Jakarta's Bikers: the Most Respected Club in the World
I love CDMX and Jakarta, but I've not written about them because mere words cannot do justice to mega-metropolises in which tens of millions of people live, breathe, and thrive despite generally poor infrastructure. Jakarta is organized chaos, the opposite of any logician's textbook; somehow, it works better than any city planner's blueprint. A major reason is the motorbike. Ho Chi Minh City may have as many motorcycles per capita as Jakarta, but here, bikers dictate the rules and the road. Jackets similar to ones worn by Harley-Davidson aficionados exist here, but without leather. Despite the similarities, a biker's jacket in Jakarta connotes much more than an affinity for "Easy Rider" or outlaw culture. It means you are among the best bikers in the world and the city runs properly because of you, your connections, and your intel.
Growing up, London's cabbies were the vanguards of casual transport. Ph.Ds from King's College would humble themselves when entering a black cab--both knew whom was more valuable. London's confidence in the tried-and-true made it one of the last major cities to accept ride-sharing apps, and then only after stringent regulations. Yet, whether choosing from today's lot or from decades ago, no English cabbie would survive twenty minutes in Jakarta. First, consider the dialects. Indonesia, an island nation like the U.K., has numerous dialects, and Jakarta its own slang. You can pick up "Londonese" or Cockney by watching films, but you can't learn proper Bahasa Indonesia, Javanese, Betawi, and Sudanese unless you're a resident of Jakarta. The language and dialects here are exquisite. Being near the strategic Straits of Malacca attracted the Persians (setan, boroh-boroh), Indians, Arabs, Portuguese, Dutch, English, Japanese (toko, sampai), and even Germans. The word for "thirsty"? Haus. What's "Nice to meet you?" Salam kenal. Want a judge? Ask for a "karim." Speaking Bahasa Indonesia means navigating centuries of influence with each word while avoiding omong kosong.
Second, the roads. No one has fully mapped Jakarta, though the Waze app has tried. Uneven development, no racial and economic segregation, and no discernible zoning laws mean rich and poor operate side-by-side everywhere, including transport. (Private toll freeways have changed inclusive street dynamics, but not by much.) An absence of segregation within a large population means customers are plentiful and not huddled in any specific area. The equivalent of a million dollar home in Europe might be 50 meters from the equivalent of an American housing slum, a juxtaposition encouraging small shops, especially restaurants, salons and bakeries, to lease anywhere they can afford the rent. The result? A bakery serving European concoctions at less than a Euro each might be next to an ordinary convenience store like Alfamart and across the street from tenement housing failing the standards of the most lenient building inspector. As a pedestrian, I'm awed, but mapping a city cohesively under such conditions is nearly impossible. Jakarta's vastness and multitudes mean a 20 minutes GoJek ride is considered "across the street," and within that 20 minutes space could be several five-star restaurants, thousands of new businesses, hundreds of import-export shops, and thousands of dwellings, many doubling as makeshift warungs. Such economic diversity should be best explored on foot, but no one has bothered creating sidewalks worthy of use because it's assumed a motorcycle will take you to your destination, after which you'll take another motorcycle elsewhere. Why? Only the bikers know where everything is, because only the bikers can snake through the alleys as well as the streets.
Third, the difficulty level. London has roundabouts, alleys, storefronts and buses, but it's not the same. I didn't appreciate the difficulty level until I encountered an older rider who needed help from a younger counterpart locating my pick-up spot. Clearly inexperienced, my driver hesitated at every speed bump and every roundabout turn. Where another biker would have accelerated to squeeze between two cars, then pass into a swarm of other bikers, this man braked, letting others move around him. Where another biker would have used his fellow bikers' presence to enter an intersection seconds before the green light, this man waited until the official prompt. Whereas other bikers would have considered slow-moving cyclists just another temporary obstacle to go around, this man reacted as if approaching expensive crystal. I have taken many motorbike rides, and I have only felt unsafe once, when an impatient rider was too ambitious timing his acceleration between two trucks. Most of the time, although everyone is passing inches apart, congestion demands speeds of less than 40 mph, so miscommunications generate not broken bones but unexpected deceleration, after which the driver and the passenger use their feet to regain equilibrium. I'm sure injuries occur, but when both cars and bikes are surrounded by passengers that include women, children, and the elderly, everyone is as careful as possible.
Remarkably, no one says a word, much less in anger, and uses only their horns to let others know something is amiss. It all makes sense once you realize anger distracts and eliminates focus, and you cannot drive Jakarta's streets without supreme focus. In any case, road rage isn't useful--everyone is trying to get somewhere, and anything halting the moving swarm means unnecessary time added to everyone's journey.
In the end, perhaps Jakarta's streets are a microcosm of the city itself. Everyone gets along because there's no point in arguing. The city will move along with or without you, each road its own universe with its own natural harmony. As a passenger, you are part of the cadence, simultaneously singular and plural, a cog in a machine that caresses you forward. If you reach your destination without excessive lurching or a near-death experience, your driver is probably among the world's elite: a Jakarta biker club member. Everyone has their "bucket list," and everyone's bucket list has one or two items they know they'll never accomplish, no matter how much they try. I recently beat a chess grandmaster online by sheer luck, something I never thought possible. (He resigned after becoming frustrated with an unusual opening position in a timed match.) My list now needs updating, and I know just what to add: a Jakarta biker's jacket. Semoga beruntung to all of Indonesia's riders.
© Matthew Mehdi Rafat (July 2022)
Dedicated to Hunter S. Thompson, the Hell's Angels, and the Mongols Motorcycle Club. May we find peace in our time on the roads.
Clarification for non-Western readers: a "bucket list" is a list of things to do before you die. I assume the bucket is from a Midwestern phrase, "to kick the bucket." When using the expression, I imagine a farmer milking a cow suffering a heart attack while on a small wooden stool, falling, and spilling gallons of milk in a nearby metal bucket.
Tip: if riding as a passenger on a motorbike in Asia, do not extend your arm to show the rider where to go or to stop. You may accidentally clothesline another rider about to accelerate behind you.