Early every morning a 10 minute paddle over a patchwork quilt of seaweed rectangles would see us at 'Shipwreck', a bowling righthander. A hectic drop into and through a shallowed bowl and cover up to a slashing top turn, and a second decent into the pit and a run into the channel with the reef streaking by like a centreline. Comfortably warm, the water is so translucent every feature of the reef appears just inches away. A magic morning dawning on this exotic scenery and the sharpness of the reef becomes only a myth in my surfing dream. When the crowd got intense, a 200-metre paddle south gave us a consistent close shave with the reef at 'Razors'. Every wave, incredibly easy barelling-run-for-your-life wave that left one limp with pleasure or the pounding.

An afternoon half hour jukung outrigger trip and Mark, Pete and I were enjoying another sectioning reef point. At the southwest tip of neighbouring Nusa Ceningan. Remote, yet just the other side of the island and no one else on our spot, just ask the boat jockeys.

The next morning after our dawn patrol at 'Shipwreck', we chartered and tripped north and east to snorkel the spectacular reefs southwest of Toyapakeh on the sister island of Nusa Penida. All too soon our time on Lembongan was up, the swell had diminished considerably. A final surf and walkabout before being collected by our charters mute skipper. Spot on time and from the steps of the Mainski Inn. He is deaf but not dumb and still to take us for another ride!

Steadily Bali's Sanur coastline grew in stature. Soon we were in the midst of the throb of Asian tourist chaos. The Sanur and Kuta Beach scene differ - More Asian tourists here, fishing boats differed, we saw fighting roosters, found a restaurant serving bratwurst and sauerkraut and rice paddies down the side streets. Pete and I stayed over to explore this town and coastline. Plenty of surf but being the southeast facing coastline, the predominant winter dry season trade-winds were onshore, picking up from 10am onwards. Winter is hotter here than the monsoon summers. Still plenty of surfable early morning waves with no crowds.

In a country where we experienced, saw and heard of no violent crimes, an anachronism exists. The wealthy and the international community live behind high walls topped with razor wire coils. Is there a dark side after all? I can only assume that a cruel, fierce, bloody streak exists as evidenced by exploding violence presently in East Timor. Huge population and poverty stresses pent up by religious and ceremonial conduct, beach soccer games, rooster fighting and family restraints, burst forth in times of civil disobedience, elections and political strife and when the hardships become unbearable. Or is it simply the defence line of 'the haves' against 'the have-nots" and petty crime. Talk among tourists and expatriates is of leaving before the elections.

We were sad for the moment. Mark and Bronwyn were homeward California-bound. More so the swell was dwindling by the day and the internet charts were not promising. We hired Made and his now Toyota Kijang (Venture Bus) for the day. At 180 000 Rupiah, a driver, vehicle, petrol and assurance of getting to where you want to go from 8am to 9pm, is a steal. It's often difficult to estimate how low to bargain because one must strike a balance, value for money and money for services rendered. The matter of pride, friendship and loyalty comes into the equation. Also at 1300 Rupiah to the Rand its almost always a good score. His smattering of English was just enough to communicate, hilarious and sometimes frustrating, just another spice to the adventure. Made was 27 but had never been the 80km up the west coast to Medewi. Not a problem! He asked everyone and anyone. By 11am we were there. Twisting and narrow roads, down and up numerous river valleys, in and out of the rice paddies, coconut and banana plantations, small towns, endless "warungs' along the roadsides selling anything from food and drink to petrol to plastic litre bottles. Densely populated, tropical and heavily forested, the absence of game and even birds is very noticeable. The only consistent and often visible "wildlife" were the panty clad or naked ladies washing and frolicking in the murkiest rivers and canals seemingly oblivious to the buzz of scooters and their screeching hooters, the droning trucks and trumpeting horns and intrigued western eyes and throbbing jack hammers.

Suddenly we burst upon a small parking lot halfway up a boulder point. Black lava sand beaches stretched both north and south like a highway separating the foaming rollers of the turquoise sea from the verdant palmed fringes of the rich brown loamy soils of the hinterland. Best of all, 4-foot glassy swells beckoned us. Medewi is at the bottom east end of a deep cente channel of the Bali Stait - a certain wave. That morning airport lefts were barely 2-foot. We surfed until 3pm.

This sectioning left fun wave - even Made was having a great day spectating and chatting up the locals. At the bottom of the point is a beach harbour of fishing boats and always an interesting hive of colourful fisherfolk activity. These long empty beaches must certainly produce breaks of surfable quality.

We headed south and found Balian tucked under palm covered hills and watched over by grazing buffalo-type cows with the biggest , roundest brown eyes that nurtured Pete's zinc affliction. "A" frame peeled off a shallow river mouth north of Ketuts Losm.

It was getting late, 60 kilometres is a great distance in this truck, bus and scooter infested coastal highway. Travellers are held to ransom by loping dogs and oinking pigs involved in their own life skirmishes but miraculously escape the roadkill syndrome of men behind wheels.

