One of the best things about staying at home is your mates. You’ve had ‘em for ever and they’ve seen you at your best (helping moving house, airport pickups, talking shit on road trips) and at your worst (not helping moving house, declining airport picks ups, annoying the fuck out of them with your shit talk on roadtrips). Unless you are a loner psychopath, at home you generally have enough mates that you don’t feel the urge to go looking for more.

In Indo though, faced with alternating periods of great surf and long hot days with nothing to do, you can easily make a friend for life after two days in a remote surf camp. Maybe it’s the serotonin production from the tube time, maybe it’s the sunstroke, often it’s the Bintang, but traveling in itself is all about the people you meet.

If you can ignore the drunk aggressive Aussies, the tight Kiwis, the loud Americans, the 12 pack of Brazilians, the indecipherable Japanese and the irritating South Africans, you might just find a new friend, at least for Facebook.