Sunday, May 13, 2012

Motorcycle Mama's Day

Today is Mother's Day for moms living in the US. For those of us who are expatriated, and living in places where either Mother's Day isn't celebrated or perhaps celebrated on a different day of the year, we are celebrating along with our sisters from our native soil. In Indonesia, Mother's Day is actually celebrated in December. However, being continually enterprising and not wanting to miss a chance to make a sale, many businesses have Mother's Day offerings and the restaurants have lunches or brunches to celebrate mom on this pseudo-Mother's Day.

This morning sweetie and I decided to do Mother's Day in a combo cultural fashion. We motorcycled over to the American Club and had breakfast and then attended the bazaar that they had set up in the parking lot. That way we covered all of the bases. Instead of taking the Ninja and my cute little Scoopy, we doubled up and rode on the Ninja together. Learning to ride a motorcycle or scooter does take a little practice. However, being a good passenger also requires some skill. It is important to sit still on the back and try to mimic the driver's body posture. In other words, don't lean to the left if the driver is leaning to the right

We used to have a bumper sticker on one of our vehicles that said "Sleep tandem. Paddle solo." We got this bumper sticker from a place we used to go kayaking and rafting. What is implied is that for many, that would include me, paddling solo usually causes fewer arguments and a much more pleasant river experience for everyone. The same general idea applies when riding on the back of a motorcycle. You cannot be a backseat driver. You must go with what the driver is doing or things could get really messy.

So, today I was a good passenger. Instead of looking ahead and thinking what I would do if I were driving, I just sat on the back and enjoyed the ride.

When we go on distances further from the house, we wear a bit more gear than if we are just going down the street to the grocery. Honey lamb put on jeans, athletic shoes, and a light weight motorcycle jacket that he bought for warmer climates. I wore athletic shoes, capris and the black leather Ninja jacket that sugar pie got when he purchased his motorcycle. When you buy a new motorcycle or scooter here, you usually are given a helmet and a jacket. When my honey bought the Ninja they handed him a jacket and he tried it on. The sleeves were too short and it was a bit too small all over. When he asked if they had a bigger size he was told "One size fits all Pak." Well that may be, but a qualifier needs to be added. "One size fits all Indonesians." Therefore, I am now the proud owner of a very sharp looking black leather motorcycle jacket emblazoned with the word NINJA on the back. Maaf Pak.

It was a pretty normal trip. Sugar plum seems to have fully embraced the way motorcycle driving is done here. You pretty much just make your own lanes, squeeze through open spaces and you learn how to get around stinky bajajs and kopaja buses quickly. Things went pretty well. We only had a few tense minutes involving a cement mixer on a street that really wasn't designed for something that big and a concrete divider between the two sides of the road. Other than that we looked very native. Well, there were a few glaring bule differences, but we did the Indonesian motorcycle population proud.

We arrived at the American Club and pulled up to the first gate across the entrance to the grounds. If you are a member, you are allowed in to the next area which means there is another gate plus a metal barricade. Just like almost everywhere else here, your vehicle gets searched and wiped with a little cloth that I assume is supposed to turn a color or make an announcement if it detects some kind of suspicious residue on your vehicle. With a car, they lift the hood and check the engine compartment, open the trunk or the back hatch and use a mirror to look under the car. For a motorcycle, they open the little compartment under the seat and wipe the little cloth over the bike. The little cloth, along with your membership card are handed to a guard who disappears with them. I don't know what happens to all of this stuff after it leaves our sight, but if the card is passed back through the small opening in the gate, the doors are opened and the metal pole barricade is lifted and you are allowed to drive through.

My honey loves to show up to the club on his motorcycle. All the men folk gather round and they ask him questions about his bike and admire him for embracing the culture it seems. We park our bike and and leave the helmets hanging off the handlebars, just like the locals, and drape our jackets over the seat so our backsides don't get toasted on a sun-scorched seat covering when we return to ride home.

We had our breakfast and then moved out to the bazaar. You know you have been here a while when you begin to realize that a bazaar is almost as much of a social event as a shopping event. You see people you know and have a chat as you stand sweating in the heat and no one really notices. The vendors at the various tables recognize you and call out to you by name to come see what they have. Your son calls to wish you Happy Mother's Day and you say hello multiple times. However, no one seems to think it is odd that you just keep saying, "Hello" "Hello" "Helllloooo?" before you start uttering sentences. Besides, everyone here knows that cell phones are really for text messaging and not actual verbal conversations.

This outing was good in that we couldn't buy much since I am totally not capable of riding while holding something, say the size of a car windshield, six foot aluminum ladder or a propane tank. Therefore, my rule-of-thumb was that whatever we bought had to fit in the confines of the backpack I was wearing on my back. We purchased a few small things and were about to leave when my sweetness decided that he really wanted a small end-table that was made out of a thick piece of teak. It apparently was calling his name. Panicked that he really thought I could handle that table while riding, I tried to delay the purchase. The vendor was very johnny-on-the-spot and said he could have it delivered to the house for us. We agree on a time of delivery and in Indonesian fashion, we are to just pay the driver when he arrives at the house at the appointed time. That whole experience is on the list of "Things I like about Indonesia."

We returned home and since we have been out in the heat for a while, it was time for a Mother's Day dip in the pool to cool off. We fix drinks and grab out little pool floats and jump in. It was an enjoyable way to celebrate the day. Over the course of the day it was a pleasure to my heart to remember my mom, be remembered by my son, have my sweetie call his mom and know, that as mothers we share a very special experience. Thank you my sweet son for being who you are. No matter the distance, I always hold you close in my heart.