He was with a certain amount of self-congratulation that we use to talk about our evenings in Makassar. We could leave a bar on our face at midnight, do not remember how we got to the other witness accounts refuse to throw in an ashtray in the third, then kiss the bed we woke up to just because " it was our own, and always find our wallets and phones still huddled in our crumpled trouser pockets.
Makassar, at the turn of the millennium, was a safe sprawling kampong low rise, interspersed with fields full of "Hello Misters" and many a charming "**** *** sir." He was not used to strangers. There was a McDonald to Bali and the only people who liked we were the police. You could drive around the South Sulawesi, without fear of the "sting". View an officer of a library card expired long instead of a license and the worst outcome would have been a top Rp.20,000 (in fact, it still stands).
Now, if we could fast forward time, we would like to see the low height Pantai (track) being overshadowed by steel and scaffolding, made like a bad game of Tetris for all the ill-conceived and outrageously colorful high-rise hotels. Progression. office complex and rises book came next. They spoil an area that was once reclaimed land became swamp; The Xanadu an ornithologist and assortment of lizard. Underground route that connects the Pantai the "Parc Floral" Bunga Tanjung commissioned this stunning view of the islands to the west and mountains to the east. But the road exploded. Was fixed, broke, fixed, broken, etc. Now it is a skid-pan with concrete walled breezeblocks, graffiti and advertising about how wonderful everything is developing. Progress.
left along a great river before the hideous mall and empty, is where I lived - a private complex under siege. I ran away because a little further along is the pung '; much like the hood, with the exception of narrow gateways do not facilitate the drive-by shootings. In the other direction beyond the hideous mall and on a picturesque estuary is Barombong or central villain. It is in the sticks but leech off the city as a malignant kidney. So the time has changed. The city is all grown up. Progression. Faced with imported workers, bandit country pungs and a myriad of new motorcycle gangs being slightly out of town, we are in trouble. No more end-parts. Get ready for a possible incredulous chuckles.
In the same area Metro Road, A friend was always unhappy. Each house she lived in was burglarized twice. She laughed off as the time now. But friend B who shared home with her did not find it funny; even less after her gold necklace childhood ripped from her neck as she Vesper, and less funny when all her bag was lifted off his bike on the subway route. Friend C really is not when, back along the subway route overnight, bicycles surrounded by her boyfriend and she and Pillion riders pulled metal poison bolts for fun. Friend C was rather drunk and did not know what had happened until dismantling the security post outside the ugly mall and see her boyfriend pierced as the French cavalry charge at Agincourt. With treatment in the hospital, it took him a week to deflate.
friend D was packed on a bike, four against one, and asked to surrender his knife tip bag. It had everything in it. Friend E was similarly accosted and lost everything. Now they are just friends over the past year. Then my wife was grand and managed to shake off the bike bandit pulling in the house of an aunt along the same road. And it does not end there. It is everyone we know has or knows someone who has had multiple incidents in this area. And then there were friends F, G and H.
F and G, an expat couple were at home one evening. H dragged thirty seconds behind. Again, it appeared two bikes with four assailants armed with knives decided to fly F and G. H then appeared, lead headlights and horn quacking like Ghost Rider on a scooter. Young attackers capricious and took away one bike key F and G. A relief, as I rent their bikes. And F reported to the police.
This is a fun quiz where you have to guess the policeman answers in the crime report.
"I would like to report a robbery attempt on the subway route."
A. "of course sir. Step this way and I'll get the forms."
B. "please wait a long time while I forget to find someone competent."
C. "Please pay us some money to do the job."
"Is crime a problem here?"
A. "Yes, but we have under control with public support."
B. I only work here. "
C. Laugh and declare:". Yes, we had 1,500 reports since January (8 months) "
" Well, why do not you do something? "
A. "We follow the tracks and a volunteer policeman to play until tea time."
B. "I'm standing here talking to you, right?"
C. laugh and say, "I know. We are underfunded. "
" Well, what should I do? "
A." We are close to cracking the case. "
B." We will call you as soon as we know something. "
C. "Why you do not fight back ... or get a car. I have a sledgehammer box".
All responses were C.
I should add that the exchange was done through an interpreter and the rage of F was filtered diplomatically. Personally I have nothing against the police. We are okay. But my humorous observation must be that, having been stolen, the quickest way to fly again is to report the crime. 1500 flight accounts since January in a small area is seven crimes per day. And these are only the victims who bothered to pay bribes to file disguarded reports.
Stay frosty there.