A street culture shaped by creative use of bikes.

Bali is full of bikes. Small scooters, big motorcycles. Fancy flashy Harley-looking bikes, and some old pieces of metal impulsed by an engine that sounds like a blender. Everything in the island is on wheels. Forget about walking, there are no paths. Or if there are, bikes go through them while undertaking cars, going up the pavement and almost inside the shops.​​​​​​​
The street is a bit chaotic: narrow roads with vehicles going in all directions (cars usually stuck in the middle as roundabouts) overtaking each other, dancing, like moving elements that are constantly about to crash but never do. But where some see anarchic mess, other see a perfect flow. It works. It moves. It is almost instinctive, when you start driving here you just know what to do. It drives you. You stop thinking of what should be done and just follow the wheels.
That’s the point. You don’t follow the rule book, you adapt to the context. In places where things don’t work perfectly, creativity is the answer. People don’t expect for external solutions, they improvise. They have one bike, and one bike only. They make the most of it. They make it work for them: a shop, a van, a restaurant, and that’s because they are small. If they had a bigger bike I am sure they would have a hostel on wheels. This is how it works here, you turn your vehicle into whatever you need it to be, and move on.​​​​​​​
Some of the best examples of creative use of wheels:
Conversation with a restaurant on wheels:

“Want some Bakso, my friend?” Wayan’s words move down the street of Pantai Berawa, along with his kart. The wheels squeak at every turn, almost as a sign of the food arriving. People sitting at the side of the road would forget about their phone screen and lean forward to see what he has to offer. Wayan’s special is the 100 m chicken wings. Basically, he deep fries a chicken wing while pushing the kart around for 100 meters. “You can’t call it street food if it doesn’t cook on the road” he argues. Fair enough. I want to try it. He tells me to follow. He tells me about his kart, how he built it himself from an old fridge and a couple of chair. It is quite simple, you have to find whatever is not being used and jus.
He stops, his head jumps over the stall like a meerkat. “Lets go this way, more sell”.  We change direction. How does he know? Is this family tradition? He laughs. “No, my father is a fisherman” he checks on my chicken wing jumping in oil. “However, I think I do the same, but inverted”. He sees I’m confused. “Fishermen go around trying to find food. I go around trying to give food. I have to feel the streets, understand its movement. People order from the bikes and continue their journey. I have to be ready to catch them on the way.” Pretty deep, like my chicken wing at the bottom of the pot. He attempts to dry off the oil. A bike stop next to us and orders something in Balinese. Fuck, this chicken is good. It's the kind of taste that would stick with you. As for Wayan, sama sama and on he goes.
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