5:00 AM
Three cups of strong black coffee.
A bowl of oatmeal mixed with bananas and brown sugar.
I am probably more awake now then I will be all day. I need to be. Strap on some shoes and head down to where the Tiger is parked. A few turns of the starter and she comes alive, purring softly in anticipation. I feel a cool hardness transform my persona. As lower my helm my over my head mild mannered PJ no longer exists. I have become the Road Warrior.
As the Road Warrior I join thousands of like minded individuals who partake in the daily death race up the bypass from Kerobokan to Jimbaran. Their welcoming cacophony greets me as I join their fraternity: the hoover of the Mios and Varios, the purr of the Tigers and Vixions, and the occasional deep rumble of the Harleys.
As road warriors we share the same mission - to get ahead of the other guy by any means possible.
Bali is probably one of the few places on earth where motorists accelerate while approaching a red light. It’s important to remember that driving here is competitive, and you can still progress while the light is red by squeezing ahead of the other guy. Suspend any sort of altruistic notions that you may ever have entertained in you life. No gap is too narrow. If you can get your nose into it you are in. Signal lights? Use ‘em as decoys to confuse potential overtakers. Lanes? Mere references - not to be taken seriously – make your own. Cars? Think of them as moving hazards or as poles in a slalom course. The ends here justify any and all means and the ends here means the front of the queue.
Of course this type of temperament is not without cost. Accidents are common on the battlefield. Many a road warrior bears the scars of the asphalt’s tarry embrace. And today, like every day at one or two will join that big bypass in the sky, victims of their own or their neighbor’s recklessness. Still apart from a few signboards advising warriors to wear helmets and slow down little has been done to change the attitude of most warriors from that of indifference to their fate.
Easing into Udayana I can slowly relax and release the death grip on the handlebars. My pulse gradually drops below 300 as the adrenalin dissipates in my blood. The road is narrower here which means less traffic and less places for other warriors to surprise you with sudden turns, stops, and starts. The air is cooler as well and I cautiously raise my visor to get a taste of it. At that moment a truck pulls out in from of me engulfing all of us in black exhaust so heavy that I have to shower it off.
Damm
There will always be one last truck.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Caveat Emptor
An interesting piece on the Op/Ed page of the Jakarta Post. I can only advise anyone investing in real estate here not to bet the farm. Would love to know which of the gazillion villa projects currently underway this one is.
Letter: We find no justice
Wed, 11/25/2009 2:13 PM
Opinion
We are Dutch who live in Spain. My husband was born in Surabaya and lived in Bandung until he was 17 years old. He still speaks Indonesian. We met someone in Bali who had a project to build 28 villas, but he needed investors.
We had a real estate company in Spain for 13 years and a big network. We had the investors and using our money, we could start the project. We used our money and our partner from Bali brought nothing.
When all the money was in, he started attacking us. Our office manager told us he would never give back our or our investor's money. This saga has gone on for almost five years. My husband is partner, investor and president commissioner, but when he asked four questions of our Bali partner, he got back four pages of rebuttal and no answers.
This partner took money out of the bank and put it in a private safe. He already had two high salaries. The budget, made by him to draw in investors, became three times the first budget's total, meaning there was no money left for the investors.
My husband had very good contact with all our employees, but our partner forbade them to talk to my husband, their boss. However, we found out there were several potential employees to build the villa's kitchens and one was his friend from Java. The pay was 30 percent higher than other employees. His friend got the position. Our partner earned money through commissions.
The partner then fired the employees, because they liked my husband too much. He employed new workers and forbid them to communicate with my husband and kept him away from the office. My husband arranged to have a forensic audit done by an accounting firm from Jakarta four times, two of which involving the police, but they were sent away by our partner.
One accountant had to wait an hour and a half outside, while the police were inside talking with our partner. Again they had to go. What went under the table? My husband wrote to ministers, we informed the Dutch and Canadian Embassies and more. We have hearings, but even when the outcome is positive, our partner offers much money to the judge. We are paying lawyers much money, but we go on, because there must be some justice in Indonesia.
