The Khon Thai Family

    I’ve spoken before about Westerners forever being outsiders in Thailand. If you are not ‘khon Thai’ you can forget ever losing the farang (or worse) label. This annoys me to a certain degree. Not because I think I should be accepted here after a mere seven months but because I think this attitude encourages rampant xenophobia at best and overt racism at worst. All this being said, the bond of ‘khon Thai’ is beautifully strong. People speak to strangers as siblings, very literally using terms of sibling endearment which are built right into the language, and Thai children receive parental love from bus attendants, street vendors, and passerbys. The most beautiful examples of the kindred bond of ‘khon Thais’ that I have witnessed happen on the skytrain. The scenario runs like this:
    A BTS officer, clad in a skin-tight and intimidating uniform, gently leads a blind man up the stairs and into a train queue. The officer allows the man, a stranger, to wrap his arm around his waist and lean into his chest for support on the trek up the stairs. As the officer leaves the man in line he pats his hands tenderly and offers a parting ‘chok dee’, ‘goodluck’ in Thai. As the train whizzes to a stop a business man reaches out to the blind mans forearm, calling him ‘Nong’ or ‘little brother’. This business man, clad in an expensive suit and designer shoes, guides the blind man onto a sardine-packed train using his own body to make enough standing room for them both. Once they are both safely aboard, he grabs the man’s hand and lifts it to the handhold above wrapping his own hand around his to ensure his grip. If you were to witness their conversation from afar you would think they were old friends. Instead, they are talking about simple things; the weather, their destinations, their children. The train comes to a halt and there is a mass exodus at a popular stop. Suddenly, the car is barely packed. A seated young woman sees the blind man and immediately stands... tapping his elbow lightly and working in tandem with the business man to ensure that the man’s sight stick doesn’t get tangled in the mid-car support poles. Once seated, the blind man offers thanks and smiles widely. At the next stop both the businessman and the young woman depart saying brief goodbyes to the seated man. We come to my stop, Saphan Khwai. The blind man stands himself up and takes barely a step before a new BTS officer glides onto the train and takes his arm. The first officer must have walkie-talkied forward and alerted the officers at this station of the man’s needs and car number. The train doors stay open longer than usual to ensure that the man is safely departed. I watch as this officer, much like the first, allows the man to wrap his arms around him on their descent down the stairs. They are chattering away like old comrades.
    I’ve seen such a scenario happen on three separate occasions and it never ceases to re-instill my faith in humanity. In a city of 12 million people, it is nothing short of a miracle that a disabled person is catered to and cared for with such compassion. I’m not sure it would happen anywhere else in the world. As much as I hate the exclusivity of the ‘khon Thai’ clan, I am in awe of their ability to drop judgement, fear, and ego to help one of their family members in need. I hope that in this small but world changing way, I will someday be ‘khon Thai’ too. 

LadyBoy Masseuses, Falling Off Elephants, and 4am Tuk-Tuks

Parental Visit Story 1:
    I gingerly opened the door to my local massage parlor, my folks in tow. It was Day 1, Activity 1... getting a massage. I was still bandaged and limping but I knew that, no matter what, a massage would de-stress us all. 
    I hadn’t done much prep work with them. No warning about the National Anthem at 6pm sharp, no wai instructions, no mention of Bangkok’s 3rd sex... no biggie, right? I had plenty of time to cover all these topics. Wrong. I had forgotten that my beloved massage parlor employed a ladyboy masseuse... Naturally, she was working today. Naturally, she was assigned to my father. Now, to be fair, my father is one of the least judgmental people to walk the face of this earth. Nonetheless, I hoped that this wouldn’t make him uncomfortable. To my great relief he slipped into foot massage induced quasi-blissed-out-coma in no time. Whew. I bbm’ed the Mercer crew about what a champ he was and thanked my lucky stars for having a Dad who was so unfazed by gender-bending. 
    That evening as we noshed on street pad thai,we recounted our day. I asked my folks what they thought of their massages. Like the understanding man my father is, he properly referred to his masseuse as ‘she’ and complimented her skill. I remarked that I was happy he hadn’t been uncomfortable and rambled off about ladyboys. ‘Wait, what?’ my Dad said, his jaw a bit lax. ‘Dad, your massage therapist was a lady boy... you knew that right?’ He laughed and laughed and laughed. Apparently not. Of course, he still didn’t care and, for the record, asked for her again.... Mom and I were just a little surprised he hadn’t noticed.


