thousands,
I hope you enjoy the read.
With a little trepidation I was loaded onto a Garuda airlines flight bound for Indonesia, though we weren’t flying Qantas, I had literally become the flying kangaroo they talk about in their advertising and quite honestly it was a little scary to be lifting off the terra-firma, more than the average bounding step I usually take. Though I was stuck in the cargo hold I could feel every one of those 30,000 odd feet as we rose above the ground, and the exhilaration of anticipation kept my nostrils flaring until we touched down again.
The first stop on my tour of duty was Bali, where I landed on a hot August day, to be greeted by a thousand unfamiliar faces and a scene unlike anything I had witnessed before.
Bali as you might know is a Hindu outpost in a Muslim-majority country, which makes it distinctly different in its take on Indonesian life. As a major tourist destination since the 1970’s for Australians in search of sun, surf and cheap everything (call it our Hawaii), the relationship we have with the Balinese is based on a shared sense of humour and an easy-going approach to life.
The bond was strengthened, all-be-it under tragic circumstances, by the bomb blast which ripped through two nightclubs in the tourist drag of Kuta on October 12, 2002.
This act of terror by Muslim extremists galvanized the vast cultural differences in Indonesia and most tellingly it increased the paranoia about the agenda of terrorists who showed no mercy in killing not only non-Muslims but their fellow-countrymen.
To the credit of these people they have worked through the trauma of such an event by getting on with business, which they are exceedingly good at, though I found it hard to witness my fellow people grinding them into the ground to save fifty cents on a pair of thongs, etc, etc, but this is all part of the deal I suppose.
The surf at Kuta is as flat as a pancake mostly, hardly a surfers paradise. So I headed out to the mythical break Uluwatu for a surf. This spot is infamous for a difficult paddle through the rip, which plagues the steep cliffs of the area. I actually managed to catch some waves in the gentle 3 to 4 foot conditions, and better still managed to paddle back into the cave without being pounded on the rocks. On the way out there on a scooter I copped a fifty thousand rupiah fine for running a red light, I swear I didn't see it, still haven’t, but try telling the traffic cops. They love a few tourist dollars to line the pockets particularly as the locals don’t slow down for anything.
Also went down to Jimbarran Bay, the seafood capital of Bali, where huts rub shoulders on the beach, as the fishing fleet, in a blaze of lights, is doing much the same out at sea. The spread is sumptuous and all for next to nothing, while the highlight is the wandering troubadours that drift up and down the sand entertaining the punters with some scintillating interpretations from the classic rock canon.
Since that night another bomb went off on this beach killing people from my hometown of Newcastle. This tragedy highlighted the rather arbitrary and callous pattern of the terrorists; they pick tourist targets but their not averse to killing their own people to make their point
My travelling companion for the Indo journey wanted to learn to surf. Being from Ireland, where water temperatures are, shall we say brisk and the waves of a considerable size, Bali is much more inviting as a school playground.
We headed over to Nusa Lembongan to stay with Ketuk and Sons in their Warung (small restaurant) and home; the fish they cook is a special, and their hospitality a pleasure. We took the executive suite and settled in for a week of Makan Tidur, Makan = Food, Tidur = Sleep, it literally translates from Indonesian as 'to do nothing', and is now firmly entrenched as my new mantra.
We found a good spot down on the beachfront for beeroclock sunset and peanuts each day, had a great time snorkelling on the reefs around the volcanic island Nusa Penida and caught the festivities of the Barong Dan festival which is like a Christmas for the gods, where the locals dress in traditional costumes and celebrate with music and dance.
I am not a fan of the wave at Shipwrecks [a.k.a. shit-fights] and unfortunately, in my capacity as surfing mentor to my friend I was most negligent in letting her out near the break where she was unceremoniously pounded by the sets and I managed no more than a few half waves. Thankfully with some coaxing she forgave me for my indiscretion as teacher. Needless to say the boards were parked for the rest of our time on the island.
In the next instalment read about my experience of climbing a mountain on Lombok ...................