It cannot be that somebody, who lives in Bali, can rip off hardworking and honest investors from Europe when he did not bring in one penny and wants to be the sole owner of the project, helped by police, judges and lawyers. My husband began a criminal case two times, but nothing has happened.
Now our partner is attempting to get his hand on all the documents to put the project under his name. But we will fight this until the end. And we will inform the media not to invest in Indonesia, because you can be sure about one thing, you will be cheated. There is no justice in Indonesia.
Clarie Morks
Marbella, Spain
Letter: We find no justice
Wed, 11/25/2009 2:13 PM
Opinion
We are Dutch who live in Spain. My husband was born in Surabaya and lived in Bandung until he was 17 years old. He still speaks Indonesian. We met someone in Bali who had a project to build 28 villas, but he needed investors.
We had a real estate company in Spain for 13 years and a big network. We had the investors and using our money, we could start the project. We used our money and our partner from Bali brought nothing.
When all the money was in, he started attacking us. Our office manager told us he would never give back our or our investor's money. This saga has gone on for almost five years. My husband is partner, investor and president commissioner, but when he asked four questions of our Bali partner, he got back four pages of rebuttal and no answers.
This partner took money out of the bank and put it in a private safe. He already had two high salaries. The budget, made by him to draw in investors, became three times the first budget's total, meaning there was no money left for the investors.
My husband had very good contact with all our employees, but our partner forbade them to talk to my husband, their boss. However, we found out there were several potential employees to build the villa's kitchens and one was his friend from Java. The pay was 30 percent higher than other employees. His friend got the position. Our partner earned money through commissions.
The partner then fired the employees, because they liked my husband too much. He employed new workers and forbid them to communicate with my husband and kept him away from the office. My husband arranged to have a forensic audit done by an accounting firm from Jakarta four times, two of which involving the police, but they were sent away by our partner.
One accountant had to wait an hour and a half outside, while the police were inside talking with our partner. Again they had to go. What went under the table? My husband wrote to ministers, we informed the Dutch and Canadian Embassies and more. We have hearings, but even when the outcome is positive, our partner offers much money to the judge. We are paying lawyers much money, but we go on, because there must be some justice in Indonesia.
It cannot be that somebody, who lives in Bali, can rip off hardworking and honest investors from Europe when he did not bring in one penny and wants to be the sole owner of the project, helped by police, judges and lawyers. My husband began a criminal case two times, but nothing has happened.
Now our partner is attempting to get his hand on all the documents to put the project under his name. But we will fight this until the end. And we will inform the media not to invest in Indonesia, because you can be sure about one thing, you will be cheated. There is no justice in Indonesia.
Clarie Morks
Marbella, Spain
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Sock Puppets
Thursday, October 29, 2009
The Parking Spot
No system is foolproof as fools are ingenious
- Corollary to Murphy’s Law
This is a longish post. Better get a coffee.
Oh for the good old days of the Tukang Parkir. Back in the day the man with a whistle had an almost arcane power over all vehicles in his domain. It was always interesting to me how he could guide cars reversing back to the left, right, or straight with the exact same series of gestures. Maybe the cars could understand him? The Tukang Parkir lived on the tips of his clients and seemed to recognize whether you had paid him or not from memory. Nowadays the tukang parkir is slowly being phased out in the name of automated billing systems and toll booth attendants. This trend away from the human element may make sense from the business standpoint but there are some rather glaring disadvantages which occurred to me while using one of these newfangled parking systems.
A while ago I had occasion to head down to Tuban where there was a shop in a well known mall that carried exactly what I was looking for. Heading into Tuban is always a challenge. It’s a maze of one way streets that serve no particular purpose that I can fathom (probably deserves a post of its own). The mall is located on a single lane road that is shared with taxis, buses, motorbikes, horse drawn buggies and pull carts. The buses and taxis are forever stopping to pickup passengers and nothing moves faster than the horse carts. The motorbikes weave from side to side opportunistically looking for that momentary gap between 2 vehicles to slide in and past. All part of the fun in blistering heat.
