On your bus
Learning Indonesia
It’s the 604: a public bus that begins its journey in the congested south of Jakarta and winds its way towards the even more congested heart of the city.
The bus has an orange and blue exterior with the route number printed on the front. It’s decorated with fast swirls and dynamic patterns. Inside there are rows of plastic seats with leg-room for people with short legs. At the front the driver has surrounded himself with colourful stickers and wind chimes. The bare metal structure is a deep red brown. A combination of dirt, rust and metal fatigue gives one the impression of travelling inside a rotting log.
The passengers sit or stand, calmly squashed together. A young man holds a wad of notes in his left hand and jingles coins in his right. The passengers respond, reaching into pockets, handing over the fare. I have the exact fare ready so my wallet stays in my pocket. I don’t want to attract attention.
A baby sits wide-eyed in its mother’s lap. The young man, having collected the fares, yells out the doorway at pedestrians, soliciting potential passengers.
I sit forward in my seat to cool the sweat on my back and I notice the stares from the other passengers. It is not often they see a bule (‘boo-lay’: Westerner) this far from the hotel, let alone one travelling on a bus.
Although the attention makes me feel like an alien it also heightens the sense of adventure. I am experiencing what few of my kind ever do—but not without a sense of anxiety. I eye everyone with suspicion. I am out of my element and although I’m trying hard to look relaxed I suspect they can tell. The driver guides the bus through an impossible gap in the traffic and the toot of the horn startles me. The street officially has six lanes but today there seem to be ten, as is the will of the motorists.
A coin is rapped against the window and the bus slows. A man in the street wishes to board. He runs alongside, then leaps on. Further ahead we stop. A sea of gridlocked vehicles stretches into the distance. The only movement is the delicate weaving of the motorbikes through the mess. Finally, they too come to a halt.
A young man takes advantage of the gridlock and steps confidently onto the bus. He has a ragged look