(Bol gets up to pay his bill when a Brazilian surfer sitting at a nearby table in the warung starts talking to him) Random Brazilian: Hey man, thanks for drop in on me today. What?
That was the best wave of my life and you go in front of me. You get so many good waves in the morning already. (Bol approaches the man's table) No, you get too many waves this morning. You don't like it, go home. Go back to your fucking country.
(The man and his two friends sit in stunned silence. They sink their heads to their plates of fried noodles and eat sullenly. Bol returns to pay the ibu in the kitchen, leaves a tip, and rejoins Usman at their table.)
That's the shit I'm talking about. Some tourists think they're local.
You coming back for the next swell?
Maybe because they camp here when it's flat. They stay here long time, they think they live here.
I don't know. Maybe.
When you go to Hawaii you see everyone is always careful and give a lot of respect. But here I don't see any respect from tourists. They think they own the place. So many people here, they think they stay in Bali for six months and then they're like, oh, I live in Bali! But, fuck, it doesn't matter how long a bule lives in Indonesia â€“ five months, fifteen years â€“ you will never be a local.
Gonna be good. Because the tide very low. Good tides. (Bol calls over to his new Brazilian friend at the opposite table) Hey, Sao Paolo! You gonna be here on the next swell?
(At first the man ignores Bol's goading, but his pride has been wounded and he can't help informing Bol of just who exactly he's talking to) Of course I'm surfing here next swell, man. I live here!