what’s the hold up?
It could be roadworks or a tourist bus stuck halfway across a narrow junction. But just as often it’s a temple procession or cremation parade, in which case traffic jams could be the gods’ way of telling you to stop what you’re doing and think about where you’re going. Sitting in an idling car or perched on a stationary motorbike inhaling everyone’s exhaust might not strike you as the ideal place to contemplate the universe or the brevity of life, but when else do you get the opportunity?
Luckily the concept of jam karet, literally “rubber time”, allows for a degree of forgiveness when it comes to being late for meetings and appointments. The cross-language meaning of the word “jam” is key here. The phrase “stuck in jam” – which should be among your phone’s list of standard text messages – could be interpreted as “stuck in time” and that neatly describes the level of standstill we’re talking about. If there’s one thing destined to ensure that time stays rubbery in Bali it’s the traffic. Sometimes it feels like the whole island is in a semi-permanent state of gridlock.
On one occasion a while back, a quick trip to the internet cafe turned into hours of sheer, growling hell. The cause, I later learned, was twofold: in a house at one end of town the rocky relationship of an American expat couple had finally crumbled. Following the wife’s departure –this time for good – her estranged husband piled together a heap of furniture and other belongings and set it alight. In addition to the arrival of two fire trucks, within minutes a crowd of curious onlookers had spilled onto the street out front.
Meanwhile, across town, there was a very different performance. A long procession of resplendently dressed men, women and children marched towards the temple accompanied by the jangling steady rhythms of the gamelan. The pecalang, necessarily experts in traffic management, had efficiently set up roadblocks for its duration. I was literally trapped between the abode of the gods and the house of two ill-starred and earth-bound mortals; between some aspect of the heavenly and a semblance of hell.
Food for thought had I known, but to me it was just as if the whole world had been turned to noisy, noxious stone. To add to this sense of doom, at one point I was stuck alongside a small truck bearing a mobile billboard for an apocalyptic sect announcing that the end of the world was nigh. And at that moment I saw with absolute clarity that this was indeed what the end of the world would be like; that this most likely was it. The air hot and choked with the fumes of machines we were in or astride but which were ultimately going nowhere.
But then, without warning, the blockage at each end eased, and the traffic began to flow. The mere fact of motion felt like freedom and the air swirling cool around me was like the most magnificent gift. Evening was descending, fragrant and peaceful, and in just a few minutes I would be home again where paradise was waiting, patiently.
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