Sumatra - One Moll's Fortress of Solitude

When Mr Bodyboard first suggested that we join his friends el Floppo and Mr Roughage in Indonesia as part of our world trip I was hesitant. By Indonesia he meant Sumatra and by Sumatra he meant Krui and by Krui he meant a surfing safari. Yes as in 'Let's go surfing now everybody's learning now (little know fact - The Beach Boys are a moll's Antichrist, their beautifully harmonised doctrine subliminally enters surfers minds and creates endless annoyances for molls. 'No Daz there's not two molls for every guy and you have to do more than just wink your eye to get this bikini clad beauty thank you very much!').

Eventually I was swayed by images of tropical jungle, endless white sand beaches with crystal clear water,a man-moll(Mr Roughage doesn't surf) and a promise from Mr Bodyboard that at least one portion of the day would be speant on non-surfing activities.

As I write this tropical jungle lines the dusty dirt road to our losman (bungalows) and from the viewing platform I can watch the sun set over the coral reef which is meters away. Mr Roughage has returned to Jakarta (although his few days as part of 'team moll' were full of vigilance and support) and I know Mr Bodyboard will take me swimming this afternoon.

So why is this trip so difficult for me?

Krui is still relatively isolated from tourists, and those who do make the difficult trek are almost purely groups of male surfers here from Australia on (often) a boys only surf trip. The lack of exposure to western women combined with the fact that this is a strict Muslim town (the call to prayer wakes us at 4am each morning) makes it difficult for a moll to move around.

Throughout my time here I hear of molls from other compounds who blatantly flout local cultural conventions, wearing bikinis or walking around by themselves, which results in rocks being or sexual aggression from young men. I am very careful with my dress and attitude so receive minimal flack (the worst - a kid shot me with his potato gun!!) but still find my world becomes smaller.

In the morning dawn is filled with the roar of motorbikes and wax being rubbed on boards as the men file out to live their dream of 10second barrels and endless glassy peaks (my equivalent excitement would come from spending the day with a monkey who could massage feet, imagine that!!! amazing!!! You could literally pay in peanuts!!! )

I wait alone in the compound, listening for the wave hunters return, reading or doing yoga in my room (Yoga must be done in my room unless I want a large crowd who could only be more judgmental if they had scorecards). As the best waves are at dawn and dusk Mr Bodyboard takes me out for 'walkies' during the middle of the day. A stroll into town, or a swim (fully clothed) at the beach.

One day, as another of the almost constant surfing based conversations discusses a new 'break' (non molls - it is a surf spot they are discussing, not their emotions in regards to a troubled relationship. ) I realize that for the duration of our time here, I am effectively off duty. I can't wait & watch on the beach un-chaperoned, the excess of surfers means I am not required to provide 'oooooooooohs and aaaaaaaaahs' during surfing monologues, I'm not even available as a bikini clad trophy gal. I realize there is only one path open to me. I relax into my holiday from molling.

Did an awesome wave trick? I don't care
Did two? Pffffft whatever.
I'm on holidays.

Mr Bodyboard is my moll for those mid day hours,oooohing and aaahing as I explain who is guilty in my trashy crime novel,cheering me on as I snorkel, and being my board short clad trophy that local girls make eyes at.

This is not to say it's all peaches and cream. I miss women desperately and fantasize about finding a rogue pack of permed haired fluro bikini wearing molls on the beach, lying together puberty blues style. I see myself opening with 'Do any of yous know a good waxer?' or some other witty statement. They would welcome me, and braid my hair or squeeze my blackheads.

Why I am choosing to fantasize about trashy grade 7 molls is completely beyond me. It's like I'm dying of thirst in the desert and my mirage is of peanut butter. But who really cares, I'm on holiday and my only concern is finding that sweet sweet massaging monkey......