Having finally reached the mall the next thing is to get a place to park. Now at this point some explanation to the byzantine parking process is required. First you get your parking ticket. The ticket has to be paid inside the mall where the clerk validates the ticket. The gate attendant then takes the ticket at the parkade exit gate. Having received my parking card dutifully time stamped by the gate attendant I made my way cautiously into the dark recesses of the parking lot - the space reserved exclusively for motorbikes. Nosing in I was shocked to see the degree of disorganization and chaos. There was not a space to be had. There were bikes everywhere! Bikes were even parked on the access ways, constricting the path to the point where I to edge my way around the corners as I desperately searched for a spot to park. Damm there is absolutely nothing here. With nowhere to park I headed towards the exit. My plan now was to park a few blocks away and hoof it back to the mall.
This cunning plan began to go pear shaped when I tried to get past the parking attendant. Just between us I'm not sure what sort of qualifications is required to to be a parking attendant. From the outsiders view they appear very much like a failed immigration officer - someone with a tiny bit of power combined with narrow view of their own duties. They are not persuaded by commonsense arguments such as why should I pay for parking if there is none available nor possess the comprehension that to pay one's ticket, one needs to park - the cashier is inside remember? What they are capable of understanding is two things: first to take the ticket and open the gate and second; let security deal that those miscreants and shit disturbers (namely moi) who refuse to pay for the privilege of driving through a dark stuffy underground parkade. So when faced with my complaint you can surmise what happenned next.
It’s surprising how quickly security can turn up. Even more surprising is how many. Within a few moments of my discussion with the parking attendant a sea of blue uniforms surrounded me and my bike. I wondered if this was how General Custer felt riding over the hill to find all those Indians waiting for him. Where did these guys come from? Two goons put a firm grip on my bike, (to keep me from getting away I suppose) and the rest did their best tough guy imitation. You know the look: arms crossed, unsmiling, shoulders back - they must practice that in a mirror -waiting for me to make the next move. I had a brief hilarious vision of going all Chuck Norris on their assses but I simply repeated my claim to the senior security fellow that if I was sold a non-parking spot then I shouldn't have to pay. By now there were people lining up behind me patiently honking their horns and trying to drive over us to get to the gate. The head guard thought furiously for a few moments then hit on a solution.
"It’s useless to complain to us Pak" he intimated to me. "We are just the staff. The management office is just upstairs so why don't you head on up to complain to them. We will look after your bike for you." As there was no other real option a parking spot was allocated to me (next to the booth actually- sweet!) and off I went in search of the admin office. At this point I really had what I wanted in the first place but I decided to find out for myself how the complaint process was handled.
If this mall is anything to go by I strongly recommend that all customers in all malls complain as much as possible. The reason being that the PR staff at the mall is extremely well spoken and easy on the eyes. You might even get a free cup of tea out of the process - I did. The complaint form itself was pretty small – mayhap they couldn’t imagine that anyone could find something to complain about. There was however a space for name, telephone number and email address which I dutifully filled in. The PR girl assured me with her 1000 ship smile that I would be contacted soon by the senior management who would deal with my complaint.
Yeah Right....
Several months later I am still waiting.........hello....i'm here....anybody there?????
In the good old days the tukang parkir who would have had this sort of issue sorted out in no time. Using the modern method and filling out all that paperwork I have yet to receive even the acknowledgment from the mall management that a problem exists. Don't even get me started on the whole empowerment issue that there is not a single manager in a major shopping centre who has enough fiduciary authority to comp a 1000 Rp parking ticket . Apparently this can only be done in Jakarta. Some progress!
I want my tukang parkir back.
1000 Rp – about 10 cents. Its not about the money
Tukang Parkir – Parking can be a chore in Indonesia. The tukang parking is a guy that helps people get parked and unparked. Armed with a whistle and a 3 word vocabulary they are uniquely skilled and getting you in and out with a minimum of fuss.
- Corollary to Murphy’s Law
This is a longish post. Better get a coffee.
Oh for the good old days of the Tukang Parkir. Back in the day the man with a whistle had an almost arcane power over all vehicles in his domain. It was always interesting to me how he could guide cars reversing back to the left, right, or straight with the exact same series of gestures. Maybe the cars could understand him? The Tukang Parkir lived on the tips of his clients and seemed to recognize whether you had paid him or not from memory. Nowadays the tukang parkir is slowly being phased out in the name of automated billing systems and toll booth attendants. This trend away from the human element may make sense from the business standpoint but there are some rather glaring disadvantages which occurred to me while using one of these newfangled parking systems.
