My balance was being tested as I stood with only my left leg on a small slippery rock, and then attempting to stretch my other out to a boulder over an area that wasn't within my bipedal reach, well, that was just silly. As I landed in a small shallow rock pool on my thinly padded behind, water spraying in all directions, I could here the scuttling retreat of the resident crustaceans as they scurried nervously away and I imagined their annoyance at being so rudely moved along.
Rock pool adventures had been a big part of my childhood growing up as my father and I would most weekends head to our local beach and enquire within all crevasses, nooks and crannies. Whenever in Bali I loved doing the same from time to time and noted this day that I was by far the oldest of the rockpool adventurer brigade as I had passed many young Balinese boys engaged in this very same endevour, ceasing their exploration only briefly to offer the obligitory "hello mister".
The rocky bay swept ahead of me for a good couple of kilometres and as I had fruit and water in my backpack and the sun was still low over the morning horizon I could look forward to a good many hours this morning inspecting the damp retreats of the craggy terrain for marine life before it became too hot.
Rounding an enormous boulder that stood between me and any further rock hopping up the coast I came to a very small half moon beach which was maybe only fifty feet in length and it was completely smooth, devoid of anything except one solitary set of foot prints that had started at the base of a very steep climb up the cliffs. I wondered firstly who could climb down such a slope, and secondly why the tracks that had led into the water and not led back out. All was revealed as I spied a man thirty metres out in the water standing on a raised rock platform that left three quarters of his frame above sea level. He was fishing.
Feeling thirsty I thought I would taint the purity of this idylic little beach with the imprint of my bum and take some refreshment from my water and bananas. I thought the little man fishing would give me a relaxing interest as I did so. Sitting there enjoying my breakfast I watched as he rhythmically tossed and retrieved his line, aware that from his view point he had probably watched my path up the waterline and most likely had even seen my poor balancing act. What a cumbersome oaf I must have appeared to him.
After fifteen minutes or so of watching this languid scene I was packing my water back into my bag when I noticed the old man was now facing me with a look of interest. I raised my hand in acknowledgement of him and prepared to set off on further scrutiny of pooled water when he pointed to an area back toward the rock face behind me. Turning I began to seek out the object of his directions and saw nothing but his footprints and the rock wall. I turned back toward him holding my arms out and shrugging my shoulders in the universal signal of "I don't know." He gesticulated with more vigour and importansce so I trapsed over to where his footprints ended in a small outcrop of rocks at the base of the cliff. There were a small pair of thongs covering a fishing hand line with hook and sinker attatched and nothing else. Was this chap asking me to join him in the water to fishor wanting me simply to bring him another line? I took the hand line and raised it in the air and pointed first to it then myself. He nodded repeatedly with an accompanying big smile and I had to conclude this was in fact an invitation to go fishing.
Placing my sandals and pack with his thongs I walked to the waters edge and just be sure re enacted the question of joining him with which his response was an inviting wave of his arm to stand with him. The water always warm I waded out to stand with the little old man. I say little because he was no taller than the height of my arm pit.He had dark leatherry skin that was traced with creases and folds that had been cemented by salt and sun and bright blue eyes that danced and sparkled with life. I thought he looked more Javanese than anything with more angular features and darker skin than the balinese. His balding head had two tufts of grey hair that stuck out from the side of his temples, and it looked to me as if he could flap these tufts at any time and just fly right away. He wore nothing but what looked like half a brown sarong wrapped around his waist and brought back between his legs to tuck in at the front at his belly where his dress had begun. Hanging off one hip was a little pouch that held a few shellfish which he now produced and baited my line with.
We didn't catch any fish but we stood there for two hours that day, bar me going to my pack for a banana each and some water, not saying a word to each other and only communicating with hand gestures and smiles. There were a lot of smiles. Just simply being in the presence of this old man was so calming and relaxing I felt I would like to see the sun set with us still there but that wasn't possible as I had to fly home tomorrow and that meant heading back to Kuta tonight.
So if ever you are walking along the rocks one day do stop and look for a little old man fishing.If you do see him It may not be the little old man I know but I have a feeling give him the chance and he will welcome you into his world for a little while anyway.