It never rains, but it pours

Day four on Belitung arrived a little earlier than I’d hoped. In Pantai Kelayan there really is very little to do on an evening. I’d sat up in the bar area until 8pm reading Sherlock Holmes stories while drinking a couple of large bottles of Bintang but, in the absence of anyone to talk to and the fact that I was getting up at 6.30am to play golf, I had an early night.

I’d nodded off a few times during the day and once my head hit the pillow I realised I was ready for sleep. Assuring myself of a peaceful night due to the mosquito netting (I’d checked and double checked for any ‘rogue’nyamuk, finding none) I was out like a light.

I can tell you what a volcanic eruption feels like. I can tell you what a small earthquake feels like. I had no idea what it is to experience a hurricane and I had even less idea what it is to experience a hurricane in a wooden shack with a tin roof...and hardly a solid wooden shack either. Dropping off to sleep, the noises of animals in the rafters, what sounded to me like rats preparing for some rat olympics, hadn’t  bothered me at all. I felt safe, cocooned in my mosquito netting, with two bolsters to remind me of Yohanna. Interestingly I’ve never heard any annecdotal evidence that a mosquito net will protect you from having the building surrounding you ripped apart as at around 1.30am that’s pretty much what i thought was happening. I say ‘around’ as my phone was charging,and nowhere within easy grasp to check the time.

I lay there for a few moments considering my situation. Having walked up the wooden steps to my cottage, I knew it had more in common with the second little pig’s house from the childrens’ story. I also knew from the noise outside that it was either one bloody big wolf or a storm of epic proportions..deciding on the latter, I worked out that I probably had two options. One, the roof would collapse on me and they’d find my corpse with a slightly undecided look on my face or two, I should get my ass outside and see what was happening.

One look told me that yes it was a big storm. Rain was lashing the place and the trees were bending in the howling wind but there was no sign of anyone. No rallying cry to warn of an impending Tsunami, no sign of people huddled in the doorways of the other shacks and at this point I realised this was probably nothing special if you lived here 24/7. Indonesia sits in an area known as the Ring of Fire, an area continually pounded by all manner of Acts of God and so it was with that little reassurancethat  I went back to bed and had a semi restless night, listening to the symphony of raindrops landing on the metal roof competing with the rats’ 100m sprint final.

My alarm went off at 6.15, a reminder to get up and go play golf but the rain was still thrashing down outside so I reset it for 7.30 and went back to my dreams. New surroundings and new sounds do not always make for the most comfortable nights sleep.