Men stand in the back of a truck after a temple ceremony in Bali on October 16. After many ceremonies, participants go to the sea, considered a sacred place, for the last step in the ceremony. (CU Independent/Stephanie Davis)
The opinions represented in this article do not necessarily represent those of the staff of CUIndependent.com nor any of its sponsors.
I don’t remember the last time I wore a seat belt. It may have actually been on the airplane on my way to Bali. And there have never been so many times in my life I’ve sat in a car and thought, “Oh my God, I am going to die.”
The roads here in Bali seem like some sort of contemporary artwork – confusing and busy for those that don’t know them, but make perfect sense to those who do. There are very few dotted lines or straight lines going down the middle telling drivers what side of the road to stay on, and even when there are, they’re not followed. I’ve counted more times that drivers hang out right over the lines than when they’ve been in an actual lane.
Introducing the new mini-van: Since many families cannot afford cars, the main mode of transportation here is the motor bike. I’ve actually seen five people on one motor bike at one point — Dad driving, son standing between his legs in the front, mom behind dad with one child on her lap and one in a sling on her side.
On the day of a major festival this week, I was dressed in my Pakian Adat (traditional clothing consisting of a nice top, sash around the waste and movement-constricting sarong), sitting side-saddle on a motorbike balancing offerings to take to the temple on my lap. I was behind my host-sister (her 4-year-old son between her legs, of course), none of us wearing helmets. “Oh my God, I am going to die.”
Thankfully I made it the two blocks without incident, but I was practically whimpering the whole way. But shhh, this is violation to a waiver I signed at the beginning of the semester saying I wouldn’t ride side-saddle or without a helmet, so don’t tell anyone.
As one of the major ways students get around, we catch a ride on the local bemo routes. The brightly colored orange and turquoise mini-buses have routes all over Bali. For about 30 cents, we can get over to Ubud, the town 15 minutes away with all the food and Internet spots we cling to so dearly.
In a sense, this isn’t too different from jumping on the Skip or Hop back home. The part that makes the bemo ride so fun, however, is seeing how many people we can cram into one vehicle. Since the driver relies on the fares from his occupants, he (and yes, always a he, transportation is one of the jobs women here are discouraged from having) wants to get as many people on his bus as possible.
I had no idea you could fit 16 people into a vehicle the size of a minivan. It becomes almost a game, seeing where we can fit that one extra person and the giant bag of groceries they’re carrying. By the time I get off on a lot of those rides, I’ve made one more Balinese friend that I’ll probably never see again.
Unfortunately, the busy roads here are far from safe. Within the first week of my stay in Bali, one of our teachers lost his wife in a motor bike accident. Last week, another one of my teachers was in a motor bike accident that thankfully destroyed her bike rather than her, but she has a few scrapes and bruises that might be around for a while.
I haven’t had the chance to drive in almost two months now, and I miss it quite a bit. To get my mind off things in Boulder, I would hop in my car for a ride in the mountains. When I go home and have the chance to do so again, you can bet the first thing I’m going to do is put on the good ol’ seat belt.
Contact CU Independent Contributor Stephanie Davis at Stephanie.davis@colorado.edu.
