Bikes, jobs, unimaginative headings

There are times in life when you end up doing things that you once swore you'd never do.

Some things come to mind immediately, like owning a modified car, or buying another high powered rifle. On the plus side, my hot rod brings all the bros to the yard,(and they're like, why doesn't it start?) and the .308 looks nice sitting next to the .223, .303, 12 gauge and pair of .22's that never see daylight, or spotlight for that matter.

So, things.

Before I moved to Malaysia, I'd sworn that I wouldn't ride a scooter in KL. The roads were too busy, the drivers were too nuts, and in short, I thought widened the odds of me dying of old age to an unacceptable level.

I mean, depending on which body you consult, the Malaysia annual road toll stands at 3,600 or 6,000 for the official/unofficial figures respectively. By rights, it's enough to make you lock yourself in a room and order take out until you wind up on one of those 'It Happened To Me' late night television shows, being winched out of your roof.

On to the present, I ride one daily. Often with my wife, hanging on the back. That's quite a change of opinion, and now I'll explain how it came about.

Firstly, I learned, and possibly conquered Malaysian roads in a Mighty Myvi.

Because you're not some sort of car encyclopaedia, I'm happy to explain that a Myvi is a small, locally built soft-drink-can-with-wheels that is the mode of transport of choice for entry-level car buyer.

From here I learned a few things. For starters, everyone merges into your lane. All the time. So you need to expect that. Easy.

Secondly, the majority of the merging, cutting off, reversing down on-ramps, and stopping in the middle of highway happens fairly slowly. So you have a few seconds to contemplate “Is he... really going to do that?” (of which the answer is inevitably YES) and then respond accordingly.

Thirdly, the right hand lane is suicide.

Seriously kids, suicide. It's where the Porches and Lambo's play. But it's easy enough to avoid.

Two more factors.

I caught taxis to and from work for a few weeks before the scooter came up for sale. In short, some of the taxi rides were terrifying.

The problem with being a mechanic is that when you're in a half million-kay old proton that's hooking round a highway bend at speed is that you're painfully aware of the relevance of every bump, creak, groan and grind to your personal safety. My worst motorcycle scare has nothing on my worst taxi rides. Nothing.

Now, about the road toll. Malaysia has a similar amount of people as Australia, so yes, the road toll is as absolutely shocking as it sounds. But it doesn't particularly worry me.

To obtain a motorcycle and licence in Australia, you have to pass a few tests of skill, be financially stable, and wait. You wait a long time. And then you pass another test.

You have super strict road laws regarding speed, as well as general road manners, and observation of road safety laws.

Whereas in Malaysia, you need to be too poor to own a car.

As to why being poor makes otherwise sane people ride scooters like absolute nutcases, I'm out of ideas. There is a saying thrown around that translates to 'by the will of Allah', which gives a little insight. In other words, you may live, or die, it's all in the hands of God. That can't help. What I know is that whilst there are no guarantees on Malaysian roads, (or Australian roads for that matter) the way you ride has a higher influence on life or death than anything else.

Now that you've digested all of that, I give you my closing argument.

From memory, around half of Malaysia gets around on two wheels. They do so occasionally out of practically, but mainly because of one thing: annual income.

I live in their country, eat their food, and breathe the same air as they do. The difference with me, is that I grew up in Australia, and when I relocated to an essentially developing country, I did so with large amounts of financial replenishment.

The average bloke on a motorbike does it out of necessity.

Millions of Malaysians ride scooters.

And in the end, if it's good enough for them, it's good enough for me.

A few words about employment

In the interest of using this blog for actual chronicling of relevant news regard myself, I'll give you a quick run-down of my employment of the last six months.

Initially, I was happily and busily unemployed. I set up house, arranged a few things, did the washing, and occasionally did modelling work for my cousin's casting agency.

That got boring, and the work got scarce, so I was looking for a job.

I got one, through a friend at the football club. It was for a PR agency. That lasted six weeks.

In the end, I pulled the pin, which was 50% because I found out I wasn't suited to PR, and 50% because the last week I worked for them was a 62 hour week. No including the weekend. Yeah, not really why I moved to Asia. I still like my wife, so I should spend some time seeing her when I can.

Today I completed what may be my first step into a new career direction.

I worked a day at Jem's school. The principal is keen to get me started with them as a sessional/emergency teacher, off the back of my Cert 4 TAE. Short of me hating the work, I may begin study towards a proper teaching degree next year. But it's early days.

Anywho. Exciting times.

The fuzz

"I'll have to give you a summons," he said. "The summons will cost 300 rinngit."

I'd been a bit apprehensive about dealing with the Police over here. Ideally, you never deal with them. They just complicate things. And everyone I talk to just tells me to bribe them. I'm not sure how I feel about that.

We were exiting a car park, turning right, and I illegally crossed a turning lane. Which, in a country where it's quite normal for scooters to drive the wrong way down exit ramps, is barely even noteworthy. Had I actually seen the policeman standing on the side of the road, I probably still would've crossed the lane.

I was then waved down by Mr Plod, who I think at the time was writing out parking fines. 

He didn't actually ask me for a bribe. He just kept telling me that the summons would cost three hundred rinngit. Which is odd, considering I've been on the Police website and there aren't any fines that cost anywhere near that much. He'd tell us this, and then crack half a smile, and leave a nice big space for me to offer to settle the bill now. 

I wasn't worried. I sat there calmly, and looked him in the eye. "That's too bad," I said.

