The busy street in front of Pesantren IMMIM--note the blue pete-pete on the left.
My days on the town begin with the most difficult transportation feat—crossing the street. Long gone are the days of safety patrol volunteer students outside of the school ensuring a safe crossing after a short wait under any circumstances. The first time I watched a student at the Pesantren cross the street, I closed my eyes and winced because I literally thought I was going to witness the death of an adolescent boy right before my eyes. Since then, I have learned that one just needs to walk into the street…there is no such thing as a crosswalk and even if there were it would most likely not be heeded. There is no chance of waiting until the traffic is clear both ways on a four lane street, you could be there for hours. The best thing to do is to work your way across one lane at a time, sucking in your gut and standing perpendicular to the broadside of the passing cars that whiz within inches of your face blaring some bastardized version of “Mary had a Little Lamb” on their modified air horn. The cars may not have bumpers, or four windows, or even reliable breaks…but one thing no Indonesian driver can do without is a loud, fully functional horn that lets everyone know that they are joining the masses in the eternal struggle as one of the many grains of sand looking to squeeze through to the bottom of the traffic hourglass as quickly as possible. Police officers’ liberal use of whistles accompanied by hand signals during rush hour only serve to exacerbate this veritable cacophony. The entire traffic situation is complicated by the fact that I still instinctually look the wrong way when crossing the street, as this colony was one of the European ones where everyone was required to drive on the left side of the road.
Day trippin' inside of the colorful pete-pete.
A politically correct and culturally sensitive statement would classify the traffic rules as “innovative” or “representing the closeness characteristic of a collectivist culture” yet I would lean more toward “completely chaotic and virtually nonexistent”. However, one truly innovative aspect of the transportation system is the sheer variety of vehicles willing to take you somewhere for a small fee. The main mode of transport is the pete-pete, the Indonesian bus, which is really just a small van with two benches facing one another in the back. Despite its size, these vans have an amazingly large capacity, and the driver will vociferously pack ‘em in as he strives to earn more fares. It costs 2,000 rupiah (25 cents) to travel anywhere in the city on these things, which could be up to 10 kilometers. The only catch other than the cramped conditions is the extremely loud techno remix of the popular American pop song from 1998 blasting from the 250 watt stock bass system that seems to come standard in these vehicles. By the time you squeeze out the side door, you are completely disoriented and over stimulated, and it is hard to know if you just rode a bus or are desperately clinging to reality after emerging from a bad trip in the moshpit of a hardcore rock concert.
Bule party in transit.
The pete-pete have set routes, they don’t go everywhere in the city, so if by the time you dismount you still haven’t reached your final destination don’t fret. Most likely, you have arrived at a street corner with a small army of becak drivers on hand eagerly shouting “haaloo meester”, clapping, and banging bells—all enthusiastic displays that serve to signal that they are ready and willing to pedal you to your destination. A becak is like a bicycle rickshaw with the nimble legs of the driver steadily powering a rear wheel connected to a wobbly, two-wheeled carriage in front designed to hold two small passengers. The front-mounted carriage means that you get a great view of the city at a slightly-faster-than-walking pace, yet you are the most vulnerable part of the vehicle and frequently exposed to near collisions with other larger and more powerful vehicles sharing the road. Once, on a particularly fruitless becak ride, I looked to my right and saw a full-sized tour bus bearing down on us with the driver laying on the horn. My heart ricocheted off my sternum, backbone, stomach and throat like my chest cavity was momentarily a racquetball court. I actually thought I was going to die. Looking back on it, that would have been one hell of a way to go, in a smash and flurry of bamboo and flimsy metal, leaving the driver stranded in the middle of the road on his accidental new unicycle.
John riding the becak in style.
Finally, undoubtedly the most exciting “way to go” (very true to the double meaning of the phrase...'to travel' and perhaps 'perish') is by ojek—a motorcycle taxi. Motorcycles are definitely the preferred method travel in the cities of Indonesia, they probably make up 60 percent of the vehicles on the road. Quickly weaving in and out of traffic and braving potential head-on collisions while making a risky pass is all in a day's work for the experienced ojek driver. To quell your misgivings the driver will provide a helmet that is only slightly thicker than the plastic of a disposable water bottle and Indonesian-sized for a head that is about the same circumference as my palm. Nevertheless, the ride is exhilarating and you feel like you are taking part in a real cultural event as you cling for dear life within inches of fellow motorcycle drivers and passengers on their daily commute. Rest assured mom, I only take an ojek under dire circumstances.
Of course, there are a few private cars and some taxis...though my personal view is that if you take a taxi when public transport is an option you have “copped out” and resigned to the fact that you are an ignorant and uninformed bule (gringo) who would rather rely on your pocketbook to get yourself home rather than your sense of direction and very limited language abilities. Needless to say, this attitude has wasted hours of my life riding in circles on the pete-pete; and then it hurts that much more to resign myself to the taxi when the clock strikes 11 PM and I am still no closer to my (new) home.
