Driving Miss Desi - Driving and Crashing in Jakarta

I have long been convinced of the fact that the three greatest books in the English language are the complete works of Shakespeare, the King James Bible and Her Majesty’s Stationery Office’s Highway Code and invariably societies that read these books tend to be more successful, peaceful, safe and healthier than those which do not, it goes without saying that the vast majority of Indonesians are cheerfully innocent of any contact whatsoever with these magisterial tomes.

The streets of Jakarta swarm with busses and motorcyclists that don’t believe the rules of the road apply to them but woe betide a car driver who crashes into one of them; from nowhere will suddenly emerge a street mob intent in exacting retribution on the driver seen as being at fault.

Indonesian people are on the whole the friendliest and most laid back people you could want to meet but every so often, well, just let us contemplate that one of the few phrases in Indonesian ever to make it into English is “running amok”, so it pays to take care.

This has led to quite hairy scenes in the past, culminating last Thursday afternoon when my wife and I were driving home.  I was turning into our house from the street when whack! A motorcycle driver and his passenger did an astonishingly acrobatic double somersault over the bonnet of our car before landing face down on the pavement outside our front drive.

Now we’ve had two minor scrapes before with motorcyclists in the past, neither of which were our fault so we got away with it, but on this occasion I was caught bang to rights, well maybe not, I was turning right and he as a motorcyclist should probably have stuck to the inside lane, anyway right and wrong don’t matter in such occasions in Jakarta.

Instant justice is called for and Mister Pink Faced Foreigner driving his fancy car into his posh house will simply have to cough up to the poor victims lying splayed out on the tarmac in front of his wrought iron gates, which is reasonable enough in the circumstances I suppose, all things considered.

Fortunately the accident happened right outside the house and our neighbor’s doorman came out immediately to assist, (“posh” houses in Jakarta come equipped with doormen doncha know? Along with at least four fine classical pillars to hold up the facade, the Chinese favour Greco-Roman while the Indians opt for theirs painted in gold leaf and with pictures of clouds and cherubs, ours are plain Doric seeing as you wondered).

Actually I am pleased to say there wasn’t much injury caused, just a split lip and bruised arm, though the bike was wrecked, but the correct procedure is to proffer assistance, sympathy and treatment at the local hospital, fortunately just round the corner, to be paid for of course by yours truly, then there follow subtle negotiations about financial restitution, pretty much like back home really except we don’t bother with things like insurance companies here in Indonesia.

I was quietly shuffled into the house; it seems a white man standing around looking like a herniated Prince Charles with a strangled expression on his face that just shouts out “post colonial guilt complex” is merely an encouragement to the victim to set his compensation demands a bit higher than usual.  Meanwhile my missus and Toto the doorman (yes that is his name and no Dorothy, we ain’t in Kansas anymore) did the haggling.

All sorted out within an hour, total cost about sixty quid, honor satisfied, everyone happy or at least marginally less unhappy.  For his busted lip the motorcyclist, who was in fact an “ojek”, a motorcycle taxi driver, earned more money than he would have done for an entire month, and no need for messy insurance claim forms and loss adjusters.

I suppose I will now have to concede to the inevitable and adopt one more aspect of the pampered expat life style of Jakarta and hire a driver, I have long resisted this as I value my independence and something in me is repelled by the idea of having another servant at my beck and call but I can’t escape the fact that while this time I was lucky maybe the next time something like this happens I will not be outside my front door and it won’t be in the middle of the afternoon and it could then cost me rather more than the price of lunch at my favorite restaurant.

My wife would be happier too, with a driver she could not only ensure my safety but also maybe, perish the thought, have the means to keep a closer watch on my comings and goings when I’m not at home. It would mean a bit of peace of mind for her and ultimately for the motorcycle taxi men of Jakarta too I suppose.

Originally from Ireland Basil travelled around SE Asia before washing up in Jakarta where he now intends to remain.

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