Always Keep Money in your Socks

by Darren Moran (United Kingdom (Great Britain))

A leap into the unknown Indonesia

Renting the scooters was much easier than I thought although I lied to the guy in Kuta renting the bikes about my motorbike experience. So by mid-morning my friend Marcel and I were on the road. Kuta is the backpackers’ town of Bali right next to the airport. It is on the coast with a myriad of lanes too small to fit a car through but big enough for an outside bar around every corner. Whilst walking through these lanes you would regularly pass locals standing next to their doorways who would frequently utter the same offer, “Transport, women, hashish, man?” The lanes were filled with surfers come for Kuta’s awesome waves. However, these awesome waves crashed on top a reef so you would regularly see surfers nursing quite nasty injuries while drowning their sorrows into a beer. Once on the road I became used to my decrepit scooter and my confidence increased, revving the scooter up to 50 to 60 mph – top speed for the old machine. I was young at the time and of course thought I was invincible like every other 21-year-old. I didn’t think twice about scootering at these speeds in shorts and t-shirt. We approached a major crossroads and we pulled over to the right to consult the map. On one corner of this crossroads was a very small two-storey building that was dull and grey looking. It resembled the look of a guard tower. As we were deciding which way to go, a uniformed man came out of the guard tower and beckoned us over. We really had no choice but to obey, especially as he had a handgun holstered on his belt. In any event I thought he might help us. We pulled our bikes up next to the guard tower and by this point a second uniformed man had joined the first. By the look of them they were traffic cops. We were ‘invited’ into the guard tower and as we climbed the steps into the building I threw a wary glance at Marcel. The traffic cops did not speak English. However, it was apparent that he wanted to see our driving licences which we handed over. The traffic cop made a play of looking over them and then demanded money for their return. Marcel and I had been pre-warned about the Balinese traffic cops fleecing tourists. And so the rip-off commenced. The traffic cop demanded 500,000 Rupiah each for the return of our driving licences. We made a play at the bargaining but the situation was tense and palpable. We opened our wallets and produced 200,000 Rupiah (£17/$25) between us. Ironically, the traffic cop looked unhappy with the small amount he could extort from us but stole the money nonetheless. With our driving licences back we exited the building, adrenaline pumping and freedom in sight. With sweaty palms I fired the scooter to life and left. We stopped a short time later and wax-lyricalled our relief. The bulk of our money was still hidden in our socks. About an hour later we approached another major junction with another ‘guard tower’. This time Marcel shouted at me to just turn left, keep going and not to stop. I did exactly this and Marcel and I stopped half a mile down the road from the junction and checked the map. We should have turned right! So we both agreed we would turn around, get our bikes up to 60mph and race across the junction. I approached the junction first and my heart was thumping. I tore through the junction and straight past the guard tower. I slowed after the junction and looked over my shoulder to see Marcel passing through the junction. As Marcel passed the guard tower, I saw a traffic cop come out of the building and beckon us towards him. I turned my head away to face the road in front of me and pulled hard on the accelerator with my right hand. The little engine screamed and we were gone.