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Indonesia - East Side, Bali // Bali Hai Tiga

Killvan's Bali. A tale of contemplative time in a garden of insects and an
oily point break.


Far removed from the drunken bikini scene in Kuta, in fact, not even in the same realm, there are fourteen villages that can sustain contemplation. By a pond, under a bamboo structure, time is idle.

To be at peace in this wet air and enjoy the serenity of this paradise seemed impossible at the start. This wretched thick air perhaps an element left behind by Rangda and her witches. Up here in the jungle green the ocean is for a different time, so forget that thing we call surfing, we be somewhere else for just a moment.

An Eastern pocket of magic exists just like it once had in Keramas. A wave once patrolled by a farmer and his Javanese gun, non sympathetic to the zeitgeist at a guess, is today unguarded. A long period swell almost played a trick if you left your bag of patience back in Kuta, you'd most likely keep looking. Maybe Rangda and her witches has replaced the farmer, taking the form of long period swells.

Smooth and oily the ocean was a picture, until the horizon sends a pulse. Breathing under sets of waves marching in from the south, the point is alive. Gliding across these waves almost the best thing one could do on this day. Forget turns, forget complexity, just stay on the high line, hold the trim and glide.

A soft breeze neutralizes the heat as I sat calmly by the food garden. The air is alive, it is Animism, it is colourfu