While the truck was in hock in Jakarta's Port, mobility was restricted to trains, buses and taxis. What a delight!

Opting to travel inside the rush hour trains, as oppose to on their roofs, you face the never-ending stream of tauts, flogging drinks, pens, individual cigarettes and fruit. In fact, quite mundane items compared to the merchandise being sold along the lanes of queues at traffic lights.

Allow me to elaborate. The road network in Jakarta is actually designed to prevent movement. Some countries have traffic planners who claim to have reached this Holy Grail, but they are mere tadpoles in the pond that contains Jakarta.

Indonesia, again, like India, heavily protects its domestic motor industry. Therefore, until recently, vehicle designs were uniformly cuboid. Not unlike something sketched by an unemployed bricklayer on the back of his cigarette packet.

So, sitting in your taxi, waiting for the traffic to advance by the regulation "three cars per traffic light change", surrounded by identical motorised boxes, you are presented by the tarmac equivalent of the train hawkers. However, these guys play in a completely different league. Yes, you can buy a drink. But here you can also buy anything from a single apple seed to aero engine parts.

I spent most of my time trying to locate a monkey, which I could strap to my shoulder and train to shake his head from side to side. This way, I'd stop being acosted by every parked "bajaj" driver I passed, each demanding that I complete my journey seated behind him, breathing two-stroke engine fumes, filted passed his neanderthaloid armpits in front.

Meet Henry. Your "bajaj" chauffeur.

To complete your understanding of the "bajaj" phenomena though, you need to appreciate their unique sound. Imagine the noise that a frog would make, after having consumed 27 tins of out-of-date baked beans.

Now you have the complete picture.

Fancy a ride?