Indomie and the art of motorcycle maintenance

"It'll be fine - trust me." Never trust people who say this.

I didn't actually say this when I lead my friend Alanna down a unpaved road, 1 in 3 gradient, on our motorcycle trip to Malakaji. Perhaps I should have - she then could have legitimately turned back. Instead, she dropped the bike twice, the second time breaking the front brake lever off halfway along its length. It's clearly my fault, so I should at least give her a lift back from the workshop a couple of days later after she left her bike there to get it fixed. Little did I know this would turn into a 3 day epic of mechanical incompetence.

View on the way to Malakaji. Worth the trip - not worth the hassle later.

Day 1:

0900 Leave bike at workshop
1200 Return to collect bike. Bike not there - mechanic has taken it for "testing". Via the mosque for Friday prayers. We go for lunch while we wait.
1300 Mechanic returns - he has replaced broken lever with an adjustable one. That can only be used at one of the settings, so not really adjustable. And wobbles, looking like it might fall off. We want a normal one. Normal levers are unobtainable in Jeneponto, says workshop owner man. Assistant turns up 30 seconds later with normal lever from another shop.
1400 Normal lever fitted, all well. Brakes start binding after 2km, so bike won't move at all until it's been allowed to cool.
1500 Back to workshop - mechanic starts to file off part of the brake lever to stop it operating the brakes when not required. He's using the smallest file I've seen outside a manicurist's toolkit. This could take a while.
1530 Newly filed lever fitted - brakes still binding. Front brake caliper stripped, cleaned, rebuilt. Wheel turns freely.
1600 Braking power now vastly reduced - feels a bit like driving my old camper van. Apply in writing for permission to stop at least 5 working days in advance. But not good in Jeneponto traffic. Feels like there's oil on the brakepads - possibly contamination from the vast gouts of lubricant the mechanic was sloshing everywhere around the caliper?
1630 We take the bike to another workshop, the "official" Honda one. Genuine parts, they promise. They check the bike and say it's fine. It's clearly not. We decide to give up for the day - it's already too late for Alanna to get to Makassar tonight. Poor show all round I think.

Day 2:

1000 I return and take bike back to Honda dealer - they check the brakes, still saying it's fine. But just to humour me, they strip and clean the brake pads.
1030 Still not good. They seem now to think the brake lever is the problem - but don't have the correct one in stock. I'll have to go to Takalar or Bantaeng for one - or they can get one for me. It'll take two weeks. Hmmmm.
1100 They find a correct brake lever - but from an old bike, and it's twisted. Fitted - seems to make the brakes a little better.
1800 Final testing of bike. Brakes still don't work. Retire to regroup over fried chicken and beer.

Day 3:

1100 Honda dealer closed, so we go to another workshop. Manage to convince them the brakes aren't good - they agree! Progress. Slosh petrol around (whilst smoking, natch) to get the oil off. Still not good.
1130 I tell them to change the brake pads. They agree. Old ones are glazed - probably from overheating on day 1 when the brakes were binding.
1230 Brakes work! Only 50 hours since starting out.

For sheer this-should-only-take-15-minutes-but-ends-up-taking-three-days annoyance,
this ranks higher than my record 5 visits to the shop to get a working gas cylinder for my cooker. I'm a wholly incompetent amateur mechanic (I once had to araldite a rocker cover in place after shearing the bolts...), and even I know more about bikes than any mechanic in Jeneponto.

How can people be so incompetent? They must practise.

Bira

I've always really hated beach holidays (without ever actually having done one, of course). It's just sand, sea and overweight German men in very small trunks.

Needing to escape from Jeneponto after a slightly stressful time organising training courses, I headed down to Bira for the weekend, and actually quite enjoyed it. Bira is the type of place recommended in Lonely Planet, so popular with backpackers. It also seems to be popular with drunk Russians, retired Dutch and VSO volunteers.

Actually most of the tourists there are local - Good Friday is a public holiday here, but with no family or religious obligations for the overwhelmingly Muslim population, so a good opportunity for a weekend away.

Bira is so nice, that even the "Karaoke Bars" (i.e. knocking shops) are hidden discretely off the main road in the forest. Which leaves the main (and only) street free for shacks selling fish, cold beer and snorkels.

