The Motorcycle Rider
April 26, 2007
Sometimes, living in Thailand can be quite frustrating. Different people, different customs, not to mention the language and the food, new rules or lack of them.
It took me quite a while to get used to that and even after all these years there's something new to learn all the time. Interesting or unexpected things happen every day and the next story is about one who's both.
I was coming from the gym one night, walking the twenty-five minute distance to my house, hoping that a motorcycle-taxi would come my way so I didn't have to walk anymore. I dragged my feet along the pavement, avoiding the trees that seemed to stand in my path, looking back from time to time, trying to guess if the guy coming on the motorcycle was a motorcycle-taxi rider or somebody else. A motorcycle zoomed past me, the rider a fat guy in dark clothes. I was hoping it would be one of the motorcycle taxi riders wearing the customary bright orange vest, but it wasn't. Just a fat guy on a motorcycle, speeding by, unmindful of my aching feet.
He stopped a short distance away, turned around and came beside me, near the sidewalk. I was a bit surprised but not scared. Thai people are friendly and I knew he didn't stop just to give me a hard time. And so I waited. Still in the seat, he looked at me and said something in Thai. I took a closer look and almost laughed out loud. I knew the guy.
He had a broad face with a wide mouth and thick eyebrows. In fact almost everything about him was wide and generous: his big hands, ample stomach, even his nose, not to mention his behind. Only his eyes were small, the orbs half hidden under the eyelids. Don't ask me how old he was, because if you do, I'll say somewhere between forty-five and fifty-five. I may be wrong, though, maybe he's older than that, it's hard to say. Most Thai people look younger than they really are. He was also one of the biggest Thai guys I have ever seen. There wasn't anything special about that but the fact that he was a motorcycle taxi driver made things a bit more complicated. There are lots of motorcycle taxis in Bangkok who, for a certain fee, depending on the distance covered and the client's talent for negotiation can take people to their destination.
The fat guy belonged to a group of such riders who used to take me to work every morning. This five to ten minutes ride scared me most of the times because of the way these guys drove their motorcycles like they were on an obstacle track, in and out between the narrow passages left by crowding cars, cutting in front of all vehicles or just zooming past them at breathtaking speed. It was a scary experience and to some extent it still is but the alternative is more time wasted breathing the traffic fumes in some sort of pick-up truck with benches in the back, squeezed between children going to school and factory workers going to work. And just in case you're asking yourself, no, I don't own a car.
Every morning I used to go to the main road and wave to one of the motorcycle guys on the opposite side of the street and one of them would come to take me to work on his motorcycle. Many times it was the fat guy's turn and I used to groan silently when I saw him climbing on his motorcycle and getting ready to pick me up. I even had a nickname for him, Fat Bastard, after a movie character. Not very nice you might say, but I thought the name was rather fitting, not in a mean way, but rather like a nickname.
He would cross to my side of the street and wait for me to get on his motorcycle, while I stared at the very small space left at his back where I was supposed to park my "not so very small" bottom.
I tell you, the space that wasn't occupied by his ample behind wasn't much, especially when I was wearing a skirt and had to ride side-saddle.
And so I squeezed in there with a sigh, trying to keep my balance and hoping he would drive slowly. Most of the times he did. I guess his motorcycle couldn't have coped with too much speed anyway. It already made some unpleasant sharp noises that made me keep my fingers crossed and hope the ride would be over soon.
The same guy was now looking at me, offering to take me home. It was a long time since I last saw him but I remembered his face. I probably would have recognized him sooner if he was wearing the orange vest but this time he wasn't. Off duty, most likely.
I squeezed in at his back (need I tell you he hadn't lost any weight?) and he took me home. Didn't want to accept the money when I offered it to him, only smiled and said no, that's ok, then rode away, leaving me feeling more than a bit grateful and rather ashamed for all the times I called him a "fat bastard" behind his back.
I see him now and then around the street I live on, always on the same noisy motorcycle and sometimes he sees me too. We smile at each other like old acquaintances … and I'm once again reminded of how nice it is when people want to help you when you didn't even ask and that Thai hospitality lives up to its reputation.
Comments (1):
Daniel:
Interesting
We all have stories to tell. Sometimes we bring them forth and sometimes we keep them buried. Here are my stories. I hope you will enjoy reading them as much as I enjoyed writing them. 