Parental Visit Story 2
    Looking back, I’m not sure what I was thinking dragging my 60 year old parents on a mahout training course that required them the dexterously hop on and off pachyderms with an agility that even I don’t possess. But, there we were, wrapping up a full day of elephant riding. I could tell my folks were exhausted. I was thanking my lucky starts we hadn’t suffered any injuries. In my relieved disillusionment, I joyously exclaimed to my Mom, “Hey, you should dismount the elephant like this [‘this’ being hopping over the head as it bows to the ground], its my favorite way!” Stupid, stupid, stupid. It was our very last dismount, I should have kept my mouth shut. I hopped off, reveling in the final, thrilling descent. I turned around to watch my Mom, camera in hand. Immediately, I knew this would not end well. The elephants head was bowing, she looked tense and, worst of all, her left leg remained dead-gripped behind the elephants ear. I innately snapped a single picture before my Mom came crashing to the ground, face first. Initial horror: we are in the middle of po-dunk Thailand and my mother has broken her hip. A collective gasp was heard. The mahouts, the program director, and I all sucked air together. 
    Then, she started to laugh. Thank-you-buddha. With the agility of a 20 year old she popped up, laughing still, dusted off, and turned beet red. Clearly the only thing permanently damaged was her ego. Forever more my mother can say that not only has she ridden an elephant but she has also fallen off one. What a rarity such an accomplishment must be!

 Mom LOVING her elephant time in the lake. 

Seconds before it all went wrong. 

Parental Visit Story 3
    Due to planning error on my part, my folks and I were forced to take buses (instead of trains) for the larger sections of our journey. Long bus journeys are starkly hit-or-miss here. You can hit the transportation jackpot and end up in the massaging chair, snack laden, near empty bus or you can land on the bus that we did from Chiang Mai to Ayutthaya... the bus with the farang-hating attendant, noisy/frigid aircon, non-existent shocks, and year-old bologna sandwiches for snacks. Joy, joy, joy!! 
    The bus attendant was the loveliest part of this trip. She clearly had done her bun a bit too tight that day for what should of been a smile was a sinister sneer. She literally threw a bottle of water at me and gave me the judgmental, ‘I’m foreigners biggest enemy’, raised-eyebrow look when I tried, in my kindest, most respectful thai possible, to remind her that we wanted to be dropped off in Ayutthaya. I gathered that we would only be making a quick stop and that stopping was a HUGE inconvenience for her. 
     7 body-jarring hours later, she elbowed me to indicate we were at Ayutthaya. We quickly gathered our things and tried to exit the bus as quietly as possible so as not to disturb the other, slumbering passengers. We stepped off the bus onto the side of the superhighway, the attendant pointing to our bags with a grimace on her face then quickly prancing back up the steps as the bus rolled away. It was deathly quiet. No cars were on the road. It was 4am. I had no idea where we were. I had no idea where Ayutthaya was. 
    Fan-freaking-tastic, Kate, I thought, What are you going to do now, huh? Then, like magic, a tuk-tuk chugged out of the darkness. I frantically, giddily hailed him down.... as if I had any competition. I braced myself for the inevitable 1000 baht start to bargaining but rationalized that 1. it was my parents money and 2. now was no time to be stubborn and cheap. To my great delight, the driver gave me a toothy grin and offered 100 baht for a ride to our guesthouse. I damn near kissed him. 
    We piled in and gripped to the handrails. My parent's enormous bags hogged 2/3 of the sitting room and we were all forced to sit precariously close to the open back. At first we sat in silence, dazed and tired. Then I started to crack up, my Mom followed, and soon we were a trio of guffaws. I laughed until tears streamed down my face and until a stitch crept into my side. I kept laughing. Here we were, the 3 Doornbos Muskateers... the youngest and blindest leading the older and blinder through Thailand. What a spectacular hilarity of a life we lead. 