On with the small talk. He asked us where we were from, and what we were doing here. His face quite amusingly dropped when he found out that I wasn't an engineer for a petroleum company(read: rich) and Jem was just a teacher. Not just a teacher, but clearly a woman, so she couldn't be making that much money. So after telling us a few more times that we would definitely be getting a summons, and it'd cost us 300rm, and then staring at us, with hope in his eyes... he let us off with a warning. 

It was a good month for cops. Actually, no it wasn't. But it was a very good month for me. 

We'd booked a Bali holiday with Jem's family. In a stroke of good timing, I had a mate from Australia over there doing pretty much the same thing I was, and we met up for coffee. And sandwiches. And beer. After all, it's Bali.

The cafe was out a ways from the centre of town and on my much longer than expected walk I'd learned that the taxis were kinda scarce. So to get home, I hopped on the back of Tim's scooter. I didn't have a helmet with me. 

Now I should clarify. 

I owned and rode a bike regularly back in Australia. I own and ride a scooter here in Malaysia. I value helmets. I like my head, and I think I have a good looking face, which under normal circumstances I take many precautions to protect. But it was only a short ride, mostly on backroads, and although the traffic in Bali is kinda random, the speeds are pretty low. So I made an exception.
As it happened, Tim had never been to the place we were staying, and I was still getting my head around the roads. Soon enough we were slightly lost, and eventually wound up at a fairly busy intersection manned by a few traffic cops. 

Now I'm 6"2 and I'd guess Tim to be at least six inches shorter that me, so my attempts to duck down behind him didn't really help. The copper waved us down.

Just before I hopped off the back, I leaned in towards Tim and told him to absolutely ride on and let me deal with the Po Po's by myself. He didn't listen. He did, however, park just far enough away that the policeman wouldn't walk over to him, and instead sat there and played an amusing 'Hey you!' 'Who, me?' hand gesturing game with him across the intersection. Eventually, the man in the hat gave up and went back to directing traffic. Well played, Tim. Well played.

Anyway.

The taller one beckoned me into the little Police box, conveniently located at the side of the road.

If there's anyone reading this who hasn't met me, I should explain that me referring to myself as 'a bit of a talker' is understating the point. In the words of a former girlfriend (who you don't know) I could talk underwater. I causally shot the breeze with my captor.

I explained the situation clearly and apologetically. I'd normally wear a helmet, for sure. I just couldn't get a cab. And then we got lost.

He wasn't really an active participant in the conversation.

He pulled a pre-laminated sheet of paper out from under a book, with the fines for various offences printed on it.

“In Indonesia,” he explained, “You must wear helmet.”

“I know,” I said. “I normally would wear one, it's just that I couldn't get a taxi. And we weren't going far, but we got a bit lost. Can you help direct us home?”

“In Indonesia,” he explained gently for the obviously slow minded tourist, “you must wear helmet. The fine for no helmet is 250,000R(about $25AU).”

“I see,” I said. “Oh well. If that's the fine, then that's how it is. I didn't mean to have come this way, we just got a bit lost.

“I'm Josh, anyway. What's your name?”

My new friend goes silent. 
Awkward silent. 
Which I thought was strange, but then, maybe that's just how he is.

“If I write you a fine, you must go to the Police Station,” he explained, “Or you can pay it now, and finished.” He made the palms down gesture for effect.

I was aware of what was going on here, but I wasn't really concerned. I figured that being an older guy, he probably had kids, and if the corrupt policeman's family, rather than the corrupt policemans somewhat corrupt government was going to profit from my sins, then I wasn't about to lose any sleep.

“Now because you are tourist, you have discount, so only cost 100,000 ($10) if you pay now.”

I agreed that 100,000 was better than 250,000, and pulled out the money and paid him.

“So we're a bit lost,” I repeated, “could you help us with directions? I can show you on a map where we're heaped, can you help us out on how to get there?”

He nodded happily enough, right up until I pulled a laptop out of my backpack. 
Then his eyes nearly fell out of his head.
“Is this where we are?”

Awkward silence.

“This intersection right here?”

“....yes...”

“So we head down that way, then?”

“.....Uh, yes, take second right.”

By this point he's looking very nervous, and the other policeman is shooting concerned glances over at my new mate and starting to walk over towards us.

“Oh, thanks heaps, mate, you've really helped us. What did you say your name was?”

His face changed again. No name was offered. I think I heard him sigh.

“Because you are tourist,” he said pulling the bill out of his book and handing it back to me, “I will give you a warning. Tomorrow, you wear helmet.”

I thanked him again, profusely, but he seemed to look at me as though I was insincere.

It was only later that I realised what I'd done, and what I must have appeared like to him.

Other than to always carry a laptop(because it makes you look very official) I'm not really sure what I learned from this.

I don't like the idea of a corrupt police force, but now that I've learned what they actually get paid, I don't like the idea of a poor police force either.

So I'm still on the fence what to do.

There are a few absolutes.

Be friendly, as this seems to catch the police off guard. I tend to think that in the majority of circumstances, accepting to pay a written fine will result in the police letting you off. Everyone hates paperwork, especially if you don't get paid overtime.

Always, always remember that you are a guest of whatever country you may be in. Remember that Australian woman who got locked up in Thailand for stealing a bar mat? She probably would have received a warning had she not made very loud derogatory statements about the Bangkok Chief of Police. That's poor form.

Don't be that guy.

On both occasions, the truth of the matter is that I was only pulled over because I'm white. No question.

But I don't think that pointing out this obvious discrimination would have helped my case.

I'll leave it to you to draw your own conclusions as to what is right and what is wrong.
But I'll part with this:
Act within your conscience, act politely, always, always ask for their name (I mean, that's just polite, really) and at worst? It'll still cost you less than a parking fine on Malop street.