There have been comments made about our expat community; that it is a retirement home for Australian surfers, that old surfers don’t die, they just come here with their longboards and settle in for their autumn years. Tom and I lower the average age, and are inspired by the thought that in 20 years, when most of the diggers will be rocking in their hammocks, we'll still be charging at dawn.
As is common with isolated groups of fanatics, focused around rock, reef, snow, opals or wilderness, they tend to attract the outliers of society, the ones with stories to tell of a life less ordinary. Most of them are called Dave.
Sleepy Dave is an affable and entertaining character, with a remarkable ability to fall asleep mid sentence, catch a few quick z’s, then resume the conversation. Sleepy spent most of his adult life on a small yacht, then traded her in for an old landcruiser, parked it up in Broome, then retired his sea legs to the stability of a home on the beach. He married a beautiful Indonesian woman and they are expecting their second child. Their first boy, Rowley, recently turned one and most of the village gathered under the vast verandah to celebrate. Sleepy knows how to throw a good shindig.
The customary Indonesian party involves a mountain of rice, fried noodles and various chunks of meat. For those with the money, the food is divided equally onto a single-use plastic tray inside a cardboard box then distributed to the masses. The bigger the budget, the better the cuts of meat, and the greater the chance of a vegetable appearing somewhere in the mix. All washed down with a cold Bintang at sunset.
Rowley's other Indo/expat playmate, RJ (who also just turned the big one) was on site for the action, which continued into the wee hours with song, dance and power naps.