Going Places

I spend two hours every day commuting between home, school, and work. Except this commute is a lot more fun to write about than other commutes. It's absolutely ridiculous how people get around this country.

[Note: People drive very differently here. Things that would be insane in the US are actually quite safe here. Why? Because of the widespread chaos, people actually focus when they drive. They don't talk on the phone, read the paper, drink coffee, fall asleep, or do any of those other insane things that we do in the US when we “drive.” Thai drivers understand traffic flow, anticipate people around them, don't speed, and give each other space. In some ways, complete disregard for lanes, laws, or lights actually encourages better driving. And with that...]

Every morning I jump on the back of my Thai Mom's motorbike for a short ride out to the main road. It is beautiful: you can see across rice paddies to Doi Saket (the hill for which the town is named), and even the 300+ stair staircase (like when licking a Tootsie Roll Pop, I lost count. It was too hot to start over.) cutting through the trees on the side of the hill leading up to Wat Doi Saket.


At the main road, I flag down one of the many yellow songtaews, which are like local buses that run a straight route. Except they're not buses, they're pickup trucks with converted beds. A songtaew should carry about 16 people. I've been on one with 27: 3 in the cab of the pickup, 7 on a bench down each side of the bed, 2 sitting on the floor between the benches, 5 hanging off the back, and 3 on the roof.

It's hard to explain how this feels normal or safe, but it actually does. I vividly remember my first ride on a crowded songtaew: it was my very first day on the way to school, and Taw, the head guide at CMRCA, was riding with me to show me the ropes. On the way into town, the songtaew started to fill up, and Taw explained: “When the truck gets full, the men have to stand on the back, so that the women and nawng (children) have a place to sit.” At the next stop, he stood up to let a girl have his seat, stepped onto the grate welded to the back of the pickup, and held on to a couple of the many steel bars that are welded into the back of the truck.

I was terrified. Taw is a very, very strong guy, but I could see the muscles in his forearm bulge a bit as the truck accelerated back onto the highway. What if we hit a pothole and he slips off? What if we get rear ended? The songtaew slowed and another man hopped on the back. The grate flexed slightly under the extra weight. The welds look rusty. What if the grate breaks off? I think I should warn him. Should I warn him? I think I should. It started to rain a little. He's going to slip. He's going to slip off and get run over and everyone at work is going to hate me because I killed Taw. My eyes were practically bulging out of my sockets and my shoulders started to ache from the stress. I felt about ready to pass out by the time we made it to my stop.

I ride on the back of a songtaew every single day – it has become just as comfortable a part of my routine as eating with a spoon or using a squat toilet. Standing can actually be quite nice and refreshing sometimes – it's good to stretch the legs a little (songtaews are made for Thai-sized people) and get some fresh air in the morning (relatively – the pollution is horrendous). For some reason, songtaew riders are predominantly female, and tend to be considerably older or quite young – I guess everybody else rides a motorbike around. After five weeks, there are a lot of familiar faces, and they always treat me very kindly.

I've only ridden on the roof once. It was on the return trip, from Chiang Mai back home to Doi Saket. As we pulled out of Gat Luang, the bus was already quite crowded. I left work late that day, and I think it may have been the last songtaew for the night, so I think the driver felt bad about leaving anyone behind. The bus was full when it started its journey, and, to my amazement, entertainment, and incredulity, we continued to stop and pick up people. To make room for an old lady, a 12 year-old boy gave up his seat. Rather than join us on the back (he would have been the 7th), he scrambled up the side and onto the roof, which I'd never seen anyone else do. I figured I'd be better off up there with him than continuing to be squeezed on the back, so I joined him. We both sat cross-legged and I put on my new motorcycle helmet. I snapped a couple of pictures:



In a few minutes, we were joined by a third man, who was quite talkative, and found it hysterical that I was wearing a helmet on the songtaew. We talked about America, and about how gas costs just as much here in Thailand. I really liked that guy.

Back to my daily grind: In order to get to school, I meet a motorbike taxi at an intersection where the songtaew drops me off. This taxi is driven by Joe, who I call 'Pee' Joe, because he's older than me and it's Thailand, and you do that sort of thing here.


I'm finding it hard to express with words the affection I feel for P' Joe. He picks me up every morning and greets we with the kindest "Hi! How are you!" that you can imagine (Joe speaks exactly five words of English: 'hi', 'how', 'are', 'you', 'bye bye'). He often brings his 3-year old child with him (who sits on the kid's seat you can kind of see folded out in front of Joe in the picture). P' Joe and his kid wear matching helmets. I love them I love them. It breaks my heart that in a week I will buy a bike of my own and no longer need Joe's services. Seriously - if I could afford to just keep P' Joe on permanent retainer instead of buying my own bike, I would.

P' Joe drops me off at school, where I learn Thai. I say goodbye to Joe and his kid. My heart wants to jump out of its chest.

I'll post about class at some point.

I leave school on a "Red Truck" taxi. They have a monopoly over the campus, and it's expensive. Nothing too interesting here.

The red truck takes me to work. More on work in a later post, I'm sure.

After work, it's another red truck ("rote dehng") to Wororot Market ("gat luang"), where I catch a yellow songtaew home. If I time it right, I get to enjoy glorious sunsets over Doi Suthep. Now you get to enjoy one (poorly photographed):


I call Noi, and she picks me up on her motorbike. We go home, drink, eat, and make merry.