Demoted

As if my walks about town were not hazardous enough already, I’ve decided to add another challenge into the mix. For the last month or so, I have been considering buying a bicycle. I have had enough with the bartering game where it relates to mobility. This would make me, however, the lowest common denominator on the street.

Buses and trucks, being the biggest and, therefore, most able to obliterate all others, have priority on these streets. Oh, wait…excuse me, CATTLE have priority: buses will screech to a halt for those sacred (and grande) animals. I have yet to decipher if it’s based on beliefs, or rather the understanding that the cow could do a whole lot more damage to the vehicle. Buses are good to steer clear of unless you are jumping onto one as it pulls away from the curb: people indiscriminately spit out the windows. I pity the non-helmet-wearing scooter driver caught next to one in rush hour! And trucks are so colorfully decorated that, at first glance, one may think she is witnessing several dedicated parade floats, that couldn’t stand to miss taking part in festivities, despite the loads of rocks to be delivered. Just yesterday, I noticed a solid looking diesel truck. I knew it was diesel thanks to the intricately scripted word “diesel” bordered by lovely, pink, chalk flowers. I love it!

Then, in the chain of command, come all cars. Now, by all cars, I am only speaking of a small, select few. For instance, when hiring a car for a weekend trek, one can choose by size. There is no range of economy, compact, mid-size, standard, or full size to order from; we go with big or small. And depending on the request, an Indica or a Tavera will show up. For REALLY large groups, one may hire a Tempo Traveller...These are the makes of the cars (not another language for small, medium, or large) one sees most regularly on the road. There are also the occasional (I have now seen two) Mercedes, which I find truly laughable. Why any sane person would think bringing a Mercedes onto these streets is a good idea is beyond my mostly-sane mind…it would take all of 30 seconds off the lot, if the owner is lucky, before the car acquired a scratch or dent in it. I had friends visiting this week, and everyday they would come home with stories of how many “accidents” their driver was in that day alone.

Next, come those popular two-wheelers: These are the “big kid” kind, with motors and everything! “Bikes” (motorbikes) or “scooters” are the preferred mode of transportation. If one owns a vehicle, it is most likely a two-wheeler (because who can afford a car??). Families make the two-wheeler work for them because the idea of upgrading to a minivan is preposterous. I imagine my poor father, the insurance agent, passing out at the regularity with which I see a father driving a bike with his wife sitting side-saddle behind him holding their baby or toddler on her lap. There are the occasional families of four, where, if you look closely, you see another small child wedged tightly between the two adults on the seat (“Oh, look! There IS another one!”). Or, my favorite: a fifth child balancing between the drivers legs. The most impressive load I’ve witnessed firsthand was five adults squished onto a scooter. I don’t know how they do it! Oh, Daddy, perhaps you shouldn’t visit…

Below the two-wheelers, in the hierarchy of the streets, come autos, our formidable three-wheeled taxi. The motor-run rickshaw is how we are ripped off daily, as it is our primary mode of transportation. In the grand scheme of things, we pay very little for our ride. It is the fact that because we are unmistakably not locals we are, therefore, fair game for being coerced into paying for all kinds of extra fees. For instance, “today there is much traffic!” = add $$. “But sir, everyday there is traffic” means nothing. OR, “the petrol bunkers are on strike; you pay me more” (okay, please note, the fees for petrol did NOT rise). OR, my friends’ driver who pulled into a gas station and told them to pay 2 times what they’d agreed upon for his gas…because he did not have anymore. Oh, the games are endless. In every other major city, we have been assured, the autos use their meters. Not here. Oh, no. That would be too easy.

Sometimes I have fun with my drivers. “Oh, sir. That is not a fair price. We go this way every day; it is less than 2 kilometers,” I will say, as I point at the fare painted on the side of the vehicle! The good-natured driver will laugh as he realizes I know the scam, and shoo me into the vehicle. There are others who find it fun to argue for a time before giving in, and I have been assured that this is preferred by many (which I just don’t get). I’ve learned a lot of patience, however, and am able to remain calm-even when one driver was so appalled by my only paying slightly more than fair price (he was asking for about 5 times the regular amount) that he told me the police would come and arrest me. When he refused to laugh with me, I waited calmly, asking him to verify how many kilometers we had gone, so I could be sure to give him the fair price. He refused to answer, until he finally accepted my fare 5 minutes later. Oi, vey.

And finally, pedestrians do not have the right of way. If one is foolish enough not to move when a vehicle alerts him/her of its presence, no pity shall be bestowed upon the resulting broken foot. A benefit of being “unmistakably not local” is that I am more easily seen by moving vehicles; and as people generally seem curious about my presence, traffic frequently slows down, offering me a chance to dash across a crowded street unscathed. An example of this from the other day was when two of my flatmates were crossing a road, one as white as me reminded the other, of Sri Lankan birth (though she would call New Zealand home), to stick close to her “because they won’t stop for you, but they will notice me.” My Kiwi flat-mate, realizing the truth of that statement, readily complied.

More typically, however, pedestrians are fair game for any moving object…except for the bicycle. The bicycle is expected to swerve or stop for all else to pass. There is just no respect given there. The lowly “cycle” is tooted and beeped out of the way of everyone. Yes, I did say “tooted”-the autos have these enormous clown horns that still make me giggle. These horns are most often fist-sized blue bulbs that are squeezed by the driver and make a high-pitched, almost nasally/hiccup sound….it’s very hard to describe. It’s more something that just needs to be experienced.

Bartering for price aside, I have regularly been with auto drivers who were completely high (reaction time is KEY on these roads, so we have learned to keep walking when these drivers approach) and those who “bump” into other moving vehicles/people resulting in fights. The final straw was my driver a few weekends ago, who knocked a man head first off his motorcycle…and kept driving (we quickly jumped out at the next light-the motorcycle rider was fine, though his bike was not).

Basically, while I have acquired a new level of composure with the auto drivers (they are simply trying to earn a living), I’ve grown weary of the energy I expend to, say, get to the closest grocery store. It will not be possible to avoid taking autos (and I would feel like I was missing out-the drivers have been great teachers of both language skills and local culture), but ideally, I will have more patience to negotiate when necessary. Plus, I will not stay home simply because I do not have the correct change (that is another scam to be aware of: “no change, madam”) or because I am not exactly sure how best to direct my driver to a location. Though it is not necessarily safer, my hope is to regain an ounce of freedom by owning a bicycle.

Wish me luck!