The 'Rents Come to Thailand

   After months of anticipation and a bit of personal anxiety (i.e. Calvinist cleaning injury) my folks arrived in-country on January 21st. In preparation for their visit, I constructed a Master PDF schedule which dictated what we would do on a daily basis. This PDF went through an evolution of editing until, finally, a few days before they touched down I gave up on making it perfect and crossed my fingers in hopes of an incident-free and enjoyable visit for them.


My Biggest Fears:
--They would be bored.
--They would get ill.
--They would question why I liked Thailand so much.
--My Thai skills would miraculously vanish the night before they arrived.
--One of them would, in one of my contrived adventures, physically injure themselves.


My Best Aspirations:
--To keep them happy, well-fed and enjoying our day-day activities.
--To get them to test their limits gastronomically, physically, and mentally.
--To make them fall in love with Thailand so that when I, inevitably, return here (for vacation, my wedding or to accept a job offer) they wouldn’t cringe.


   I think we did pretty well. In the next post I’ll highlight the most humorous moments but, for now, I’ll outline our actual schedule. I successfully and continuously ran them around this country for 18 straight days. Mission Accomplished.


Day 1
--1 hour Foot Massage
--Jim Thompson 
--Bangkok Art and Culture Center (scandalous princes show)
--Pad Thai on Pradiphat Rd.

Day 2
--Birthday Blessing at Wat Soi Thong
--First Tuk Tuk Ride from Wat to River
--River Taxi to Brunch
--Royal Orchid Sheraton Buffet
--RedSky with Friends for Cocktails
--Somerset for DQ Cake with a Full Red Moon Rising

Day 3
--Mahidol Tour
--Lunch with labmates
--Golden Mount (Wat Saket)
--Ban Baht Bowl Making Community
--Ordered in Thai Food 

Day 4
--Morning Buddha Casting at Mahidol
--Grand Palace
--Temple of the Emerald Buddha
--Amulet Market
--Way Pho
--Massages on Sukimvit Soi 16
--Happy Hour Drinks at Long Table
--Dinner at The Deck with Wesley and his Mother

Day 5
--Central World
--Mad About Juice Smoothies
--Paragon Window Shopping
--Bus Ticket Acquisition
--Left on a bus for Lampang

Day 6
--Arrived in Lampang at 4:30am
--Song Teauw to Guesthouse
--Slept in
--Breakfast at Guesthouse
--Walked along river to several temples, old mansion
--Went to train station, Walked the main streets
--Dinner at Riverside Restaurant

Day 7
--Elephant Conservation Center Mahout Training Day
--Slowest Taxi in Thailand
--Mom and I got out with Dr. Nirund via horse drawn carriage to nicest restaurant in Lampang... he is such a gracious host. 

Day 8
--Leisurely Breakfast
--11am Train to Change Mai
--Taxi to Mountainview Guesthouse
--2 hour full body Thai massages
--Dinner in the street

Day 9
--Walking around Old City
--Women's Correctional Facility  restaurant for lunch
--Mom and I go to Chedi Luang
--Walking Street in the evening

Day 10
--Doi Suthep Temple
--Dad gets Acupuncture
--Mom and I get massages
--Dinner Cruise from Riverside Restaurant
--Night Bazaar

Day 11
--Mega-crazy day trip to Hot Springs, Chiang Rai, White Temple, Golden Triangle, Boat to Laos, Mae Sai, Burmese Border, Akha Village

Day 12
--Antique Shopping
--Chinatown
--Lunch at a Soi Kitchen
--Go see The Tourist
--Swensens Ice Cream for Dinner