A while ago I had occasion to head down to Tuban where there was a shop in a well known mall that carried exactly what I was looking for. Heading into Tuban is always a challenge. It’s a maze of one way streets that serve no particular purpose that I can fathom (probably deserves a post of its own). The mall is located on a single lane road that is shared with taxis, buses, motorbikes, horse drawn buggies and pull carts. The buses and taxis are forever stopping to pickup passengers and nothing moves faster than the horse carts. The motorbikes weave from side to side opportunistically looking for that momentary gap between 2 vehicles to slide in and past. All part of the fun in blistering heat.
Having finally reached the mall the next thing is to get a place to park. Now at this point some explanation to the byzantine parking process is required. First you get your parking ticket. The ticket has to be paid inside the mall where the clerk validates the ticket. The gate attendant then takes the ticket at the parkade exit gate. Having received my parking card dutifully time stamped by the gate attendant I made my way cautiously into the dark recesses of the parking lot - the space reserved exclusively for motorbikes. Nosing in I was shocked to see the degree of disorganization and chaos. There was not a space to be had. There were bikes everywhere! Bikes were even parked on the access ways, constricting the path to the point where I to edge my way around the corners as I desperately searched for a spot to park. Damm there is absolutely nothing here. With nowhere to park I headed towards the exit. My plan now was to park a few blocks away and hoof it back to the mall.
This cunning plan began to go pear shaped when I tried to get past the parking attendant. Just between us I'm not sure what sort of qualifications is required to to be a parking attendant. From the outsiders view they appear very much like a failed immigration officer - someone with a tiny bit of power combined with narrow view of their own duties. They are not persuaded by commonsense arguments such as why should I pay for parking if there is none available nor possess the comprehension that to pay one's ticket, one needs to park - the cashier is inside remember? What they are capable of understanding is two things: first to take the ticket and open the gate and second; let security deal that those miscreants and shit disturbers (namely moi) who refuse to pay for the privilege of driving through a dark stuffy underground parkade. So when faced with my complaint you can surmise what happenned next.
It’s surprising how quickly security can turn up. Even more surprising is how many. Within a few moments of my discussion with the parking attendant a sea of blue uniforms surrounded me and my bike. I wondered if this was how General Custer felt riding over the hill to find all those Indians waiting for him. Where did these guys come from? Two goons put a firm grip on my bike, (to keep me from getting away I suppose) and the rest did their best tough guy imitation. You know the look: arms crossed, unsmiling, shoulders back - they must practice that in a mirror -waiting for me to make the next move. I had a brief hilarious vision of going all Chuck Norris on their assses but I simply repeated my claim to the senior security fellow that if I was sold a non-parking spot then I shouldn't have to pay. By now there were people lining up behind me patiently honking their horns and trying to drive over us to get to the gate. The head guard thought furiously for a few moments then hit on a solution.
"It’s useless to complain to us Pak" he intimated to me. "We are just the staff. The management office is just upstairs so why don't you head on up to complain to them. We will look after your bike for you." As there was no other real option a parking spot was allocated to me (next to the booth actually- sweet!) and off I went in search of the admin office. At this point I really had what I wanted in the first place but I decided to find out for myself how the complaint process was handled.
If this mall is anything to go by I strongly recommend that all customers in all malls complain as much as possible. The reason being that the PR staff at the mall is extremely well spoken and easy on the eyes. You might even get a free cup of tea out of the process - I did. The complaint form itself was pretty small – mayhap they couldn’t imagine that anyone could find something to complain about. There was however a space for name, telephone number and email address which I dutifully filled in. The PR girl assured me with her 1000 ship smile that I would be contacted soon by the senior management who would deal with my complaint.
Yeah Right....
Several months later I am still waiting.........hello....i'm here....anybody there?????