Bira is a bit of a long way to go for most people (6-8 hours from Makassar), but for me the motorcyle ride there was one of the highlights, threading along the coast for 100km on increasingly broken roads, an opportunity to notice the contrasts between different areas. Things look much nicer as you move east - Bantaeng is a tidy little town, Bulakumba is really quite shiny in parts, and the peninsular down to Bira reminds me a bit of Cornwall. But hotter, and with more goats.

Why is everything in Jeneponto so broken? In Bantaeng, you get proper roadworks - diggers, cones, diversion signs, the lot. In Jeneponto, a hole big enough for a motorbike to fall through appeared in a bridge, about 3 weeks ago. The hole is still there - and all the warning drivers get is a couple of branches hacked off a nearby tree and laid in the road. Something's wrong here.

Metres of golden beaches. That isn't rubbish - just plastic bottles used as floats for fishing nets.

Megan the motorcycle stops for a rest near Bantaeng.

Mountains of Malino

I've actually found somewhere in Indonesia I really like. In the mountains above Makassar is the old Dutch hill station of Malino, which in colonial times provided an escape from the heat of the Makassar dry season for the Dutch masters. I've spent a weekend here tramping in the rain and throughly enjoying it.

Malino was at the end of an entertainingly wet 2 hour motorcycle ride from Makassar, along a road good in places, unpaved in others, and in some about to drop into the steep ravines on which it's built. The river bed is being quarried for aggregate and sand for building projects in South Sulawesi, so there are plenty of trucks to overtake too. Great fun.

Malino lies only 1000m above sea level, but the weather this weekend was similar to an August bank holiday in the Lake District - wet, windy, and really rather cold, so I felt more comfortable here than I have done elsewhere in Indonesia. The people are laid back - but in a good way, not a lazy way, and very friendly and welcoming. So we've not had to pay for a hotel - a local family who is working with another volunteer put us up in their house, fed us, entertained us, and even helped find my sandals when they were stolen from outside the house by a local dog.

I like to think the dogs are descended from the prized pets of the Dutch, left behind in their hasty departue after the second world war brought independence for Indonesia. They're not the standard issue Asian feral creatures, and I think I've seen recognisable traits of pedigree breeds - some labrador here, some collie there.

It's not surprising that Malino reminds me of Darjeeling in India. Built for similar reasons, and Malino even has a tea plantation. A pleasant hour was spent sitting in a makeshift tarpaulin shack, drinking tea, and being laughed at by the few local daytrippers who'd made the journey up here. Apparently there are spectacular views - we had a spectacular view of some clouds, from the inside.

The rain had another benefit, as well as making an Englishman feel at home. The area is famous for its waterfalls, which had plenty of water coming down them after 2 weeks of continuous rain. This also means the braided river system of Jene Berang is in full spate.

I'll be coming back here.

Cloud, trees, and a hint of sun

We've got corn, we've got beer, we've got cigarettes - all you need for a night out in Malino

Waterfall, houses, more trees

A sad sight

Today I saw one of the saddest and most affecting things I've seen so far in Indonesia - a biodiesel plant. This was bought buy the local government in 2007, and could be a way of weening Indonesia off its dependence on fossil fuels, turning plantation crops into usable fuel, locally and potentially sustainably.

I asked how much fuel it could produce in a day. "We don't know", was the answer, "we've never been able to work it." Hence my sadness - someone, somewhere, had a good idea, and got enough money (GBP80 000, which is a huge amount here) to almost make it happen, but forgot that people need to know how to use it as well. So the money has been spent, and the plant sits slowly rusting in the damp Indonesian air.

I wish I knew more about biofuels and could help - there's a project here waiting for the right volunteer.

Why is working in Indonesia so difficult?

There are cultural differences between working in "The West" (and by "The West" I don't mean the M4 corridor beyond Swindon), and in Indonesia. The relaxed attitude to productivity, the music and TV in the office, the timekeeping, the socialising, have all made trying to work effectively in my placement very difficult. This is the sort of thing that you can either get used to, or at least put up with - but I've been feeling the cultural differences go much deeper than this.