Day 13
--Alms rounds at Kru Bah Shrine
--Breakfast at Guesthouse
--Silk Factory
--Gems Gallery Visit
--Umbrella Factory
--Packed up
--Massages
--Left for Ayutthaya
--(Horrible disco bus with no shocks, bitch hostess, highway drop off)

Day 14
--Arrive Ayutthaya 4:00 am
--Ayutthaya Tuk Tuk to Promtong Guesthouse
--Slept in, Had Breakfast
--Biked around Old City
--Temples and Gigantic Buddha
--Dinner on River

Day 15
--SACICT
--Afternoon train back to BKK
--Dinner at Cabbages and Condoms with Martin

Day 16
--Chatuchak Market in the morning
--Massages at favorite massage parlor
--Big C run
--Dinner at The Deck with Martin
--Pak Klong Talad

Day 17
--Jim Thompson Outlet
--Lumphini Park
--Picnic in Park
--EatMe photography Exhibit 
--Happy hour at Long Table with Martin
--Drag show with Mom, Ryan, Wesley

Day 18
--Last Day
--Packing, Leisurely Breakfast
--Trip to Chinatown
--Wandering wet markets in Chinatown
--Visit to Temple with largest solid gold buddha
--Dinner Pad Thai on Pradiphat 
--Massages (Full Circle from first day)




Whew! Makes me exhausted just looking at it ;)

Turning 23

   Two days after my folks arrived, I celebrated a most perfect birthday. 
   Turning 23 has all sort of whimsical connotations in my mind. My current situation speaks to the luck of this life-year and I know that the coming months will only make this more obvious. I’ll be wrapping up a year living abroad, returning to my dream of a graduate program, creating a new home for myself in Alabama, and returning to the company of my love. On an introspective level, I feel much more comfortable and assured of myself than I ever have. There is no question as to my path: I know what I want and I know I have the ability to get there. I might not have every, itsy-bitsy component of my journey plotted out but I trust my instincts and my sensibilities to do what needs to be done. I am past the vanity and insecurities of my teenage-dom, am over the OCD nervosa of my college years, and am utterly content. I recognize that I still have an immense amount to learn on a personal and professional level but I also accept myself for who I am at this very moment. I know that graduate school will be taxing but I am confident that I will be able to balance my workload with the people and activities that bring me joy. Only good things lay ahead in my 23rd year and, if my good fortune ends, I’m prepared to deal with any sorrow which might come my way.
   I rang in this new year with my wonderful parents. Still jet-lagged and fresh off the plane, they tolerated my insistence on a traditional Bhuddhist birthday blessing at a local temple and then whisked me downtown to treat me to an incredible Sunday Brunch at the Royal Orchid Sheraton on the Chao Phraya River. This was no ordinary brunch.... freshly made to order smoothies were free-flowing, a woodfire pizza oven doled out deliciousness, raw oysters were endless, dim sum overflowed out of steam baskets, thai delicacies sat next to western classics, and the dessert bar was a room all to itself. To say I entered food-induced bliss would be obvious. The waitstaff even constructed a star-bedecked, chocolate-covered, Thai kanome encircled, and candle topped torte and sang the Thai Happy Birthday song to me. I would have NEVER treated myself to such an indulgence but it was so much fun to enjoy one of the famous Sunday Brunch locales that Bangkok is famous for. 
    After loosening our pants and taking a brief rest, we headed to RedSky, my favorite skybar, to celebrate over cocktails with my Mercer compadres. I was surrounded by 12 people whom I adored while looking over a city with which I have fallen in love... pure, nostalgic bliss. 
    We later dined on a chocolate extreme Dairy Queen (thank you, Globalization!) cake and watched a full, blood moon rise. Life at 23 started off so sweetly. 

Calvinist Clean Gone Awry

       There I sat, hyperventilating on my apartment floor, half-laughing, half-sobbing wondering what my life was coming to. I had broken into a cold sweat. My foot pulsed with pain and a swollen bruise was quickly appearing just above my knee. My eyesight sporadically narrowed down to tunnel-vision and I could feel my heart pounding at my temples. Shit, shit, shit, shit. Calm the hell down, Kate. 

