Java the Hot

With apologies to George Lucas, this is indeed Java, the hot. Not that Java is any different from the other islands we have visited, Sumatra, Borneo, Bali, all have very similar weather to Java. Today the heat/humidity index reads 86 and 85. Put your percentage and degree symbols where ever you want, it won’t make a dimes worth of difference. The numbers correlate directly to the discomfort level for the pasty-faced Northwesterners. Simple trips across any town/city are still the most fascinating to me because all of Indonesian life is out and on the streets. Nobody is walking, Everybody is finding some form of transportation…well, nobody except those pasty faced northwesterners. Bicycle tuk tuks are pedaled by what looks like the bottom of the economic scale. Men of all ages who scrape together enough sheckels to purchase a rattle trap bicycle equip it with some form of seat that may or may not be cushioned and is large enough for one person, but a definite squeeze for two as we found out. I would up basically sitting on my side so that we could both fit. The pedaling is slow and arduous. Some of the “drivers” look like they might not make it to the next corner as they struggle through traffic. You can almost hear the groan when they have to stop for one reason or another and have to muster up the extra energy to regain momentum.

The cars, motor bikes/scooters and LARGE buses just whiz by very close to your personal space¸but on they pedal. During the heat of the day, the drivers sleep on the seat with their legs stretching out from the sides and their head propped on the metal grill work on the sides. I wouldn’t ride one of these because I’d be afraid the driver would already be dead since that is the appearance they give sleeping. They truly look like the downtrodden of society. The one we rode to a batik factory was so thrilled with the $1.50 fare that he waited until the time we were finished and was right there to take us back to the hotel. We had planned on walking instead of doing the sardine number, but he was so keen on taking us, I didn’t have the heart to say no. It’s still a tough life out there for huge parts of any society and Indonesia, with all its outward upward mobility, is not different. My enjoyment of being out on the street continues to be enhanced by the motorscooters/bikes. They are simply everywhere. In 2013 the statistics were that on any given day 65 million of them were on the roads, and 7 million new scooters/bikes were sold that year. Driving across town is seeing a cross-section of Indonesian society blithely bobbing and weaving their way through traffic. From hip young men on metallic gold bikes adorned with lightning bolts, to young women driving soft pink ones displaying Hello Kitty stickers. Helmets range from skulls and images of Che Guevarra to Snoopy figures saying: “Have a nice day.” The drivers range in age from 10, to ancient grannies. Old men with weather beaten faces and tattered sarongs driving motor bikes that appear to have about the same life expectancies are there as are , the young fashionistas with spike heels and flowing garments. $1,100 will put you into a spiffy new Honda Bravo or a Yamaha Spirit of your own choosing, and one which reflects your own self-image. They are fast, efficient and cheap. They can go forever on a tank of gas, it seems and with gas prices ranging in the $2 a gallon, it is the perfect mode of transportation in cities that have outgrown the infrastructure.. Particularly in light of the limited public transportation options the people have, they are an enormously popular and critical mode of transport. Riding around town to/from the sites we would visit in a blessedly air conditioned car with driver, it is fascinating to come to a rare stop light and suddenly realize that you are enveloped in a cocoon of motor bikes with a vivid array of said helmets surrounding you. I continually felt as if I was waiting for the other shoe to drop and we narrowly missed countless scooters and watched with an “Oh-oh” just waiting to be uttered from my lips as I saw little kids make turns into traffic and prayed that they would make it across. It’s actually like some kind of industrial sized ballroom dance where everybody knows the steps and nobody gets their toes stepped on, with the exception of Medan in Sumatra where it was like a pack of starved pit bulls when a chunk of meat is thrown into the middle…that was every dog for him/herself. Still it worked. We have never seen an accident. Motor scooters are preferred for families because they have a flat floor, all the better for young kids to stand on in front of dad. It’s like having a front row seat on a roller coaster where you get the thrill/fear of being right there as the lead element. Just as Mongolian kids learn to ride as soon as they are big enough to have their parents tie their legs under a sheep, Indonesian kids from about the age of two, or basically as soon as they can stand and support themselves, have a front row seat to learn the ins and outs, the bobs and weaves, the general rules of traffic and a modicum of safety habits. Just as mother hens cluck to their chicks for food or danger, so too these little kids are literally bred for the saddle. Somehow, it all works. We’re down to just over a week now before coming home and nary an accident has been seen….Amazing. As Carol noted yesterday: “Motor scooter drivers must have their own guardian angels.” I agreed because otherwise they’d all be dead. Individuals get creative on how to deal with traffic. Stores, banks and even homes hire their own traffic cops. Much like crossing guards at a school they get out into traffic with their whistles and some form of flag and wave traffic to a halt so that somebody can exit the gas station, bank or store. Without these traffic controllers, it could be a very long wait for a break in traffic. With a dearth of traffic signals, traffic just keeps on coming and coming and coming. And so when you are stopped for whatever reason, the Indonesian patience comes forth and everybody obeys the unwritten rules without any sort of acrimony or hostility.

We continually see whole families on scooters zipping around town with Dad driving, young boy standing in front of him, daughter wedged between mom and dad wile mom holds the baby in her arms. They are,however, more than just a family mode of transportation. They are commercial vehicles carrying baskets at the back to tote sacks of rice or other goods in; caged containers which hold chickens going to market; pots of liquid like some moveable kitchen and shelving which gives them the look of a mobile hardware store or a mini-mart. On today’s outing to a world heritage site, Borobudur, a Buddhist temple complex, we were continually besieged, in a nice way, by students wanting to practice their English. The boys are more confident and just approach, while the girls wait for a smile and a “Selamat Paggi,” (good morning) before advancing. But in all cases the brightness of their eyes and the eagerness of their desire to talk to you is really fun. Teachers bring their students to places like these because they know there will be a lot of foreign speakers.

English is the main language most want to learn, and so a question like: “Excuse me, do you speak English?” brings delight when you answer yes. Questions all are all simple and repetitive. What is your name, where do you come from, how are you, what do you see in Indonesia?.....but their sweet faces are such that it is a pleasure to answer slowly and patiently when another person in the group asks the same questions as the first one…it’s like they are on auto-pilot and can’t jump from A to D without passing B and C along the way. We talked with a group of four, two boys and two girls. They all looked the same age, and when I asked how old they were, the boys answered: “14,” and the girls “20.” We were amazed because they all looked 14. Wrapped in head scarves, swathed in long sleeved blouses and skirts that go to just above the ground, I feel for their discomfort in this weather, but they just laugh at us. They are used to it and they don’t even break a sweat whereas we are drenched in sweat. We were again unsuccessful in arranging Servas meetings and that, as always, limits our contact with people who can explain a lot of what we see and wonder about.Thank goodness for our time with Eka and her family and friends. This was our only real contact with ordinary people. However, the natural friendliness and genuine joy of spirit from these kids to the hotel clerks to the people on the street comes through in all the people with whom we do have dealings.