I've mentioned the motorbike culture of Goa, and I recently discussed the untimely separation of Ed and I the morning of the Mumbai attack. This story takes place somewhere between the invention of the motorbike and the bus I caught to Pune on November 26th.
I've heard many stories about the Goan police and their handling of Caucasian motorbikers. While the majority of tourists seem to rent these scooters to cruise around the state, you do technically need a drivers lisence. Whether its a motorcycle lisence, an Indian lisence or a picture of you on a professional looking piece of lamenated paper, who really knows. The point is, a major source of income for these officers are the subtlety solicited bribes from bikers.
I've learned three strategies for handling this possible Motorbike vs. Cop scenario:
Strategy One: Run. If the cops try to stop you, take off. Most are too lazy to actually chase you down. This always seemed a little presumptuous to me, because if they DO decide to chase you they have obvious leverage in any future negotiation - whether it be for payment or prison. Also, there's the very real possibility of hitting a cow at unfortunately high speeds. If the crash doesn't kill you, the local Hindu's will.
Strategy Two: Hide your money. If you don't have it they can't take it. But they can arrest you. Therein lies my problem with Strategy Two.
Strategy Three: Pay the 500 rupee "fine" and recoup the 11 dollars in your first hour of work at Starbucks when you get home.
At 3:00am the bar closes at Paradiso, my now infamously favorite trance club in Goa. On this particular evening, in addition to our Kazakhi friends we met the owner of the club. It was comforting to know he owned the place, because we'd informally met him many times before, taking an exceptional amount of photos of us and the female friends we seemed to accumulate. I'd love to think that he simply found us to be abnormally pretty men, but realistically our entourage helped. Regardless, when the club's website goes up, look for Ed and Justin making multiple debuts.
Leaving with our Kazakhi friends, they suggested we drink beers on the secluded beach of their hotel. Only a five minute drive away, Amil lead the way with Aida on the back of his bike, Ed following and myself lagging far behind.
Reaching the first intersection, the major intersection of Anjuna, two cops waved for us to stop. We were busted. Amil pulled up next to the officer, Ed to their side. As I pull up behind them, I watch Ed's feet leave the ground as he slowly navigates his way from the dirt shoulder back to pavement and in a surprisingly slow fashion, he drives away. The cops look at each other. One sighs, jumps on his bike and chases after Ed.
Our cop asks if he was a friend of ours. "Of course not," we reply. He asks for a lisence. I produce my battered NYS drivers lisence.
"New York," he reads out loud.
"That's right. If you can drive in New York City you can drive anywhere!" Amil laughs. I immediately regret talking.
The cop hands me my license, and compliments me for having it. Amil claims his lisence is at his hotel. If he can simply go and get it -
"If you don't have your lisence, you have to drive down to the police station with me and pay a 500 rupee fine." The cop states plainly.
Of course, this is not necessary and we all know it. It's time to shift modes. We're no longer talking to an officer of the law, we're bartering for a shirt. Amil opens up his fanny pack and produces a 500 rupee note - the only bill in the bag. He insists the cop take it, who says no - that it's not for him. After a minute of back and forth the officer - hesitant at first, finally succumbs to Amil's insistence. He suggests that next time he does like his abnormally pretty friend from New York and carry his license, and sends us on our way.
Strategy Four: Have just enough money to bribe the alloted amount, nothing more. If you don't have it, they can't extort it. That way, everyone is happy, and no one goes to jail.
Strategy Five: Carry your license. This is my favorite strategy. If that fails, see Strategy Four.
Now the next dilemma: "Fuck, fuck fuck." I'm saying this out loud into the wind as we drive off in pursuit of our friend. Where the HELL is Ed? Amil slows down and I pull alongside him. Amil asks, "Where is your friend?"
I shrug, "I don't know, he's fucking crazy!"
We all laugh and continue on. I stop laughing. Ed and I are supposed to catch a bus to Pune in five hours, and Ed is off running from the cops. For those that have read either of my favorite books about India - Shantaram or Maximum City - you know that you do NOT fuck with the cops in India. This is Goa - and while I expect some leniency in this tourist-dependent state, that doesn't change the fact that Ed is missing, drunk, and with a cop in pursuit.
We pull over at a major intersection and wait, unsure of what else to do.
ED'S STORY - as told by Justin
I'm not going to lie to you - as mentioned, Ed has had a couple drinks. While I'm still on this streak of honesty, I think its safe to say they had an impact on his decision making.
Five minutes after his gradual getaway, Ed was lost when he felt the glow of a headlight coming from behind. Assuming it is us - that we followed him in his daring escape from the law - he pulls over for the angry officer, who is not used to exerting energy.
