Obtaining a motorbike licence in Indonesia

Some time ago in Bali, early one morning while riding a motor bike to fetch some bread


I was stopped by the police for no apparent reason. The policeman asked to see my driving licence. I confidently showed him my International driving licence and he equally confidently pointed to a stamp in the licence that said “No Motorbike”.


I had never bothered to read the fine print of the licence before.


He said you have a choice, either you come with me to the police station and pay a fine of A$2,000 or we can settle the matter here for $400. I negotiated the illicit fee down to A$200 fuming at this blatant corruption while continuing on for the bread.






Knowing that my current stay in Indonesia would be more than a year I thought it would be more economical to get a licence rather than pay police on demand.






I arrived at the Dempasar Police headquarters, an impressive Dutch colonial building set back from the road at 9.00am. There were not many people about. I asked the security guard where to go. He gestured to the back of the building. When I passed through the arch to the rear of the building there was a sea of motorbikes and hundreds of people sitting around waiting.


I climbed the stairs, went to the desk, the lady behind the desk seeing me ,the solitary European, called “Yoman come here you speak English” Yoman, the uniformed policeman, with, pistol and handcuffs on a white belt ushered me into a room with 15 desks and 15 computers and asked me to take a seat.


This was a revelation, new electronic efficiency. There was a banner on the rear wall


“NEW AUDIO VISUAL INTEGRATION SYSTEM IMPLEMENTATION Jan 2010.”


The cables connecting the system were neatly arranged on the floor in Plastic conduit about 3cm square. In the isle ways were the cabling crossed from desk to desk there was a wooden block about 6cm square as an additional protection for the cable.


As people were came into the room to undertake their test 80% tripped over the cable


Knocking over its wooden protection, producing laughter by those already seated.


This accidental comedy continued all of the 40 minutes I was there as people came and went. It was classic slapstick; you know what could happen as some one enters the room.


But will it happen? The tension rises as the person approaches the cable, and then is released whether they trip or not.






The wait for my form to be processed was compensated by the never ending guessing game. “To trip or not to trip that is the question”






The smiling policeman kept giving me forms to fill out and when I could not understand the language he did it for me and then asked for what I thought was the licence fee A$20 and completion of the process. When he folded the money and put it in his shirt pocket and told me to get my passport photocopied and go to the next office around the corner


I realized that the A$20 was just for him.


The next two hours involved collecting 13 bits of paper and 13 stamps from 5 different locations in the police complex. Each time I asked a uniformed person for help was a mistake. When I heard a policeman speak English, it was with a limited vocabulary of ten words that his colleagues have taught him.


“I can help you if you will help me”


These 10 words were the signal of what was to come. My repeated response was


“Tidak mengerti” (I do not understand) which I repeated so often that the policeman with his limited English gave up in frustration and helped me for free.


Nearly at the end of the process I paid the official licence fee at place called “BANK”


Was given an official receipt which I took to two more booths to have my thumb print and photograph taken and I was issued with a licence card.


In the three hour process I made friends with other motor bike riders and car drivers and experienced the entrepreneurial spirit of the public service and its contribution to the Indonesian economy. The licensing procedure spawned a mini economy of food stalls, photocopy shops and motorbike and automobile supply stores in the immediate vicinity of the police headquarters.

Now for the test, no not a driving test but the confrontation with the policeman in the street. I have since learned and effective response to a policeman’s request for money. When confronted take your mobile phone and say.


“Please wait a moment while I call the Australian embassy”

BALI ULUATU the temple and the spirits of the sea

Uluatu




Just a 45 minute motorbike ride south of Kuta is Pura Luhur Uluatu temple,

Bali's most spectacular temples located high on a cliff top at the edge of a plateau 250 feet above the waves of the Indian Ocean. Dedicated to the spirits of the sea, the famous Pura Luhur Uluwatu temple is an architectural wonder in black coral rock, beautifully designed with spectacular views.

When you visit there is fee of about 50 cents and the men are given a purple sarongs ties with a bright blue sash while the women just have to have the blue sash. Strolling down the shady path mischievous monkeys are stealing handbags, sunglasses and eating whatever food they are given by the visitors.

