More losers than winners

The Press

Golf is not the only drawcard on Jakarta courses, and, as PHIL HAMILTON again discovers, surfing fortunes can be even more fickle in the bay of an Indonesian island.

Getting out for a casual round of golf has just got harder for married foreigners living in Jakarta. It's not that there is any shortage of options, with a variety of resort-style courses sprinkled around the city. But a recent case has raised the suspicions of wives over what seems a relatively blameless pastime.

Jakarta has been agog over the case in which a prominent businessman was murdered, apparently at the behest of the head of the corruption eradication unit over a golf caddy they were both sleeping with.

All the courses around the city seem to follow the same principle when it comes to caddies: make them young and pretty females.

That has been exposed by the murder case, with many ex-pats now bemoaning the fact that they can't head out for a round without their wives thinking they are more interested in the caddies than the golf.

And with a host of classy courses, they could be forgiven for wanting to play a lot of golf.

Jakarta would be a long way down the list of most golfers looking for an overseas jaunt, but that is a mistake.

The courses are in the class of Canterbury's Terrace Downs, Taupo's Wairakei International, and Jacks Point, near Queenstown.

But despite this, they're relatively cheap, being similar to the prices you would pay for green fees at a good course in New Zealand but with a cart and caddy thrown in.

Emeralda is the first course to which we take our pretty average games. It has three nines, the river and lake, both designed by Arnold Palmer, and the plantation, which is the work of Jack Nicklaus.

Spectacular hole follows spectacular hole. Particularly memorable is a par three over rice paddies with scarecrows. Unfortunately, our golf is not in the same class. Triple bogey follows triple bogey, with the occasional double.

Still, by the end, I have three pars to my name and a grand total of 109, which is enough to pip my golfing partner, Nick, a University of Canterbury graduate now living in Jakarta, by one shot. Victory is sweet.

The next course with which we inflict ourselves is Gunung Geulis, in Bogor, in the hills above Jakarta.

A good choice, it has the most spectacular hole I've ever seen, a 385-metre par four, where you tee off 100 metres above the fairway over terraced gardens.

Gunung Geulis proves the most enjoyable, but that is because my game has one of its rare "on" days, sneaking under 100. The clubhouse has the added bonus of a spectacular giant spa pool overlooking the course.

Riverside is the final course we sample, this time with a couple of Californian surfers living in Jakarta. Mobile phones are almost required accessories on the first few holes, and plenty of sledging.

One notable exception from the other courses is the bizarre get-up - the caddies wear pastel tie-dye monstrosities. Still, it doesn't stop the single Californian from taking a shine to his caddy, going so far as to jack up a date for that night. Maybe those ex- pats' wives have a point.

Full wetsuits are not something you expect to see when surfing in the tropics of Indonesia.

But at one infamous break, they are required equipment, along with helmets and boots, as protection from the notoriously shallow coral reef.

It's called One Palm, and breaks in a big bay on Panaitan Island in the Sunda Strait between Java and Sumatra, not far from Krakatoa.

As well as being infamously shallow, it's also extraordinarily fickle, needing a big swell from exactly the right direction to get the 800m left- hander working.

You cannot stay on the land, because it's a national wildlife reserve, meaning you kip on boats, which is fine for those who can afford the big- budget surf charters, but in this case, it means bunking down on the deck of a fishing boat.

It all sounds a bit grim, doesn't it, so what am I doing here?

Well, the first thing you should know is I probably have no business surfing at One Palm.

It's a wave on which even the best can get in serious trouble, and I am a lot closer to the worst than the best.

I am known to get into trouble at head-high beach breaks let alone triple overhead waves unloading on shallow reefs.

But while the others heading out there have loftier aims, mine are simply to paddle in from a surf voluntarily, rather than be sent in by the wave.

This has happened each of the four times I surfed One Palm on previous trips. Variously, the causes were: snapped nose, foot swollen to twice its normal size, snapped board and busted-out fins.

I'm lucky to even be here for this unexpected swell. I was due to fly back to Christchurch, but was able to extend my trip thanks to the co- operation of my lovely wife and ever- obliging Singapore Airlines.

Unfortunately, we end up with the dodgiest of all the boats. It stinks and has more cockroaches than a Sydney doss-house.

The tiny cabin has space for one comfortably, so I choose the deck over getting cosy with another fella.

After a few Anker beers and sleeping pills, the cockroaches can tap-dance on my face all night and I won't feel a thing.

As we round the bend into the bay, the first feeling is one of disappointment. The waves are tiny, just head high.

Far too small to surf at this break, it's just begging for trouble.

But that hasn't stopped the crew of a charter boat. We barely see them again and find out that most of them were too cut up to surf again.

The swell is small most of the day, but about two hours before dark, it begins to pulse, with the odd bigger set showing.

My first surf is a qualified success. No injuries, but not too many good waves either. It's not consistent enough for the six or so surfers out.

Two-wave sets every 20 minutes means just one set wave per surfer each hour. It's hard going and I make the mistake of going for some in- betweeners, which are the waves most likely to do you damage.

In this case, it's my board which suffers, so the wave chalks up its fifth victory. The next day dawns, and the swell has stuck in there, although it's still not the full noise.

The crew I'm travelling with are mainly Jakarta ex-pats who live and work there solely to surf One Palm whenever it breaks.

That familiarity breeds contempt, and on this occasion it's been decided it's not real Palm, because it's not big enough and only the first couple of sections are breaking about 150m to 200m and mostly barrel. So they decide to get drunk and bar the surfing.

What luxury to be able to turn your back on a wave with 10-second stand-up barrels on offer.

Eventually, many beers and vodkas into a heroic drinking session, one of them heads out sans wetsuit, helmet and boots.

But he is lucky and meets one of the Australian grommets paddling back, and simply changes into his gear mid-paddle.

After waxing up my new board, I head out.

What I find is hilarious. Normally a charger in big nasty surf, the Aussie is a blithering mess, so drunk that he can hardly see, let alone surf. As luck would have it (good for me and bad for him), the swell seems to peak over the next hour, with consistent double overhead waves pouring through.

He refuses to go in because of the bagging he faces if he fails to get barrelled. So for an hour I get the pick of the waves.

It wouldn't be fair to say I dominate too many wobbly drops, dodgy turns and strangely few barrels. My new board is too fast for me. I can't seem to stay in the barrel.

The Aussie, after a few early mishaps, even jags a couple of good ones and gets one screamer of a barrel.

As I paddle back to the boat after filling my boots, I'm pretty happy. There are plenty of waves and no damage to me or the board. A first.

But as I pass my board up to one of the blokes, I see a horrible sight - a fin and fin plug have been snapped out. The wave wins again.

Phil Hamilton flew to Jakarta courtesy of Singapore Airlines, which flies direct from Christchurch to Singapore five days a week. From there it has regular connections to Jakarta, Padang and Denpasar.