The cop is pissed. He tells Ed to get off his bike, to come with him, that he is going to jail.
"No no no, I didn't understand the uniform, I thought you were trying to rob us!" (Justin Note: I'm impressed; this was clever. It had no impact whatsoever, but it makes sense as to why he didn't speed off but quietly maneuvered away. Option Two: The drinking).
The cop is not interested. He is literally pulling at Ed to get off his bike. He wants Ed behind bars.
"Clearly we can settle this between us. Let's get off the road and discuss this."
Ed and the cop pull off the road out of sight, Ed leading them into a dark alley.
This is where Ed turned on the superhero. And, while noble, it cost him. Whether you're two individuals or two warring states, you ultimately can't negotiate without any leverage, and Ed had none. He was essentially at the officer's mercy. Ed had not only promised to buy the shirt, he signed a legal and binding contract for the most expensive shirt in the store. It only made it worse that we had just gone to the ATM that afternoon, and Ed's wallet was bulging.
Now the next dilemma: "Fuck, fuck fuck." I'm saying this out loud into the wind as we drive off in pursuit of our friend. Where the HELL is Ed? Amil slows down and I pull alongside him. Amil asks, "Where is your friend?"
I shrug, "I don't know, he's fucking crazy!"
We all laugh and continue on. I stop laughing. Ed and I are supposed to catch a bus to Pune in five hours, and Ed is off running from the cops. For those that have read either of my favorite books about India - Shantaram or Maximum City - you know that you do NOT fuck with the cops in India. This is Goa - and while I expect some leniency in this tourist-dependent state, that doesn't change the fact that Ed is missing, drunk, and with a cop in pursuit.
We pull over at a major intersection and wait, unsure of what else to do.
ED'S STORY - as told by Justin
I'm not going to lie to you - as mentioned, Ed has had a couple drinks. While I'm still on this streak of honesty, I think its safe to say they had an impact on his decision making.
Five minutes after his gradual getaway, Ed was lost when he felt the glow of a headlight coming from behind. Assuming it is us - that we followed him in his daring escape from the law - he pulls over for the angry officer, who is not used to exerting energy.
The cop is pissed. He tells Ed to get off his bike, to come with him, that he is going to jail.
"No no no, I didn't understand the uniform, I thought you were trying to rob us!" (Justin Note: I'm impressed; this was clever. It had no impact whatsoever, but it makes sense as to why he didn't speed off but quietly maneuvered away. Option Two: The drinking).
The cop is not interested. He is literally pulling at Ed to get off his bike. He wants Ed behind bars.
"Clearly we can settle this between us. Let's get off the road and discuss this."
Ed and the cop pull off the road out of sight, Ed leading them into a dark alley.
This is where Ed turned on the superhero. And, while noble, it cost him. Whether you're two individuals or two warring states, you ultimately can't negotiate without any leverage, and Ed had none. He was essentially at the officer's mercy. Ed had not only promised to buy the shirt, he signed a legal and binding contract for the most expensive shirt in the store. It only made it worse that we had just gone to the ATM that afternoon, and Ed's wallet was bulging.
They settled on 2,000 rupee's - about $45.
"This is for me and all my friends," Ed adds, never giving up. He's Batman after a bottle of bourbon.
The cop gives a generic Indian head wobble - indecipherable to most westerners.
"This is so myself and all my friends are safe. Okay?"
The cop acknowledged that this was okay. He would not bother his friends.
"And I'm not giving you anything until my friends drive by safe." He shoots the grappling hook, and misses everything.
The cop then tells Ed that he is going to cause him and all his friends to go to jail.
And with that, Ed paid the man. "And this stays between us," says the officer.
Ed was trying to take the bribe bullet for all of us. He was smothering the corruption grenade. Superman to the rescue. Little did he realize, not only were we fine, but bringing us into the mix ultimately cost him more. It was the anti-leverage. It was Ed's kryptonite. Which, to deter heavily from the superhero references, brings us to:
Bartering Strategy 1: Don't drink and barter, folks.
The shirt was purchased, the deal was over.
"Where are you going?" The cop politely asks, his demeanor changed, his transaction complete.
Ed tells him roughly where we were headed, and the cop gives him directions. Then the cop tells him to follow, and leads the way to the main intersection before driving off, waving and probably smiling.
The waiters at our hotel - the nicest place to stay in Anjuna - make 4,000 rupee's a month. This civil servant made 2,000 in 10 minutes.
Ed gained his freedom, the Kazakh's had a good chuckle, and I learned first hand the merits - and pitfalls - of the Motorbike vs. Cop strategies.
Ed came cruising up behind us at the intersection, bellowing a victorious cheer. We laughed, surprised to see him in such spirits - his proverbial cape flapping in the wind.