I was impressed by one monkey who was rummaging through a stole bag, tossing away the inedible and tearing open the plastic wrappers of potato chips and chocolate bars, while fending off other monkeys by showing his teeth and screeching at those that came to close.



It seems that both the Gods and the local people have a tolerance for mischief. Climbing the hundreds of stone steps

The prayer space at the summit is reserved for Hindus while we stand under the shade of a tree in purgatory and watch the procession of a hundred or so faithful, each bringing their own gifts as a mark of respect for the Gods who keep away the evil spirits of the sea.

Ceremonies are a way of life in Bali. Every day one can see a ceremony, whether is the anniversary of a departed relative, a marriage, a circumcision of a young boy or the celebration of the first menstruation of a teenage girl. There is an obligation and a cost by the family and the community to honour significant events of life.

Coming down from the mountainous Uluatu we arrive at Jimbaran bay, with is rows of tourist seafood restaurants and fishing prows drawn up on the beach we ride along the shabby fishing village, the drying nets, the outboard motors and other paraphernalia fishermen need we come upon a place I have been looking for.



It was not what I expected, a low large rectangular galvanized iron shed in a state of ill repair . In side it was dark and there were makeshift tables one which styrene foam boxes housed the catch of the day resting in ice and water.

This was the fish market for the local. Marlin. snapper, mackerel, octopus, lobster and prawns and many other varieties I fish that are nameless to me.

Now I know where to come tomorrow morning.

Poppies Cottage

jAN 12 2010 arrived in Bali.

To be collected at the airport in Bali is a human welcome but to step into a car and sit on seats that have freshly washed white cotton seat covers
makes one feels special. Today is the 37th anniversary of the opening of Poppies cottage, a truly unique place that is beautifully elegant from the overall design, the gardens ,the pool ,the individual cottages down to the smallest detail of the tiny ceramic frog on the handle of your coffee cup.
The peaceful nature of Balinese culture has been captured not only in the structure of Poppies but also in the way the staff treat you. It is the anticipation of your needs, such as a cold cocktail, served on a carved tray with hibiscus flowers. It is actions and not words that are impressive. Coming from a culture where tv commercials scream at you, street signs obstruct you vision , brochures with the clichés of benefits delude you, Poppies has to be experienced to be understood. While I have been writing at 6.30 in the morning in my elegant bungalow with the door open, bananas, hot tea together with a small bowl of frangipani flowers have been placed on my porch, I did not hear even the rustle of a sarong or the scrape of a sandal on the tiles.
It is only when I walked out to the porch did I notice the change.

Now to revisit the streets the warungs and the people.

December 7th 2009
Hello everyone
The world is crazy, I am crazy therefore Am I the world?. Well that is a perception, but it is the truth?
As you follow my perceptions of my world you may not find the truth but you can follow the tedious argument to a conclusion that is meaningful to you and you might care to let me know where I am going wrong.
I am back home after three days o pre- departure briefings before taking up a new assignment. I am going to the tropics to work with people who speak a different language to me, who have a different culture to mine and who have different expectations to mine.
Destination : Yogyakarta, Indonesia
Mission: To assist Indonesians to develop the capacity to alleviate poverty.

The reason I am beginning this blog is to keep me occupied while I am waiting for things to happen in Indonesia. Rather than dictating the pace and direction of change I will watch, listen so that I can make some sense of the current situation and wait to be asked to help. I have no idea at this stage what will be required of me or which parts of my background will be useful to the people I will be working with. I will share with you my observations and thoughts as I go on this journey.
I live in a small port north of Newcastle on the east coast of Australia. My first visit to this place
was 30 years ago on a sailing boat to take refuge from a storm. The peace and tranquility lured me back 6 years ago when I was wanting to escape from Sydney. The beaches, the climate, the cleanliness are still as attractive as they were 30 years ago but I have discovered this is a place
where you die rather than live.


Tranquillity
Their black fin cuts the silver surface.
They gasp the morning air
I sip my coffee,
While out of the window I stare

They are as swift as skyrockets
And graceful as swans,
While an old man rowing his dinghy
Humps like a millipede across flat glass.

How good it is to be alive to enjoy
This first hour of the day.
Like Descartes just to be,
The Dolphin, the fisherman and me.

September 2004