the italian bird

After some well-documented complaining, I have finally joined the a-motoring masses of the Indonesian road. However, before you think, ‘my, how quickly mas matt chucks his principles once he has already exploited an idea for its yield of sardonic observations,’ in my defense, I have done so on my own terms.

I am now the sometimes proud owner of 150cc of Italian engineered stylishness, a black 1962 Vespa scooter. It is both classic and sometimes practical. More importantly, it gives me an infusion of mobility and autonomy that has made me pretty happy. It is true that you cannot recapture your youth, but you can move to the developing world and buy a sexy scooter.
Aside from the fact that I now own something, in a foreign country no less, that requires maintenance (something that escaped my figuring at first), I am quite pleased by the whole operation. It runs well, still has plenty of power, and is completely original (although the speedometer has long ceased to work, a common affliction).

Buying the scooter was an interesting operation, because most bules that come looking for well preserved classic scooters do so only to turn around and export them and sell them to private collectors in the west for a tidy profit. Many people were completely against selling me a scooter of any vintage, and the good fortune of running into someone who really needed some cash (the owner’s teenage son looked completely despondent throughout the entire transaction and generally avoids me on the street) along with being friends with a few Vespa-owning Indonesians helped me pull it off. Those that would have dealt with me wanted a price three times greater than what an Indonesian might pay, largely because they were afraid that it would be one less scooter for Indonesians to enjoy in the future.

It is an interesting predicament to think about: Westerners who have both the purchasing power and hobbyism basically using the developing world as a salvage yard and in the process strip it of all the classic scooters, a stock that is, as funny as it sounds, highly important to the Indonesian Vespa aficionados that I know. Though, I must confess that I get a mildly perverse pleasure out of pulling into a nighttime scooter hangout and soaking up the looks of utter incredulity: ‘Seriously! Who the hell sold that one to whitey?’

I have become accustomed to the rules of the road here, in that there seems to be a set of general precepts, but adherence to them occurs on a purely voluntary basis. In that it is tough to really do anything wrong on the road, it is easier to feel up to speed with traffic norms than it is in the states. By far the craziest nuance is that the convention of right of way is completely inverted: the slower vehicle in front has the right of way. Therefore, when changing lanes no one looks first, and other vehicles simply adjust. If you can’t find a break to cross traffic when making a right hand turn, it is perfectly acceptable to drive up the wrong side of the road next to the curb until an opening presents itself. What is more, no one seems overly perturbed if some honky’s antique motor bike dies at an intersection. Whereas this might paralyze traffic in the states, everyone just kind of makes there way around the snarl and putters off on their way.