Traffic laws...what traffic laws?

Why there aren't more fatalities on the streets in Bangkok is an enigma to me. I took my first motorcycle ride the other day. Even though this is the fastest and cheapest way to get anywhere, I have been avoiding the moto scene because quite frankly, I had my doubts about whether these little scooters could hold my weight. I imagined climbing on the back of one and having it upended, throwing the petite Thai man into the air to crash somewhere behind me. You think I'm exaggerating? Well, in two different fiction novels, Son of a Circus and Bangkok 8, I read accounts of large Americans (although most farangs could be considered large over here) taking motorcycles and the descriptions make it sound like the centripetal force is compromised when the weight distribution is so top heavy. My fears seemed to be confirmed when the first time I tried to hail a moto, there was a spattering of laughter amongst the many drivers, all crowded around their money-making machines, joking in Thai, and pointing at me, at each other. I imagined them saying, "No, you take her. I want to keep my bike in one piece!" I turned around, shamefaced, and walked quickly in the other direction.

I mustered up enough courage the other day when I had to go to the mall, which is about two miles away. There were only a couple of drivers out front by the entrance to my apartment, so the laughter wasn't as formidable. I climbed on and held on, tight. He sped off and as he turned onto the main road going against the one-way traffic, I had to bury my face in his back. (Feel free to insert your expletive of choice here, because at the time, there was a litany of them going through my mind.) The driver paid no attention to my arms wrapped around his waist or to my knees pressing into his thighs with surprising force, holding on for dear life. I had been warned to keep my knees in because when the dare-devil drivers weave through cars and squeeze through narrow spots, they don't always take your long legs into consideration. The rule of thumb seemed to be don't stop for any reason. Being that we were traveling into the traffic instead of with it, this involved erratic swerving, driving on the sidewalk, turning down side streets and making u-turns. Over speed bumps, through cars stopped at intersections, traversing uneven pavement (this scared me the most...I was reminded of my Baypoint three speed biking accidents, sliding on gravel and crashing). All the while, I held on to this man the way my nephew clings to his mother when meeting strangers. I was told later by a seasoned farang that you aren't supposed to touch the driver; there is a metal bar behind the seat that you are supposed to hold onto. What the hell! NOT hold on? I'm crazy, but not that crazy. Besides, he didn't seem to mind.

After such a harrowing experience, I was most surprised to be delivered safely to my destination. I might even do it again. Maybe.
Or I could just take the bus. The wooden floors are quite charming. Whenever I am on the bus, I keep expecting to see chickens clucking around and somehow magically being transported to Cartagena.