Copyright © 2004 by Matthew Ellks. Touchdown at Bima Airport and as we stepped onto the tarmac the heat hit us like a sauna. Accompanied by my Bondi mate Brendan we were greeted, and then harassed, by the normal flurry of bemo drivers jockeying for our fare. I was surprised to see four girls heading to the Lakey camp without surfboards and assumed they were pushing the boundaries in search of their surfing Adonis. A jar of Vaseline and a copy of an old FHM mag was the usual surf camp romance. One could only live in hope that in time something more difficult than winning lotto was going to eventuate. We tried in vain to catch the same bemo but unfortunately it was full. We had to settle for a ride with a slick looking cabbie named Muta. He gave us a good discount because I lied to him that