Road Trip Through a Dreamland

As a twenty year old solo tripping through Indonesia, I neglected to do any research whatsoever. I quickly realized the way of the land upon arriving in Bali and it took me about half a day to realize it wasn’t for me. The constant babbling of massages, drugs, and tours in Kuta and Denpasar was enough to send me down to Uluwatu where I found an array of vegan cafes with western prices and hundreds of people paddling for the same wave. I had to get out of this paradise hellscape. After renting a motorbike I headed up the east coast and searched for a guitar shop. I finally found one down a Denpasar back alley and after an initial fright upon finding the owner asleep with a World War Two era sniper rifle, I left the urban sprawl with a bike and shitty guitar.

Getting used to the rules of the road or lack thereof took some time but I was soon out of the urban sprawl. I goofed around on the upper east coast for a few days and quickly found the quiet empty beaches I had in mind. What I failed to realize from my poor planning was that these beaches don’t get any of the south swells Bali is so known for. On a whim I hopped on a ferry to the neighboring Lombok and finally found the Indonesia I had dreamt up. To my luck a south swell was headed straight for desert point the next day. Because of the angle, the window would be quick, but I hoped to make it in time for some leftovers. Afterall, leftovers at Desert Point might be all time for a guy from Massachusetts.

Sitting in my homestay eating Mie Goreng for breakfast with some fellow travelers from India and Indonesia, I was informed that in taking my rented motorbike on the ferry from Bali to Lombok, I had broken some law or rule I had not known about. This added to my growing fear of corrupt Indonesian cops and cop impersonators looking for bribes. I put the thought in the back of my mind and headed into the interior of Lombok. Worlds different from the Hindu temples and tourism of Bali, Lombok had the Indonesian feel I was looking for. The call to prayer happened five times a day and the landscape was far more underdeveloped. People seemed to more or less be living traditional lives of fishing and farming apart from a few highly touristed areas. I beelined across the country and made it to Kuta, a little surf village and one of these aforementioned highly touristed zones of Lombok. I rented a board and booked a room online at Jamaica Lodge, a supposed homestay near Desert Point that displayed only photos of people pitching their tents up on a beach.

I began my drive along the southern coastal road, which winds in and out of tropical mountains and crystal clear coves. For three hours I skirted around muddy potholes and ditches, ascended up and over mountains, and took in the serene views around me. At points I'd be chased by laughing village kids, amused at my inability to steer around the potholes without falling over. On another stretch I had to drive on the side of the road as a farming family had taken up an entire stretch of it to dry their corn out on the pavement.

As I stopped at a hut overlooking a perfect right and left point break setup for some food and water, I had not seen a person for about an hour. I heard the bikes coming towards me with two people on each one, machetes in hand. My heart sank and since it was too quick for me to get on my bike, I just hoped for the best. They rode up to me and using their machetes to communicate they pointed to a cluster of trees. I just nodded my head, our two parties unable to understand each other. In seconds, one of the men climbed up a tree and whacked off some sugar cane for the group. In silence we shared the sweet snack and boost of energy. Moments later I was back on my way.

The last hour to Desert Point traverses the length of the peninsula the surf spot sits at the very end of. This stretch quickly transitioned to sketchy dirt roads and plenty of hazards to look out for. I finally made it to the edge of Lombok. Jamaica Lodge and Desert Point couldn’t be far. I awkwardly nosed around the tiny fishing village where I was supposed to be staying, asking anyone I could find about Jamaica Lodge. Everyone looked at me with blank stares and a look of distrust with what business I had being their quaint community. The village was situated between the ocean and a muddy lagoon and it reeked of drying fish and cow poop. The smell itself was making me not want to stay but it was getting dark and I needed to find a place to stay.

I gave up on Jamaica lodge and set out only to find the prize of my journey, Desert Point. With the swell expecting to fade out by morning, I just wanted to lay eyes on it. Without any more service, I just started guessing where Desert Point would be. I assumed it would be behind the evident mountain towering over the village so I took the sand path heading towards the beach. Huge portions had holes filled in with eaten corn. I tried to floor it through the corn and again fell off my bike and scraped my knees up pretty good. I kept on the path until it really just fizzled into nothing but tall grass and my bike was stuck deep in the loose sand.

What I did see looking up ahead were perfect reeling barrels just out of reach. This made me even more motivated to get there. I would later find out I was seeing the Impossibles end section of desert point. A fisherman foraging the tide pools came up to help me get my bike out of the sand and I booked it back for the village. I tried once more to ask for help in finding Jamaica lodge and I finally acquired a lead. I was sent to the back corner of the village where a kid my age sat by a collection of huts. Through google translate, he explained to me that Jamaica Lodge had burned down the year before and I told him I had nowhere to stay. He told me I could stay in one of his huts and he got me a key. When I opened the door there was just a dirty old mattress on the floor, no sheets, no blankets, no pillows, just a mosquito net above the bed. Happy to at least have a roof over my head for the night, I put my stuff inside and took my bike and board to find Desert Point for a possible session, right before it got too dark to see.

Through the process of elimination I took the last road I had not ventured on and sure enough it went up and over the mountain. This was by far the worst road I had been on so far. It was worse than most atv and dirtbike trails I’d been on and here I was with my backpack, surfboard, and a scooter. The smoke from the palm leaves burned my eyes and I slowly found the safest way to get through this steep and uneven stretch. I made it to the bottom dodging cows, goats, and chickens. At the end I finally found what I was looking for. I was surprised to find out Desert Point had its own little community. Lodging in the forms of huts and a small restaurant. There were quite a few foreigners there for the swell; all of us having ventured out into the wild for it. When a man offered for me to stay in one of his huts, I wished I hadn’t just left my stuff at the remnants of old Jamaica Lodge. I said yes but now I had to go get my stuff.

 I really thought I brought my key with me as I left my bag and board at the new spot but after the 30 minute drive over rocky terrain with less and less light, I arrived at Jamaica lodge with no key. What a great time to forget the key as I attempt to drive a bike, in the dark, over the sketchiest terrain I’ve ever ridden on. Then I had to drive back, get my key, head back to the fishing village, get my stuff, then head back once again. During my one night at Desert Point, I had to drive over this mountain road six different times, most of which were at night. By the end of it I had pretty much figured out the best way to go about it.

 I settled in for the night and woke up to the sound of barrelling lefts running off the reef. At sunrise, I paddled out with only one other guy. Everyone must have been sleeping off the swell I had mostly missed but the leftovers were plenty for me. We traded off head high waves until the swell all but fizzled out and we were left with the hot sun on our backs and palm smoke in our eyes. By midday I was already on my way back to Kuta, giving myself an earlier start than the previous day to ensure a safe arrival and time to stop along the way. If you ever find yourself in Lombok, take the road trip to Desert Point. It will be one of the most beautiful landscapes you’ll ever see. A road trip through a dreamland to one of the best lefts on the planet.