Ever seen the English move "The man who went up a hill and came down a mountain"? It doesn't really have much to do with this post except that's where I got the idea for the title. Today was monumental in my life in Thailand in that it was the first time that I hit the brick wall of "culture shock" and just wanted out. This is the story of the last four hours of my life.
I left at 4:15 for my 5:30 stretching/dance class because there can be quite a bit of traffic on the road you take to get to the studio. I have been to this class twice before, both times by taxi. I meet my friend there who comes from her university class. Otherwise we would go together. Instead, I brave the land of taxi drivers who may or may not know where they are going, alone. I set out for the taxi stand right by school, where there were two cars waiting. Neither driver, however, was willing to take me in the direction I wanted to go. Too much traffic they said.
I should have turned around right then and there. Except I didn't. I walked to the main road and hailed a taxi there. This driver was quite willing to take me, and I actually did a fairly decent job explaining where it was I wanted to go. My language frustrations come when I know exactly where to go and how to get there, but it's often quite a task transferring that message to someone else. This guy, to my surprise, spoke a bit of English. Which is where things got interesting.
As we drove, he started talking to me. Now, before you envision some pleasant little conversation, understand that I had to concentrate completely on what he was saying in order to figure out what he was saying and then think of a way to respond or answer that was simple enough for him to understand. The first little bit of this was fine, but sure enough, there was a bit of traffic and it turned into a looooong ride. Along the way, he asked me: my name, how old I was, where I was from, how long I'd been in Bangkok, how long I was staying, where I lived, with whom I lived, where I worked, how long my contract was, how many siblings I had (and of course, what the birth order was), where my parents were, how old they were, what they did for a living, what my siblings did for a living, how much money I made, and why I liked Thailand. He also managed to tell me about his ex-wife, why they got divorced, his two daughters, how much money he sent them each month, how much it cost him to rent his taxi each day, etc. etc. Now, you do have to understand that some of these questions that are considered quite rude by American standards are not rude here. It's one thing to know that. It is quite another thing to be peppered with these questions for over an hour in broken English when you cannot escape. Also understand that when asked these questions by perfect strangers I make a lot of it up. I'm truthful about my family and where I work, but not about where I live or whom I live with (I always live with friends and am always on my way to meet up with friends) and things like that.
Now, the dance studio I go to is a small little place and basically I just get the driver on the right road and tell them to go straight until I say stop. Meanwhile, once I know we are getting closer, I look really carefully until I see it. Of course, I can't tell a word this man is saying and stare out the window at the same time. So he starts making a T with his hands and asking me what you call that in English. I'm baffled. It is a bridge? Is he looking for the word above? What the crap? Stop talking to me, leave me alone and drive! Then he starts insisting on asking me left or right. No, just go straight! But he is very insistent. Until I look up and we are at a dead end. Oh. That's called a dead end. And this means we have passed the dance studio.
At this point, stretching class is getting underway. The taxi fare continues to climb. And we need to turn around. Except that on most main roads in Bangkok, you can't turn around. They are divided highways and those "Michigan turns" that drive you nuts in Detroit are now gigantic U-turns, and there may not be one for a mile. Or two. So we drive and drive to get to one and by this point I am fuming mad. I'm irritated with talking to this guy, want to get out of the stupid cab, and am mad at myself for missing the studio. On top of it all, he seems to think the problem is that I don't know where I am going. And on top of everything else, it's quite poor form in Thailand to show or express your anger and frustration. So while I want to scream and cry, I don't.
After we turn around, the driver finally gets the point that he needs to be quiet so I can concentrate. We get to the studio and I tell him to stop. I'm ready to get out (flee for my life) and pay the guy, he seems confused. "We're here. That's it, right there." I point to the studio and hand him the money, which is 23 Baht more than the fare. He still just looks at me, and I'm thinking dude, give me my change and get lost. A few seconds later I decide the 23 baht (less than $1) is soooo not worth it and I get out.
By this time we are 25 minutes into the class and I have no desire to go. I'm too frustrated and fed up. I am fairly certain that the 207 bus goes by there and goes all the way to my house- a long ride to be sure, but a cheap one without anyone trying to talk to me. So the plan is just to hop on the bus right there, go home, and lick my wounds. Except that the cab doesn't drive away. He's just sitting there waiting. So I figure I'll cross the street, go around the corner to the studio, he'll drive away, then I can come back and ride the bus. Except that when I walk to the front of the building after waiting, he has turned the cab around and is sitting right in front of the studio waiting for me! At this point, I am ready to cry. I pull out my cell phone and pretend to dial it and pretend to talk to a friend. Except it's hard to pretend to talk to someone so really I just start praying aloud. I nod a few times, smile and just start walking down the street in the direction of home. I walk for a bit and don't look back at the taxi.
After a few minutes I look up, "hang up" the phone and decide to cross back over the street so I can catch the bus going the right direction. And there, across the street, is a little plant nursery. I bought one plant a month ago, and I haven't killed it yet, and I really would like to have more plants, so I decide that while I am there I'll have a look around. I figure that at this point I need something to redeem the evening. I settle on two nice looking ones for $1.75 apiece, proceed to the nearest bus stop, and get on the 207. And I basically ride that all the way home. Except that it doesn't quite go all the way to my house. It stops, pulls over, and the ticket girl and all the passengers get off. So like any self-respecting foreigner I do what all the locals do and get off the bus. And then I have to climb the stairs to take the pedestrian walkway over the "highway" to get on another bus going the right direction. And pay another bus fare. To go about half a mile. At most. But it's dark and it's wet and it's worth it.
So that is how I failed to get to stretching class, and how two little plants saved my spirits and kept me from crying on the streets of Bangkok. I am now home, safe and sound, and have no intention of getting in a taxi again any time soon.
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