      I had been cleaning my apartment, an endeavor I undertake briefly a couple times a week to keep myself sane and clutter-free. This time was special though... in 48 hours my mother was going to be here. Such a visit elicits a very special cleaning regiment that I have dubbed ‘Calvinist Clean’. You see, I have a weird tick about my mother being in my personal space. I assume that she is going to judge me. I bank on the fact that it will never be tidy enough, never be decorated properly, never live up to her expectations. The truth is, as she has told me time and time again, this is all a figment of my imagination. None the less, I go into a cleaning frenzy so intense that I have been known to pull a cleaning all-nighter on the eve of her visits. I am a reasonably tidy person to begin with but there is just something about my mother visiting that makes me go OCD in a heartbeat and a half. So, in preparation of her arrival to Bangkok, I was bound and determined to make my apartment sparkle. 

      I was standing tip-toe on a wooden shelf in my closet, dusting the top of my bureau (I envisioned my mother in white gloves checking this usually unseen area for dust bits) when I slipped. Unfortunately, my ever-present grace made this slip particularly nasty. Somehow I managed to cut the fleshy pad of my left big-toe on the blunt wooden corner.... a feat I am still trying to understand the physics of. I yelp, gasped, did the absurd ‘I hurt myself’ dance and bounded into the shower to assess the damage. I knew I was cut, I just didn’t know how severely. 

      Before I go any further I should also explain that I have a complicated relationship with my own blood, it serves as a symbolic extension of my own mortality. I can’t handle it. Place me in front of an accident victim or bedside in an operating room... no problemo. Give me a paper cut and I get queasy. It is uncontrollable and it seems to be getting worse as I age.  

      So, there I was, standing in the pouring shower fully clothed, assessing the cut’s severity by watching burgundy tinted water pour out of the wound. *Bam* Next thing I knew I was on the floor having, presumably, fainted and fallen face first to the tile. Fabulous. I realized how panicked I was but there was nothing I could do to stop it. I found it hilarious I was being so ridiculous but, at the same time, I was irrationally terrified my foot would never stop bleeding and I would leave my apartment in a body bag (where there is panic irrationality runs rampant, no?). I began to laugh breathlessly and sob all at once. It was 3:15 in the afternoon, 3:15 in the morning in the States. All my Mercer friends were at work and, frankly, I’d made enough of a fool out of myself in normal day-day life... they didn’t need to see me like this. If I called my folks they too would think I was dying. So, I decided to call upon the most comforting and rational person I know... Jimmy. 

      I wheezed as I dialed his cell phone via Skype. This was getting out of hand. I could barely talk. A sleepy voice answered and all I could do was wail. Immediately he went into EagleScout mode. Asking all the right questions, reminding me to breathe, assessing the damage from 10,000 miles away. Almost instantaneously I began to calm down. After a long conversation punctuated by a few more good cries he convinced me that I needed to head to the hospital. His reasoning was spot-on: I didn’t have anything to clean the wound with, I clearly could not be trusted with doing it myself, and I probably needed a shot of antibiotics to stave off infection. I cushioned my toe in a comically huge bundle of a torn t-shirt and limped to a taxi. 

      I am fortunate that I live within sight of the oldest private, non religiously affiliated hospital in Bangkok, Vichaiyut. After a 5 minute drive, I was greeted at the taxi bay by a doorman who opened the taxi door for me, looked at my puffy eyes and silly toe, and offered his shoulder to help me to the reception desk. I tried to explain my situation in Thai, an effort that quickly resorted to pantomine and ended by me accepting language defeat and asking for a translator. I was directed to the ‘Emergency Wing’. If the overly-helpful doorman seemed cushy, this so called ER was beyond luxurious. Three nurses saw me coming. One directed me to a couch, the other grabbed a bowl of cool jasmine water to wash my hands and face, and the one with the best English began speaking to me prefacing everything with ‘Madame’. I explained my wound, my insurance situation, my non-regular patient status, and my Visa status. She said I would need to do some paperwork... I waited for the stack of never-ended medical exam sheets. Instead, I got a half-sheet of paper that asked for my name, my allergies, my current medications, and my ailment. 

