Sunrise Circus

My internal alarm clock went off while it was still dark. In spite of repeated attempts there was no going back to sleep. Tired of tossing and turning, I decided to walk to the beach and watch sunrise. The side street, usually bustling with foot traffic and the occasional motorcycle, was empty and silent. Even the two-lane street along the beachfront was still. The moment I exited the hotel, I could hear the surf crashing a few hundred meters away.

Entering the 24 hour convenience store, the chime woke the clerk. Armed with the elixir of dawn - a strong coffee - I crossed the street to the beach and sat down against a palm tree to watch nature’s colors unfold. The first shafts of light sprayed the fluffy clouds that hung low on the horizon in soft shades of pink. For a few short minutes the colors shift fluidly before the sun crests the horizon and daylight dominates.

The beach is nearly void of people. I spot a few Indonesian men sitting off to my right; they appear drunk. To my left, a lone foreigner sits propped against a palm tree listening to his headphones. Behind, where the beach meets the sidewalk, a couple of vendors are setting up for the day. The morning surfers have yet to shake off the excesses of the previous night and the beach break is empty. I couldn’t help but smile to myself and soak up the serenity; a rare commodity in this town.

The serenity stopped when one of the bleary-eyed men from the nearby group staggered over and sat down beside me.

“Sorry, way you from?” he asked in heavily accented slurred speech. The smell of cheap rice whisky floated in the cloud of air that followed his words.

“Canada,” I said quietly, avoiding eye contact in hopes of discouraging further conversation. The message was not received, however, and he started to blather on. He tried his best, as drunks often do, to speak deliberately but the combination of accent, booze and vocabulary left him short. In painstaking detail, I heard about his West Papuan origins, the troubles in his country and how the army walked around with guns shooting people. The only savior, according to my new friend, was Australia, America or the European Union. He hoped they would help bring peace.

Why I always attract the crazy people is a mystery to me. It could be my easy-going nature or, perhaps, I am one of them. I may never know. Nevertheless, I wished him and his country luck but he still did not get the message. He continued his slurred story until a boy from his group approached and tried to take him away. Brushing the boy away with a grand drunken sweep of the hand, he lost his train of thought and started over from the beginning.

“You already said that,” I said gruffly. He got the message and stumbled away.

One sip of coffee later he was replaced by the boy. This lonely character launched into his life story. He came from Timor to work and study languages, hoping to work with tourists. By day he worked in a clothing store and by night he was a dancer in a show. I gave up listening and watched the ocean.

As he in turn rambled on, a tiny woman interrupted and introduced herself as Maria. She, at least, spoke English and was not drunk, so I shifted my attention to her, hoping the boy would get the hint. After the usual questions, she told me of her two sons and family in Jakarta. The boy kept interrupting, but I ignored him and answered Maria’s questions. After several attempts to regain my attention, I asked if his classes taught conversation etiquette. The comment flew over his head.

“Sorry, but I don’t like women. I like men,” he said.

“Good for you,” I said, “I hope you find one” turning to Maria. He mumbled something and wandered off.

“Western men are much better than Asian men,” Maria said. “They can love someone from a different class or education. Not in Asia; men can never marry across class. A western man could marry a prostitute like me and it would be fine,” she said.

As I digested this, Maria continued. She told me she had been working all night long, but still had lots of power.

“Do you want massage? Or something else?” she asked with a mischievous smile.

“No thanks, Maria,” I said, “I just came to try and enjoy a quiet sunrise.”

We sat in silence for a few minutes before she excused herself and wandered off in the direction of the other foreigner. I walked across the street for another coffee and sat once more hoping for a clean start.

After a few minutes, the first bleary-eyed Papuan man approached and started again.

“Please,” said, “I just want to drink my coffee and enjoy the dawn. No offence, but, leave me alone.”

His bloodshot eyes displayed the exact amount of time it took to process the request.

“Good bye from West Papua,” he managed before turning to leave.

As he staggered away I could not help but laugh at the fickleness of fate. I had come for the peace of dawn but found myself in the center of a small sunrise circus. The waves continued to crash as I left the beach and town was springing to life. By the time I was half way to the hotel, I could no longer hear the ocean and the street was becoming filled with foot traffic.

Copyright Tim Morch, 2006