Motorbike Molestation

One day.  I’ve crossed back over to the dark side for only one day and it has revealed itself in all its distasteful and difficult nature.  One short day.  Give me strength, not to tolerate but to strike quick and firm.  Defenses are re-ignited.  This is not the way I want it to be but I will be ready.

I left Bali today for a road trip to the next island, Lombok.  Knew one friend Carol would be diving here and will be meeting up with the Moz monkeys, Darryn and Nick, here in the next couple of days as well.  Hopped on my bike and had a general idea of where I was meant to be going which means, what?  Yes, got lost.  So after a little turn around, I was on my way.  Roooooaaad triiiiiip!!!  Big backpack on (full of I don’t know how it gets so full and heavy stuff) and it felt quite cool to be ripping around, solo-style, on my little mini motorbike.  Got to the ferry, skillfully avoided the police check stops, and a very uneventful 4 hour boat trip ensued.  So I had some time to watch. 

I’ve mentioned the differences in cultures already but this is the longest I’ve been out of contact with the rest of Indo since I’ve arrived in Bali Indo so the differences were all the more striking.  To see women, young girls, children covered in an overabundance of layered clothing, headscarves, and face veils again is something that evokes a visceral reaction in me.  And the men, okay, yes, I’ve been in fairly touristy areas over the last two weeks, but the nose-picking, toe-picking, horking, spitting, belching, scratching, slack-jawed stares were just overwhelming.  I haven’t seen it in all its vulgar atrociousness in two weeks so the primitiveness of the everyday behaviours was glaring in daytime glory.

As a single, white, travelling female, I have learned to be aware of things that others may not need to consider.  I’ve learned to confront the slack-jawed staring men with an abrupt WHAT?! in Bahasa which usually shakes them enough to stare a little less openly or move away from this aggressive, vibrating foreigner.  I’ve learned who I can ask for help, where I can stop for food or bits and pieces, and where I should stay at night based on a quick glance of who is lounging about outside the front area.  A flip was switched on that ferry and I was immediately back to being on full guard and attention due to a simple observation of the way people around me were simply reacting to my presence.  Things aren’t so peaceful on this side of the water. 

I got off the ferry and began driving aimlessly in the general direction of south.  In no way at all did I think to prepare for this little road trip so I had no idea where I was going or what I was looking for.  Smart girl.  Smart.  I saw a road sign for the name of a town where I was sure Carol was staying so I drove and drove and drove and didn’t really find anything.  Then the skies started to get heavy.  Rainy season is just around the corner now.  I decided to find a place to stay before it either started to rain or got too dark.  Commence the other fabulous behavior I had not missed at all… the lying.

A quick stop at a little beach side set of bungalows where an eager young man spoke in okay English and offered a way over-priced room for the night.  I asked in terrible Bahasa about a homestay or guesthouse and he quickly replied, “no.”  I raised an eyebrow, laughed a “come on!” and again he insisted that no, there are no guesthouses or homestays or anything around anywhere else but his place (which was a one minute walk down the road from another set of bungalows that I had just passed).  I tried again, come on, you know that’s not true, there are many, I have seen many.  No, was his reply.  Really.  There is nothing.  No guesthouse.  No bungalow.  No.  Only me.   I was done.  Conversation over and I walked off to find a lovely little bungalow 5 minutes down the road.  You’d think I’d get used to it, this is the common place behaviour  I have experienced time and time again in this country but nope, it gets under my skin each and every time.  Say “I don’t know”, that’s fine, but to argue with me about what is an obvious LIE just does my head in.  *sigh*  deep breath in, deep breath out.

As I was settling my stuff into my lovely little room I turned my head to the open door to see two small children and a full grown woman staring into my room at me.  And this continued everywhere that I tried to walk.  “Hello misterrrrrrrr!” howled young boys as I walked past, yelps, barks, shouts, and grunts were bellowed across the street or over the sand as I looked at the water.  Is this really how people communicate?!  I’ve driven wild and walked free for the past two weeks in Bali and not once, not ONCE was I shouted at, gestured at, or harassed in any way.  Hours here and I am ready to run for cover from the gawking mental patient lock up ward that is all around me. 

So I kinda do.  I hop back on the bike determined to find Carol.  And I do!  Yay!  A lovely little surprise visit and will reconnect with her and her friends tomorrow as we move on to the next town.  I will be thankful for the company because you haven’t heard the worst yet.  There’s always more to these stories, isn’t there?

I had about a 20km drive back from where Carol was staying to my place.  I planned to take it slow as it was fully dark and it was a small, windy road that led me home but I had no real fear or hesitation about the trip.  Again, lesson learned.  The road is fairly deserted with a few small clumps of houses and shops every couple of kilometers or so.  Shortly into my journey, in a dark section of the road, two 18 year old punks pull up beside me and start whooping and hello misterrrr-ing and keeping pace with me.  I had NO idea how vulnerable you are on a motorbike.  I shouted a few choice obscenities, slowed right down, and they drove off laughing and high-fiving. 

 I continued on, they were waiting for me.  If I sped up, they cut me off, if I slowed down, they waited, and it was dark, dark, dark.  At one point they were following right behind me so I slammed on my brakes and pulled to the side of the road.  They zoomed up on me, veered to smash into my handlebars and mirrors and tried to run me off the road laughing their hyena-like laughs as only underdeveloped teenage boys can do, before driving off.  Did I mention it was dark and there was nothing around but jungle on one side and sea on the other?  F**k.  Think, Janice, think.  So I slowed and waited until their taillight disappeared before carrying on. 

I saw them, lights off, parked on the side of the road, waiting for me again as I tried to get to the next cluster of civilization as fast as I could.  This time, they zoomed up on me, swerved into me, and one of the putrid little snots reached over and grabbed my boob!  Yes, I was groped going 60kms on a friggin motorbike.  Okay, you little shits, it’s on. 

They thought they were in control (and maybe they actually were) but I was seeing red.  I let them drive off and when they slowed to try to get even with me again I stopped my bike and started screaming obscenities, gesturing wildly, and generally acting like a crazy woman. (keep your comments to yourselves, smart-asses!)  They weren’t too sure what to make of this.  They slowed down more and attempted to stop so I upped the hysterics and moved up on them.  I saw them flinch.  Then I saw two motorbikes approaching from the opposite way.  I sped around and ahead of the two sloth-brained, repressed, evolutionary retards and managed to flash and honk enough to get the bikes to stop.  This sent the punks racing off from whence they came.  YES!  VICTORY IS MINE! 

That being said, I still had almost 10 kms to go and I was CONVINCED that they were going to loom up out of the dark behind me and run me off the road to my death.  So yeah, I was a bit of a shaking mess when I arrived back at my place.  My uneasiness was not the least bit assuaged by the fact that upon my return, I met the Swiss guy who owns the place and when I told him of my ordeal, he wasn’t surprised, kept saying, “yes, stupid here.  stupid boys here.”, reminded me to not leave anything outside my room (shoes, drying clothing) and to lock my door as soon as I was inside.   You’ve got to be kidding me.  One day.  I’ve been here one day.

So as I fight sleep and keep re-checking the lock on my door and the function of my flashlight, ruing the loss of my little pocketknife and feeling exceptionally vulnerable, I can hear the waves outside my window.  Somehow that makes it okay.  Tomorrow will be different.  No one has to die.  Breathe in, breathe out, waves in, waves out.  Oh Indo, you truly push me to my limits.