Travelogue II: Macet banget and other traffic tales.

Macet: Traffic jam, gridlock, road congestion.

Banget: Extremely, very, Muy (Spanish), Trés (French).

Simply put, EXHILARATING! If one has only one single thing to do in Bandung, get a motorcycle ride around town. No, one is not recommended to personally commandeer the bike through the notorious Bandung traffic. No, siree! Get a ride with a local, a relative if possible, or if not, any ojek will do just fine. By the way, Bandung is located in West Java, about 1.5 hours drive from Jakarta (via the newly-built Cipularang tollway, not through the tourist-packed Puncak pass.)

Feel the assault of the cool mountain wind mixed with a healthy dose of carbon monoxide as the bike swerves in and out of the congested, seemingly anarchic streets. Remember to always tuck your legs in as limb decapitation certainly does not come with the experience, unless if one is into some sick self-mutilating gratification. Carrying heavy backpack is not recommended as one is bound to be bounced off the bike if it happens to hit a particularly steep road bump or crater-like potholes, which seem to be in abundance.

My personal experience: by necessity, not by choice. I couldn't have picked the worst departure time for my train to Jogjakarta. Note to self: Next time, no leaving during morning and evening rush hour. Anyway, taking the car to train station would be an exercise in futility; in the heat of exasperation, a bike is a much logical and saner option. Thus, I was taken to the train station by my ever calm and composed cousin, Bondan, on his bike.

I had ridden my trusty old Yamaha 100 Sport bike, so dubbed "Rocket Queen" (yes Ms. Rocket, you should be proud!), through the KL gridlock a zillion times, but KL is no Bandung. My first initial reaction as we squeezed into the main road among the throngs of angkut, bikes, cars, becak, kijangs, street performers, beggars, food and kretek hawkers and countless of death-defying pedestrians was: "Oh shit! Am I going survive this gauntlet of men, machine and asphalt and come out alive?" Let's just say that it was the longest twenty minutes of my life.

The bike cut irreverently in-front of other road gladiators; slipped through gaps tighter than a virgin on the first night; weaved in and out the traffic like a needle-wielding seamstress patterning an intricately-woven tapestry; stopped on a dime with mere inches away from other road users, including the nonchalant pedestrians.

With my brick-heavy backpack I was ever more cautious of being thrown off the bike as it climbed over bumps and skipped over potholes. That, and remembering to tuck in my legs as closely as I can--my physique is not designed to efficiently and most importantly, safely, navigate Bandung's traffic. For the first five minutes, those were all I could think about: Bag and legs. Bag and legs.

Finally, when I got a grip (sorta) of my surrounding and the inevitability of my fate as it laid solely--and literally--on the hands of my cousin, I began to feel a curious yet slightly tingling sensation inside. It feels like riding a rollercoaster, only with a much, much higher rate of mortality. My cousin is a relatively aggressive rider, even for Bandung's standard, but I never once doubted his superior riding skills. I might have ridden some of the finely-tuned bikes like Harley, Ducati and others, but in this environment, in this circumstance, where the law of the jungle reigns supreme, I am simply a vermin to his Herculean riding skills.

The plot thickened as we got to the train station and found out that all tickets to Jogjakarta were sold out. What a bummer, indeed! The next available train leaves at 7am the next day and I wasn't really looking forward to the bike-ride home. Same with rollercoaster rides, once is enough for me. Surprisingly, I did enjoy the ride home, immensely more than the initial one. Maybe it was because I already knew what to expect in terms of road hazards; the law of the jungle seemed to be decipherable and not as intimidating the second time around; and my unflinching faith in my cousin's riding skills had finally reached its zenith. I even asked him to stop by the Gramedia bookstore on Jalan Merdeka to pick up ten more pounds of excess burden in the form of books.

I know I'm supposed to write about the big picture and not dwell much on the minute details but I feel it necessary to recount this particular experience. In places like Jakarta, Bogor, Bandung, or even KL for that matter, a motorcycle is simply one of the most efficient mode of transportation. I remember riding my motorcycle from my house in Ampang to Wisma Miramar near DBP and the old Edinburgh Circle every morning during the rush-hour for my part-time job and it took me less than 30 minutes to get there, as opposed to maybe two hours by car. In a place like Bogor, where the traffic jams are mind-numbing and simply the worst I've ever experienced in all my life, owning and riding a bike is matter of necessity--unless if the authority decides to build alternative roads and banish ninety percent of the street-clogging angkut from the vicinity.

Still, traffic jam is a fact of life of urban living when population growth and development do not progress hand-in-hand and when long-term planning for the benefit of the many takes back seat to short-term profit for the few. It's pathetic but let it not deter us from fighting back and reclaim what is rightfully ours.

p/s: I have to add that not only Johore drivers who like to pass on left (on the emergency lane, mind you); it seems like Jakarta drivers are also infected with the same disease. I can say with a shred of certainty that Johoreans are the way they are because they descended from bands of Bugis pirates from Makassar in South Sulawesi (at least their royal family is) but I cannot offer the same explanation for the denizens of Jakarta. Oh okay, maybe not ALL Johoreans are pirate-descendants but I still stand by my statement that the Johor royal family can trace its lineage back to the ancient Bugis pirates and mercenaries; no wonder most of them end up being assholes!