     After the 2 seconds it took to fill this out, I was weighed and my temperature read. I then got something so rare in the US healthcare system I am not sure it exists... ‘I’m sorry Madame, our Emergency doctor is with an accident trauma victim, it might be a 10 minute wait. Usually we have two doctors but today we are short staffed’ I must have looked at her like she was crazy... I had a cut toe and she was apologizing to me (apologizing!) for a shorter wait than I would get it I had an appointment in the States. ‘Mai pen rai’ I replied, ‘The accident victim needs the doctor more than me.’ Five minutes passed and they brought me into a modern operating room where classical music was playing. They asked me to lay on the table, tucked a thick, fuzzy blanket around me, and tenderly took my fumbled bandage job off my toe. The nurses were empathetic and made me feel like less of a doofus for coming to the ER for what I thought was such a silly injury. The doctor came in, shook my hand, exchanged niceties, and took a look at my foot. He too was appalled at how I managed such a wound under the described circumstances. He apologized when he had to squeeze it to assess the depth. I winced and whimpered. ‘You cut to the bone’, he said, ‘you’re lucky you can feel it. I would have expected nerve damage.’ Greeaaat. Just wonderful. ‘I’ll need to give you some stitches.’ I nearly jumped off the table. 

The room started to spin.

I protested, reminding him that I just wanted it thoroughly cleaned. 

I feebly argued.

I lost. 

      Before I knew it I was squeezing a nurses hand as he administered a healthy shot of numbing meds. After a few firm thwacks of his thumb that I was blissfully unaware of, he set to sewing me up. 7 stitches in total. He complimented my bravery... a joke considering I am such a baby... then talked to me about home-care and stitch removal. All in all, it took about 15 minutes. 

      I left in a wheelchair and was wheeled to the on-site pharmacy where I was given oral antibiotics and heavy-duty tylenol. Then, I went to the payment window. Having a father who has his fair share of health issues, I knew the bill might not be pretty. I took a deep breath, prepared myself for the worst, and reminded myself that not getting stitches would have led to near certain infection. The kind lady on the other side explained that my US government insurance wasn’t accepted but gave me a run down of how to apply for a reimbursement. She asked if I could pay me total that day though I was still unsure of how much it was. I said I could as long as I could use a credit card. She handed me the bill: 2800 baht, approximately $94 USD. I asked her if it was complete. She walked me through the doctors fee, the cost of the stitch kit, the cost of my meds, the hospital fee and the taxes.     

      Sure enough... I was floored. It was 30 minutes after I had entered the place. I was given world-class care in a comfortable and nurturing environment. An MD stitched me up and dedicated a full 15 minutes of his time to me. I got all my prescribed medication instantly and on site. They were only charging me $94??!! I handed her cash, for which I got another 5% discount.  Another apology spewed forth... this time about my visit being expensive. She seemed embarrassed she couldn’t take my Fulbright insurance and explained that Vichaiyut was one of the pricier hospitals in Bangkok. It took me great restraint to keep a straight face. 

      If only she knew what such a foray would cost in the States. I visited an emergency room (my first time ever) in November of 2009 and the bill was $800. I was given fluids and a chest x-ray. I saw a doctor for 60 seconds who expertly determined I wasn’t going to die. This cost did not include the ambulance ride which rang in, before insurance, at a whooping $2000 because they had to administer ‘life-saving-care’... better known as hooking me up to an EKG. Such cost seems unfathomable after my experience here.

      To add insult to the injury, as I was being wheeled out to the taxi bay the lady whom I had just settled my bill with came running after me waving a 100 baht note. I didn’t remember needing change and was a bit confused. She breathlessly explained that the hospital fee included roundtrip taxi fare if you didn’t require an ambulance. Really, Thailand? You put the American healthcare system to shame.

