To Protect and To Serve
Today I was stopped by the police. There were about 30 of the taupe uniform-clad men lining the side of the highway along with their fancy police SUV’s. They were pulling most people over, checking registration and licenses. I tried looking nondescript. “Ok, Thomas, just blend in…” Right. I’m not quite the right colour and a bit too hirsute in all the wrong places. My face, I mean. To my credit, it was the very last policeman who motioned me (aggressively) to stop. Granted, I do not have an international driver’s license. And this is illegal. For some reason, I have an Australian license. But I do have the proper registration for my bike, rented from a friend. And I wear a helmet.
The policeman gave me two options; I could go to court in the next few weeks and try to retrieve my registration card and license. Or, I could pay a fine. Or, as he put it, a tax. I asked how much, knowing full well that everything in this country can be bartered (from sarongs, to artwork, to taxis, and dinner). He said 200,000 rupiah (about CAD 28). I scoffed. How bout 50 grand, I asked. He laughed. I said that’s all I have. He followed me to my bag and wallet. Opening it up, I realized that I had come up a bit short. So I handed it to him and said that actually only have 45,000. He took it, grunted, shoved the money neatly into his shirt between two buttons on his portly belly, and handed back my documents.
The checkpoint then drove off, leaving me angry, defeated, and without money for dinner.
And such is life in
