Taxi tales

I think it's perfectly normal to issue a tiny prayer every time I get into a Bangkok taxi. And that's not even when the taxi has answered my wave by swerving towards me over two lanes. In that circumstance, I'll offer up a pretty big prayer.

There is no 'Knowledge' here. I think if you want to be a taxi driver, you probably just apply to the 'taxi permit' office, pay your baht, and off you go. Sometimes we have such awful, hideous journeys and we stagger out of the car, astonished we didn't die on the way." Did you give him a tip?" I ask my husband. "Yes," he says, "I told him to change his break pads." Still, it's amazing how quickly you adapt. I'm quite shocked when I discover a seat belt AND a plug! Usually there's a seat belt but no plug; the plug gets sucked through the join in the seat and the backrest, never to be retrieved and after a run in with a GIGANTIC cockroach, yomping towards me on the backseat recently, I'm NOT putting my hand in there. 

And we don't have a car. We don't really need a car because we live in the middle of Bangkok, near to the skytrain and underground trains which are strictly limited in the ground they cover in Bangkok… still, the taxis are plentiful...

From my notebook

The other option is a motorbike; a motorbike taxi. These congregate at specified points every few hundred yards: at busy junctions or at the ends of sky train routes and they are tempting because they can weave through the Bangkok traffic. (Oh dear, I sense a theme.) It's hot here; walking can be unpleasant and if you are Thai you can perch delicately sidesaddle on the back of a bike and get there much, much quicker. But if you're farang (Foreigner) and scared like me, you sit like a man, legs each side. Fares are fixed although there seems to be the inevitable Thai rate and farang rate. In our early years I took a few bikes down our soi... (Don't tell my Mum!) It was a small road, two way but only one lane on each side. I have to tell you, it was quite exciting. It contravened everything I'd been programmed to believe. I'd heard tales from my Dad of young men who clutter up the orthopedic wards having come off their motorbikes. He theorized that there was a direct correlation between the higher the engine size, the shorter their life expectancy. (He really, bless him, didn't like motorcyclists and used to propose the use of shoulder-height piano wire outside the house as they raced up and down the 30 mile limit.) One day I couldn't get a taxi and took a motorbike up a different soi on my way to the chiropractor. I underestimated how much faster that road was than my tiny soi (it was Ekkamai, for any Bangkokians reading this) and it had at least three lanes in each direction. Terrifying. We flew. And then screech to halt as the traffic would slow and we'd weave over to another lane. Sometimes we'd be unable to get up between the vehicles and we'd find a dropped kerb and mount the pavement. There's always this awful dilemma of whether to allow my long farang legs to be kneecapped or whether to grip this strange Thai man tightly between my thighs.

Anyway, I came to my senses after that trip up Ekkamai. I was a Mum; there are no leathers, no helmets even. Then one day I got a call saying someone I knew had come off a bike on her way home; would I visit her in hospital? And that was the end of my foray into motorbike taxis.

Friday Photo: soft landing

I wanted to tell you

The minute I stopped blogging, I thought of things I wanted to say. I still felt a bit fragile so I thought I’d stay away for the time being anyway.

I wanted to tell you about the sandals I’ve had made (for the price of a decent pair of leather sandals in the UK I had a pair made just for me). I wanted to post a picture because I was so excited.

I wanted to tell you how irritated I’d been by a motorbike on the pavement behind me while I was walking to Book Club. This is normal here and has never bothered me before so I wasn’t sure why it made me so angry this time. I run Book Club and I felt cross with myself for not managing to read Bleak House. It scared a lot of people off, and we were only five in attendance. We met in a new venue that served really yummy Berry yogurty shake thing. I wanted to tell you all how the four friends made me feel cheerful again.

I wanted to tell you that Bill contacted me after reading my Snake Farm post. Bill is a journalist in Houston and was writing an article about the snake farm for the Chronicle and he asked if could help him with some extra details. I could. I love the internet. You can see his article here.

I wanted to post a picture of a beautiful flower I saw.

I wanted to tell you that I picked up the soft contact lenses to replace my lost-because-I-was-so-drunk lens. They are the size of dinner plates and handling them is like manhandling a jelly fish.

I wanted to ask advice about something I don’t want to talk about. There are blurry lines between someone I know in a professional sense that I don’t if it’s right or okay to make an overture of friendship. Blurry lines. I can’t work out what to do so I’m doing nothing.

I wanted to say that I think my peculiar patch might be because I’m having a little moment of homesickness. Maybe because I’m flying home in a couple of weeks or maybe I booked the flight because I was in the early stages of homesickness. I get it so rarely I didn’t recognise it. I miss people, but I don’t often feel homesick.

I wanted to say that while I should've been reading Bleak House I was reading The Thirteenth Tale by Diane Setterfield and then The Beach by Alex Garland.

I wanted to tell you that I had hoped … so hoped … that not blogging meant I could write. I never found the time. I spent all of last week websiting. My ‘get writing or quit this pretending to write thing’ deadline is approaching. We’re away in Chiang Mai Friday to Thursday next week so I won’t be able to do much then. Will I quit?

I want to tell you that I'm not sure if I should post this or not.