Here's a terrifying thought: I'm now licensed to drive in Indonesia.
Is it even scarier that I've been driving unlicensed? Well, now I'm official.
The whole family ventured off to one of two DMVs that services the approximately 25 million people of Jakarta. That's right. Two DMVs. Sometimes countries achieve impressive technology leaps and skip entire generations of development steps, like how many Indonesians first accessed the world wide web via a cell phone and not a desktop computer. The Jakarta Department of Motor Vehicles is not one such example. It is the crowded, queued-filled experience that we have all come to know and dread.
Not that we really got to experience that here. We employed alternative means to, er, acquire our licenses, which involved jumping to the front of all the lines and walking out, license in hand, within an hour of parking the car. We had a fixer. Someone else arranged it. I know nothing.
Absent from our experience at the DMV was any sort of demonstration that either of us was at all equipped to handle a motor vehicle. Missing from the list of questions that nobody asked us was whether or not we'd ever been licensed to drive or confirmation that we understand traffic signs. Heck, no one even said, "how many fingers am I holding up." So all of this made us feel a lot better about the company we'll be keeping on Indonesia's roads.
Most notable about our trip to the DMV was just how unremarkable it really was. A DMV is a DMV. It's an unattractive government building full of people who would rather be doing anything but what they are currently doing. It's endless waiting rooms. It's take a number and find a counter.
We arrived at a room with darkened windows. Our fixer told us to go inside and sit down and wait for our names to be called. We sat on a bench at the back and watched as folks were called to the front of the room, asked to verify name and address, provide a thumb for a print scan, and sit for a photograph. After 3 or 4 of these cycles, two things were abundandtly clear: under no circumstances was there to be any smiling and the angle of this photo was undoubtedly going to favor the underside of my chin. Basically my worst possible side.
In other words, drivers license photos in Indonesia are just as bad as everywhere else.
Happy motoring!
Is it even scarier that I've been driving unlicensed? Well, now I'm official.
The whole family ventured off to one of two DMVs that services the approximately 25 million people of Jakarta. That's right. Two DMVs. Sometimes countries achieve impressive technology leaps and skip entire generations of development steps, like how many Indonesians first accessed the world wide web via a cell phone and not a desktop computer. The Jakarta Department of Motor Vehicles is not one such example. It is the crowded, queued-filled experience that we have all come to know and dread.
Not that we really got to experience that here. We employed alternative means to, er, acquire our licenses, which involved jumping to the front of all the lines and walking out, license in hand, within an hour of parking the car. We had a fixer. Someone else arranged it. I know nothing.
Absent from our experience at the DMV was any sort of demonstration that either of us was at all equipped to handle a motor vehicle. Missing from the list of questions that nobody asked us was whether or not we'd ever been licensed to drive or confirmation that we understand traffic signs. Heck, no one even said, "how many fingers am I holding up." So all of this made us feel a lot better about the company we'll be keeping on Indonesia's roads.
Most notable about our trip to the DMV was just how unremarkable it really was. A DMV is a DMV. It's an unattractive government building full of people who would rather be doing anything but what they are currently doing. It's endless waiting rooms. It's take a number and find a counter.
We arrived at a room with darkened windows. Our fixer told us to go inside and sit down and wait for our names to be called. We sat on a bench at the back and watched as folks were called to the front of the room, asked to verify name and address, provide a thumb for a print scan, and sit for a photograph. After 3 or 4 of these cycles, two things were abundandtly clear: under no circumstances was there to be any smiling and the angle of this photo was undoubtedly going to favor the underside of my chin. Basically my worst possible side.
In other words, drivers license photos in Indonesia are just as bad as everywhere else.
Happy motoring!
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