Corruption loomed ahead. We had turned off at Kangkong for Canggu and were reined in by a rabble of cops. Made scuffled and gestured, scurried back and forth with licence and permits, and for what reason I asked? "Oh! No worries", with a smile and scowl of contempt, "corrupt policeman are squabbling. He came back, 10,000 rupiah was the "fine - bribe". Already the next prey was flittering in this web. I wondered what the American longboarder and his lady would have to cough up.

Canggu as small but the sunset over East Java was impressive. The high humidity and smokey atmosphere results in fireball dusks. This day was another gem in the tiara of my travels.

The next morning arose - my mind still crowded with images of yesterday. Infinite blue sunny skies ruled over the placid sea. Tufts of cloud on the distant inland mountains promised respite from the heat of the beach. Plan B - it was time for a bus trip. Pete had booked a "mathage" with the toothless one on the beach - that's his story! I chose "The magic Northern Tour". 7am to 7pm in a luxury airconditioned bus with 40 other real tourists. Not my cuppa tea but what an experience. We had an excellent guide, knowledgeable, fluent and informative, as purposeful as a grade 1 teacher and kamikaze pilot. It was a pleasure to receive intelligent answers and when Granny America complained about the cool aircon not being cold another bus was ordered and changed into after lunch. The surface chaos that rules here is just the way these people do things. After all, the Italian Marco Polo got to Asia before the rest of Europe! The fact is things get done and all with a smile and humility even for the prickliest tourist bozo. That's why Bali has more tourists than the Great South Africa. You guessed it - because of attitude, aptitude and application.

The tour followed a circular route from the swampy, hot lowlands of Kuta and Sanur, around the mayhem of Denpasar to the cloudy cool heights of mountains, towns, markets in central Bali and Ulun Banu. This is a major ceremonial temple on the shores of Lake Brata below the lofty peak of Mount Catour. Four types of temples satisfy religious aspirations. Large ceremonial temples for special occasions, daily public ones so numerous you can't help but walk into them, the businessman's hideaway on every shop-infested street corner. Then there are the family temples in backyards, on rooftops, in the rice paddies and family compounds. Another curious thing revolving around 4 - the names are so common because there are only 4 used in public:- Wayan - the oldest child, Made - the second born, Nyoman - the 3rd and Ketut - the 4th. After 4 it doesn't get amputated…. It just starts over again from Wayan.... Then there's the second name - to differentiate between Ketut, Ketut and Ketut! Perhaps this is why the locals remember names and faces. Don't fleetingly promise a street vendor you'll be back to buy - he'll corner you two weeks later and demand the sale!

The Japanese were more than just terrifying buddies for the Balinese. They constructed many dams and hundreds of kilometres of canals. This ingenuity allows for 2-3 crops of rice per year making Bali the only nett exporter of rice in Indonesia. Seems some Jappies were useful chappies and engineers of note. Bali also known as one of the spice islands under the horrific Dutch acquisition and rule of the 17th and 18th century. Our next stop included a guided tour through leafy domain and taste initiation of the local products still on the plant. By now we were in the clouds and heavy rain on the decent to the northern coast. Endless switch-backs and turns, I feared the bus wouldn't negotiate through coffee plantations, shack dwellings hanging precariously on muddy slopes, to the narrow dry vineyard and sugar cane bedecked northern coastal plain. We arrived in the old capital of Singaraja, which boasts a bygone air of opulence. The sea here is permanently placid and the resorts cater for water-sports and snorkelling. The return journey west through Serit, over just as imposing mountain scenery pas by me in a blur as I'd already lost my powers of concentration and the tension span of hefty tasty buffet lunch. I didn't possess sufficient megabits to store all the inputs but do recall slipping past rural scenery of Antosari and Tabanan homewards bound. I wish I'd interspersed more such trip in my schedule but the call of the surf is culturally limiting. The best part of this trip was that I'd scored it from Blasi who just didn't have the time - Ag shame. Snooze or should I say booze you lose!

Sometimes we have to face reality - when there is no surf! So I went shopping for the folks back home which sounds simple enough but you see there are no prices marked on the goods in the street markets. There are a dozen or more shops in every block selling, more or less, the same things. The asking price is hugely inflated, two to three times, and it's handy to keep a note of previous items bought or bargained for at the shop. A strange habit of these shopkeepers is when they've made a sale, is to wipe other wares with money taken. The chant offered at the same time could be to encourage more success or, perhaps, to ward off bad deals. Personally, shopping is not a great rewarding experience and a day of it is confusing and tedious. I found it fun when done in spells. Be sure to shake out what you buy before you pack because the local cockroaches all want to emigrate.

It was time to pack and be packed, face the flight and the homecoming. Singapore is a stop when you've been to Bali and certainly worth going to town if not to shop then just to strike an equilibrium. The excess of dirt, dilapidation and disorganisation are totally countered to the extreme. Of course, for a surf adventure and a bargain, Bali is hard to beat. The long hours in the plane and the monotonous roar lend time and concentration to the highlights and the disappointments of the past two weeks. Surely I'll be back.

Dat's all folks - Stay tuned for the next Travelogue.... Watch this space!

Read episode 3

   In the Travelogue Series - The Namibian Safari of '98