9 – Hello Mister

Canggu – Uluwatu

I’ve been called many things in my time, – mate, buddy, pal, most in a general haze of bar-fuelled camaraderie. But, as I don’t frequent bars any more, most of the time my friends and associates call me by my name – Alister or Ali.

Now we’re back in Indonesia – I am reacquainted with the local greeting – Hello Mister!

It’s a cheerful, curiously inquisitive opening line – usually followed by “Where you going?” or “Where you from?”

There is a simplicity to life here – sure, Bali is a tourist trap and there are numerous pitfalls, scams and exploitations waiting for the unprepared naive traveller, but the locals in general are lovely people – open-hearted and genuine.

The first thing that sets my rip-off radar blinking is when someone calls be chief, boss or worst yet – my friend! I’ve had this all over the world, and without fail, when someone I don’t know says “Come take a look my friend” my hackles raise involuntarily and I place a hand, palm out and say “no thanks!”

Of course, taxi drivers get a bad wrap everywhere, but when one is saying “yes boss” with every breath while taking the long route to somewhere I know, that too gets on my nerves. But such is life.

Anyway – I digress.

We spent the last week in a quiet backwater – Uluwatu. In stark contrast to the black beaches of Canggu, we are surrounded by cliffs of limestone, and jagged boulders sharp as razors stick out of the azure sea. Here, we find peace, solitude and adventure.

Once again we rent a motorbike and revel in the quiet country lanes – sticking below a restrained 60km/h we explore the coast for the most promising locations to continue our shooting exploits.  The two we frequent most are Pantai Suluban, and Pantai Dreamland, and they couldn’t be more unalike. Suluban hides below a steep cliff, reached only by a narrow, precipitous trail that bounces down in huge steps. A broad swathe of golden sand leading out to pristine coral – then, off to the right, sheets of limestone, eroded into channels, pots, holes and wells. A delightful spot, but treacherous too.

Pantai Suluban

Dreamland on the other hand is a party beach, equally stunning in its shape and form, but this time, the cliff is topped by a club, and the strange juxtaposition of shooting landscape images to the accompaniment of the latest beats at rave volume is an experience.

Sunsets there are a pantomime with a cast of tourists – the clichéd poses, peace signs, antics and bravado – an unusual social counterpoint to my own emotions and expression.

As the earth rotates away, leaving the sun behind us, the skies darken, the people we’d shared our light show with fade away too – off no doubt for a quick shower and change before drinks, dancing and romance. The stars begin to wink again, time once again slows down, our meaningful hours meaningless. Lightning flashes angrily on the horizon, the air is alive.

Pantai Dreamland

The alarm beeps at 3am, we rise quietly and make our way past the pool and the rooms of sleeping guests. The noise of the bike is blaring in the pre dawn quiet – the magic hours in the dead of night, when everything is possible. We make our way through the labyrinth of back roads towards Dreamland. Frogs leap on the road, a lizard lays flat in the headlights. Jungle Nightjars take off in flight – wild birds with huge eyes and heads, crepuscular hunters, the demons to moths.

The full moon teases us from behind clouds – the waves surge towards us in the half dark. Juanli and I work quietly, compose and expose – checking, checking. Experience to extremes, breathing deep the thick, rich ocean air. Bali has a personality suited to all – we just pick our times and readjust our body clocks to revel in peace – just us, the waves, the rocks and the available light.