In the good old days the tukang parkir who would have had this sort of issue sorted out in no time. Using the modern method and filling out all that paperwork I have yet to receive even the acknowledgment from the mall management that a problem exists. Don't even get me started on the whole empowerment issue that there is not a single manager in a major shopping centre who has enough fiduciary authority to comp a 1000 Rp parking ticket . Apparently this can only be done in Jakarta. Some progress!
I want my tukang parkir back.
1000 Rp – about 10 cents. Its not about the money
Tukang Parkir – Parking can be a chore in Indonesia. The tukang parking is a guy that helps people get parked and unparked. Armed with a whistle and a 3 word vocabulary they are uniquely skilled and getting you in and out with a minimum of fuss.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
The free lunch
You know it has to be the oldest line ever. "You can't get something for nothing". And yet in spite of this sage advice the human spirit still can't resist the mirage of getting something for free. Whether it’s a marketing gimmick or a 419 scam the appeal for the free lunch pulls us as relentlessly as gravity. We fall for it every time. I was reminded of this human failing by two recent events. The first was a stampede at the City Hall in Jakarta. The Governor was having an open house to celebrate the end of Ramadan. Visitors were to receive a free gift of food and a small amount of cash. Although he probably meant well the governor chose to have this open house in spite of a similar gathering causing a stampede in Surabaya a year ago that resulted in the deaths of 21 people. Leaders should know better - why engage in such risky behaviour? The other little event was a potato giveaway in Canada that caused massive traffic jam and 8 km queues. The spectacle of affluent people lining up (in their SUVs) for free potatoes beggars belief.
The frenzy for the free lunch is not a new phenomenon by any means. I can recall back in my college/bartending days some bright light manager had the idea of giving away free chilli con queso (it was a Mexican theme cafe and bar) and tortilla chips during happy hour. Once word reached the street we were deluged with clients of the worst possible description jostling over who was first in line at 5:00 when the con queso pans hit the floor. They were lining up outside the building for their free snack and most became indignant when I mentioned that they really needed to order a drink if they wanted to stay there. I had a similar experience with an all-you-can-eat spaghetti night at another establishment. Within a few weeks of the promotion the largest, hungriest people imaginable converged on our little cafe like ravenous piranhas. It was almost like they were trying to outdo each other in their gluttonous frenzy. After a few more weeks we finally had to cancel the promotion as it was simply too painful to watch grown men (and women) eat 4 large plates of spaghetti every Thursday evening.
Now in no way am I discouraging charity, charitable acts, or charitable people. These people should be commended. Charitable action though, should be done carefully or even anonymously. It seems to do no good to the giver or the receiver when the act of giving results in pandemonium. Likewise any political message given though free potatoes is lost in the circus that followed. Overt displays of largesse do tend to bring out the worst in people. In spite of all our philosophies, moralizing, laws and ethics we are still quite literally willing to walk over our neighbour for a free lunch.
The frenzy for the free lunch is not a new phenomenon by any means. I can recall back in my college/bartending days some bright light manager had the idea of giving away free chilli con queso (it was a Mexican theme cafe and bar) and tortilla chips during happy hour. Once word reached the street we were deluged with clients of the worst possible description jostling over who was first in line at 5:00 when the con queso pans hit the floor. They were lining up outside the building for their free snack and most became indignant when I mentioned that they really needed to order a drink if they wanted to stay there. I had a similar experience with an all-you-can-eat spaghetti night at another establishment. Within a few weeks of the promotion the largest, hungriest people imaginable converged on our little cafe like ravenous piranhas. It was almost like they were trying to outdo each other in their gluttonous frenzy. After a few more weeks we finally had to cancel the promotion as it was simply too painful to watch grown men (and women) eat 4 large plates of spaghetti every Thursday evening.
Now in no way am I discouraging charity, charitable acts, or charitable people. These people should be commended. Charitable action though, should be done carefully or even anonymously. It seems to do no good to the giver or the receiver when the act of giving results in pandemonium. Likewise any political message given though free potatoes is lost in the circus that followed. Overt displays of largesse do tend to bring out the worst in people. In spite of all our philosophies, moralizing, laws and ethics we are still quite literally willing to walk over our neighbour for a free lunch.
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