During my holiday travels both to and from the island (I suppose somewhat redundant to point out) of Lombok, I was treated to the Indonesian ferry experience. Yes, for about 5 hours each way, I bathed in the democracy that few things in life can produce.
As you might imagine, ferries are an important means of transportation in the archipelago. As I do not have my figures in front of me at the present time, I can not really qualify (by means of quantification) that statement, but the fact that the route I took had a ferry running every hour and a half, day and night, resonated at the time.
As I have previously mentioned, but for my fair-weather audience, the past week and a half has been Idul Fitri, the end of the Islamic holy month and basically the holidays in Indonesia. By way of comparison, envision a major airport during the Christian holidays, and then put all of those people on ferries, buses, diesel ten-seat minibuses, flat bed trucks, and motor bikes. Multiply the number of motor bikes by some whole number greater than two. Also, I should mention that the average motor bike is carrying husband, wife, two small children, and (choose one) sack of rice, bushel of jackfruit, or live rooster.
Anyways, getting on the ferry is a randomly disjointed succession of pushing, standing, pushing, sweating, and standing under the cloud of hundreds of idling dual stroke engines. When you finally get on the ferry people go in every direction to stake out their claims. You choose between an AC cabin (about 15 Celsius) and the deck (probably around 35 Celsius). I, being a whiner, am really disinclined towards both of these temperatures.
Anyways, afraid of contracting a sinus infection, I choose the deck, hoping for a breeze offshore (Lombok is about 70km from Bali). Once you get on the boat you will not be leaving for about an hour and a half so you get comfortable and sharpen up both your skills of bargaining and rebuffing the hundreds of hawkers who swarm the ship selling everything from bottled water, to pockets of rice, to cigarettes. The first time I took the ferry I was stumped when everyone around me started purchasing newspapers. It was like I was commuting to New York City—there is no way this many people are going to read the paper on the trip to Lombok. My wonder was dispelled when the boat got under way and everyone laid out their papers (people are literally covering every square foot of this boat, not only the seats) and went to sleep. Unable to resist the subtle alternating rolling and gurgling, as the screws rise up out of the water and then back down to catch, I laid down on the floor (sans newspaper) and went to sleep.
When you get to your destination you are not really at your destination because the harbor only has one dock and the outgoing boat at it will not be done loading for an hour. However, this does not stop all the Indonesians from rushing downstairs to fire up their motor bikes (thanks to the credit boom of a few years ago, there are few things the people of this nation love more than the egalitarian activity of idling their motor bikes). There is literally a crush of humanity going down the stairs and for the next hour the whiteys on deck stare at each other with incredulity, serenaded by the near constant revving of motor bikes and bathed in the vapors (along with clove cigarette smoke a near constant smell in Indonesia; at a traffic light, both), while the boat bobs pacifically in the harbor.
No comments:
Post a Comment