Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride was one of my favorite rides in Disneyland. It was not (and still is not) anything spectacular. The components that make up the whole of Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride are mediocre compared to their Fantasyland counterparts. What it lacks in quality it makes up in charm. Mr. Toad’s wild ride is cute, whimsical, and silly all while subjecting the riders to near misses, explosions, and a trip to Hell.
I recently went on a ride reminiscent of that attraction, sans charm. Nothing exploded, but I certainly felt like I was in hell 3/4 of the way through the journey. Welcome to the angkot.
The angkot is a minivan, a smaller form of public transit ideal for thinner streets. The minivan is stripped to its metal floor and walls. Benches are bolted to the floor down both sides of its length. A hole is cut into the side of the minivan for an entrance into the back. A thin folding door is wedged open for the duration of service.
Riding angkots are never fun even at the best of times. They are usually cramped and crowded. Up to twelve people sit side by side along the van’s walls (though it only fits 8 comfortably). Diesel fumes from the angkot’s engine and other traffic seep into the cabin and hang in the air. The one(s) sitting in the back might share the space with the angkot’s spare tire. Riders will most likely feel every speedbump and pothole because the suspension is shot. Importantly, one must know the streets because the angkot has no designated stops. The driver will stop only when you yell, “Kiri! (left!)”
One other pertinent aspect of angkots is that drivers are allowed to be fully independent with their vehicles. For example, the drivers can stop service, start service, take a break, and resume whenever they desire. It seems likely to me that each driver rents an angkot and then earns money from passengers along their designated route, but I don’t know for sure.
The stage is now set. Welcome to Mr. Josh’s Wild Ride.
Ignition
Our host, Dana, and I spent a lovely day at a nearby village and wilderness area north of it. Come dusk, we could not find a Gojek (the Indonesian Uber) driver willing to haul us back to our hometown. Dana and I might have stayed the night if our host had not been with us, but our host has a way with angkot drivers.
Our host flagged one heading in our general direction and negotiated with the driver to take us to our front door for the princely sum of 250,000 IDR. This amount is TWICE what we paid for a Gojek coming here..... and we were going to take the entire ride in an angkot. Two things of interest:
(a) This ride is exclusive. I learned the doors are wedged open during business because I watched him remove said wedge to close the door. I had no idea a door existed prior.
(b) Our front door is not along any angkot route. Our driver was going to ferry us off the beaten path as his final fare for the night.
With no options, we gamely stepped onto the angkot and sat on the benches.
Leaving the Mansion
The first leg of our course comprised a series of gentle rising and falling curves around the hill country. Rather, they would have been gentle except that our driver tore through these as fast as his wheels allowed while still having all four touch the ground. This in itself was not so bad, but he also managed to find every pothole on the way back to the village. So it was that my organs jostled every which way a second after the rest of me did. I was occasionally lofted to the ceiling where I hit my head as we ran over potholes at high speed. Then we hit rush hour.
Through the Woods
After about 10 minutes of slowly making our way down the main street through town, our driver abruptly turned a left hairpin up a relatively steep incline. This inclined street was definitely not the road we took to go north.
“Where are we going?”
[short discussion...] “He knows a shortcut.”
The angkot crests over the hill and empties out onto a thin, muddy dirt road. This road is lined with homes on one side and a field with short, cyclone fencing on the other. The rains have eroded the road so much it looks like gophers tore through it and made gopher mounds everywhere . Muddy rainwater fills the dips and holes present. This is a road for dirt bikes and ATV’s, not Angkots or scooters.
Yet here we were. The scooters scooted around us as we crawled through at 5 miles per hour. We even pulled over once because the road could not fit two cars side by side. By this point I was starting to feel a bit green. I had already hit my head a few times. The constant up and down due to the uneven road was not making my organs feel any better. Our dirt road opened back up onto the main drag twenty minutes later. I’m almost certain we would have spent less time staying in traffic.
Down the Village Road
Five more minutes in traffic saw us taking another shortcut. Admittedly, this shortcut was much nicer because it was downhill and straight. This street is thin, running along the top of a jungle-filled gorge. Along and just below the rim of the gorge are beautiful, terraced homes, all of which have potted plants hanging or sitting everywhere. It is a carefully cultivated affectation of peaceful cohabitation between people and jungle. The homes on the left are not so nice.
We traveled slowly down this shortcut. The road was filled with pedestrians, scooters, and occasionally other big vehicles. We soon stopped for gas. The angkot driver had two problems:
(a) the tank is on the side opposite the pump; and
(b) the road is not wide enough to turn the car around.
The DIY solution was to roll down both windows and run the pump through the cabin to the other side! Even green as I was, I was definitely amused. I suspect that this “shortcut” also prolonged our trip, but at least our shortcut amused me.
Into Hell
We had been on the road approximately 45 minutes. I was extremely green by this point and decided to lay down. This was a wise choice. A good number of side streets adjacent to Indonesian residential areas have cement speed bumps. Speed bumps incentivize drivers to slow down lest they wreck their suspension. Our driver used them for lift. Or distance. Or both. I am certain my mask would have doubled as a vomit bag had I stayed upright. It almost did while I lay down.
Getting Off the Ride
Salvation came in the form of a traffic jam. I have never been so grateful for bumper-to- bumper traffic. I willed myself into regenerative hibernation while we crawled to the finish. Upon opening the door to home, I staggered to the bathroom and evacuated both ends of me. Another first: I skipped dinner, took a shower, and went to bed at 630pm.
Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride ends with the riders breaching the walls of Hell into daylight. I likewise woke up to the bright morning sun. I got up, pushed away the restraining bar, and walked it off. Thus ended Mr. Pong’s Wild Ride. I was the only casualty. I acknowledge that my wife and our host are made of sterner stuff and I don’t care.
Many tourist websites recommend riding an angkot as a must-do activity. I am unsure why stepping onto a rickety minivan with diesel fumes and spent suspension is the thing to do. I opine that some aspects of culture are okay to miss. Like deer penis soup. Or playing with poisonous snakes. Or, you know, angkot rides. If you want to do any of these things, more power to you. Fortune favors the brave!
P.S. One Week Later
I’ve just shared an angkot with a man in a home-manufactured Tinky-Winky costume, so there is that....