In order to enjoy places like Thailand, India, and Nepal, you have to make the irrational leap of faith that every vehicle is safe; every driver or operator is a consummate professional; and that thousands of people transit this way everyday – so of course it’s okay.
You have to suspend all the rules and criteria you use at home when judging things – or you could never go anywhere.
Are little Indian manufactured hatchbacks designed to go over Nepali roads so rocky you’d hesitate to drive your Ford Explorer on them? ABSOLUTELY. Is it safe for an auto-rickshaw to go barreling down a narrow, blind alley only slightly wider than a cow (which could easily be coming the other way) at 45 miles an hour? Does the sun rise in the East? Of course it’s fine. In fact, it’s highly advisable.
Using that same foundation, I did something today that my 24 year-old self did all the time, but by 33 year-old brain questioned for just a moment – I jumped on the back of motorcycle taxi and zipped through traffic and crossed town.
Motorcycle taxis are at the corner of every alleyway in Bangkok. They’re cheap and especially great for quick runs through the long, narrow alleyways (called Sois) that run deep into the areas between the large thoroughfares and make up Bangkok neighborhoods.
If you get off the bus at the main road, it can be a long walk down a windy soi that perhaps intersects with another crooked soi before you get home. When it’s hot and you’re carrying bags or a backpack, it gets tiring. But for 5 or 10 Baht, you can be at your doorstep in seconds, thanks to the motorcycle taxis that serve your neighborhood.
If you’re a white guy who doesn’t like to get up any earlier than he has to in the morning and your place of work is either a 20 minute walk to work leaves you in a sweaty mess in the humid heat and pollution of Bangkok – then a motorcycle taxi is just what you need. For 30 Baht (68 cents in 2002), you can walk out your front door and be at work in five minutes. It worked for me.
Today, when trying to get to the Indonesian Embassy before the visa section closed, I knew I was cutting it close. Printer access issues had slowed me down. There I was, at the end of a soi, in a hurry on a busy Friday. I could take a normal taxi and hope that the traffic wouldn’t be too bad. Or, I could do what I – and any Thai on that block – knew would work – turn to the guys in the orange vests.
After a quick discussion about directions and locations (because they don’t know or care where embassies are and they don’t really know street addresses either), I said used the Thai phrase I used to always use in such situations, “the faster, the better…”. With a laugh, my motorcycle taxi dude revved his engine and we were off.
He of course, went not only to a four-year university, but went on to grad school to get a Masters of Motorcycle Taxi Riding – which is why I knew I couldn’t be in better hands.
Despite that, I had a fleeting thought that perhaps Emily would not like that I was doing this – and how would I explain my decision should something go wrong and I ended up over at Paolo Memorial? I thought that my parents will read this and although I used to do this all the time, I’m not sure I ever mentioned it before….they might think it’s a really dumb idea. (Sorry, Mom and Dad). I felt really old for a moment as I realized I’m not 24 anymore and I’m far more connected and responsible.
Then I remembered that it’s not falling off the motorcycle that’s as likely as hitting my knees on a bus or car mirror when the motorcycle weaves between the narrow space between vehicles stopped in traffic (it happened once before). I pulled my knees in, stopped thinking as much and focused on the ride.
Sometimes, taking a taxi in Bangkok is a partnership. I helped my taxi dude identify the embassy – as he had really no idea what one looked like, even though it was the only one on the block and had the Indonesian Flag waving broadly in front of it. He in turn dropped me off on the sidewalk in front of the gate – with ten minutes to spare.
It felt like old times when I beat a lot of deadlines and ran a lot of annoying cross-town errands on the back of a motorcycle. I was happy.
But I took a normal taxi back. Suspending reality has its reasonable limits.
Last night Emily and I went for Thai sukiyaki. Yes, it’s Japanese in origin. However, Thais perfected it. A large pot of mildly favored broth sits in the center of your table with a set of temperature controls. You select the vegetables, meats, seafood items and noodles you want in your sukiyaki and seconds later a team of attendants begins delivering the items to you so you can essentially make your own pot of sukiyaki.
Thais love it because it’s a fun, group activity as well as a made-to-order tasty meal. They also invented a sauce that changes sukiyaki from a mild, bland broth into one that bursts with Thai flavor and spice. They’re very good at making flavors pop. And it’s because of this sauce and the fact that the ingredients are always what I want them to be, that I love Thai sukiyaki.
We were most of the way through dinner at a very nice sukiyaki chain in a mall when Emily asked, “Do they filter the water?” Nice restaurants and malls almost always do – it’s become a standard here. Regardless, the answer in that situation is always “yes”. Because five glasses into their famous iced tea and one broth refill into your pot of sukiyaki, it could only have been filtered water. (It really was in this case)
I know that as we venture through Region 3 – this is only the beginning of the reality breaks. The best are yet to come. When we take a sangthaew – a pickup truck with two benches in the back used as a public taxi in all parts of Thailand except Bangkok. When we buy Thai barbecued chicken right off the grill. When we take a wooden ferry to Koh Samet that has been doing that run for longer than I’ve been alive. When we ride a motorcycle in Bali. When we have a Balinese driver who drives…like a Balinese. These are essentials parts of the experience.
I love them.
Of course, I’ve already decided never to teach my future children a lick of Thai. I don’t want them to be able to ask a motorcycle taxi to take them anywhere. It’s dangerous! They could hurt themselves! Their mother would plotz. Oy!
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