Now, from an unlikely source, comes some insight. Listening to the podcast of In Our Time, the utterly, utterly brilliant Radio 4 programme about the history of ideas, I heard Jeremy Black (Professor of History, University of Exeter), talking about the reasons why the Industrial Revolution happened in Britain, and not somewhere else:

[Britain had] A culture in which people believe that you should change things, that you should apply knowledge for change. That's really important, whereas many other cultures in the world, and this isn't a racist point, it's a point that notes the dominance of cultural conditioning, do not believe in either the value of change, and do not believe that the purpose of knowledge is to apply it to obtain change. I think that's really crucial in Britain.

[Apologies to Prof. Black if this is not word perfect, I transcribed it directly from the podcast.]

This really articulates what I've been feeling - VSO's commitment to development, as positive change through sharing skills, seems to be at odds with how things are done here. It's as though we've recognised the challenges (there are no problems here, only challenges), but haven't accepted that facing these challenges will need change. It's difficult and immensely frustrating to be in this position.

[In Our Time podcasts can be downloaded here. I can particularly recommend the Industrial Revolution 2-parter, as Melvin Bragg weighs into some robust argument with the other participants. It would never happen in Indonesia.]

It's all about timing

I was invited to a community meeting in Kelara today, where officials from the forestry and other offices, people from BRI bank, and members of the community would discuss credit facilities for farmers. Not directly in my line of work, but I tend to go to these things as there's usually a lunch attached. The meeting agenda was set for a 0900 start.

Here's how the schedule actually went:

Night before: I fix a time with partner from forestry office: we'll set off at 0630. The meeting starts at 0900, and it's around half an hour away by motorcycle. Still, I think we may have preparation to do.
0630: I'm washed, dressed and breakfasted, ready to go. Partner says we'll go after he's taken his children to school. OK.
0700: Partner returns from school run. Decides to have breakfast.
0730: We're off. Travel for 5 minutes then stop on outskirts of Jeneponto. Partner tries to trace colleague who we're following to Kelara by mobile. No sign - there's an unconfirmed rumour that he's doing some photocopying.
0730-0830: Hang around by side of road. I watch some goats. 
0830: Colleague tracked down to agriculture office. We ride back into Jeneponto to find rest of colleagues from forestry office hanging around the agriculture office too.
0900: We're off again - a clear run to Kelara.
0930: Arrive Kelara, only half an hour late. No one else has turned up yet.
1000: Community members start to arrive.
1030: People from bank arrive, and the meeting is finally underway. I understand only little of what's being said. Each member of panel must speak for at least 15 minutes in a monotone.
1230: Close and lunch.
1330: Return to Jeneponto.

Attendance was interesting too: I counted 17 government officials, and 11 members of the community. So time and money well spent I think.











The panel at today's meeting - alert to answer any question.

Cheesy does it

I've not posted recently, as I've had nothing positive to say. But today, things started to get better. Why? I had a cheese sandwich.

It may not sound much, but I've been having a tolerably unpleasant time in Jeneponto so far - no work to do, finding the heat oppressive, and finding the culture difficult to adapt to. But yesterday I bought a fridge, and so today I could go shopping for luxuries like fresh vegetables. And cheese.

Prochiz, tomato and bread - the ultimate in western style foodstuffs.











As you might expect, it's not up to Melton Mowbray Red Leicester standards, but "Prochiz" is the only cheese available here. The tomatoes are a bit ropy too - things that would go into chutney or the compost bin if I'd grown them at home. But add the Indonesian white sliced loaf, and you have the makings of a luxurious lunch.


The final product - will somebody send me some Branston Pickle?











This humble comestible has made living here a little more bearable. My house is OK - a palace compared to one fellow volunteer's mosquito infested hole, and Glenda the Honda GLMax seems to be behaving herself, after some fuelling problems. I suspect the diet of cruddy petrol sold out of old vegetable oil bottles from roadside shacks has made her a bit grumpy - so I've treated her to some nice, clean stuff from the petrol station.

Now all I need is something to do at work...

The new house. The socks spell out "England expects every man to do his duty".












Glenda the Honda.