      And, for your viewing pleasure, a few action shots from my Calvinist Cleaning injury:

   The first two images were taken via Blackberry while I was on the sewing table... the last in my apartment, after my return home. Did injury stop me from my agenda? Heck no! That very night I went out for HappyHour with friends, visited the flower market and had a lovely, limping time. I tolerated the stitches for a week before removing them myself... no time for return hospital visits when my folks were around. We were on a Type-A schedule!!!! Hear more about that in the next post!

The Constant Adventure of Bangkok Public Transportation

      I’ve been driving since I was 12 or so.  How, might you ask, did I start so young? As an only child of protective/terrified parents they did what made the most sense... they gave me ample practice time behind the wheel before releasing me into the world of driving permits and unsupervised vehicle operation. My mother would allow me to drive her on errand runs, weekly jaunts into N.Ga, and wherever else she thought would offer me good driving practice. At the time I thought it was SO RAD and, in retrospect, it was an extraordinarily wise way for her to be there for the inevitable new driver screw-ups. I credit her with a (nearly) flawless driving record and my confidence behind the wheel. Living rurally throughout high school drive times were long, roads were treacherous, and too many of my classmates live’s were abbreviated because they made newbie errors on unforgiving roads. Mom clearly knew best.
      All this being said, I’ve spent the last 7ish year relying solely on myself for transport. I’ve always preferred to be ‘the driver’ with my group of friends and I genuinely enjoy driving. I’ve embarked on road-trips for no reason and, if particularly upset/bored/stressed, will often jump in the car for a spin around the neighborhood with the windows down and music blaring. 
      I haven’t driven for 6 months and it is dually bizarre and empowering. I’ve relied on public transportation, taxis, rides from friends and my own two feet to get around. It is a testament to the Thai Public Transport system that I have done all this cheaply, safely, and efficiently. Bangkok traffic is gnarly. 
      I use the SkyTrain to zip across town on evenings and weekends, high above the kilometer long traffic jams on Sukhimvit and Silom. The trains are frequent, every 5 mins or so, and may or may not be packed sardine style.The people-jammed cars are always eerily quiet unless there are a group of American’s on board... in which case their entire, boisterous conversation rings throughout the length of the train. A highlight of the BTS are the omnipresent BTS police, men in skintight uniforms wielding whistles and stern looks for anyone who crosses the yellow line or dives through the closing doors. Each one has their own separate whistling style. Some are whistle-happy, unleashing a shrill tone at every conceivable opportunity. Others reserve their chides for true offenders. One particularly conversational policeman at Sanam Pao has a jovial greeting for each farang who walks off the train. 
      My commute to work is not on the SkyTrain line but I am fortunate that the municipal bus system is convenient and cheap. I hop on a bus (#44 or #67) that may or may not be air-conditioned and, occasionally, has bus pets... namely squirrels or mice that reside in a cage bolted to the gear box and loved-on by the driver. Sound bizarre? It is SO very Bangkok. I love it. I’ve reached a level of fuzzy familiarity with many of the bus attendants and drivers. Because I get off at one of the largest public hospitals (right next to my university) and am usually dressed in professional wear, they assume I am a physician or physician in training. They address me as ‘Doctor’, a title which I have tirelessly tried to lose without much success. The bus never fails to be interesting. Fellow riders can be entertaining, my own actions embarrassingly clumsy, or the sights from the window particularly engaging... it all depends on the day.
      As much as I would like to say I have sworn off motorcycle taxis after the harrowing accident I witnessed, I haven’t. Car taxis are great for cross-city, late-night commutes but nothing beats the back of a motorcycle when I need to get somewhere quickly. When I say traffic here is terrible, I am doing it great favors. Between the hours of 7am-10am and 3:30pm-6:30pm many roads are hopelessly gridlocked. Motorcycle taxi men deftly weave in and out of traffic and can get me places in 5-10 minutes that it would take an hour or more otherwise. They are cheap, thrilling and offer a nice, breezy retreat from pounding the pavement. The taxi men are usually very kind and surprisingly careful. While weaving through traffic via motorcycle would be disastrous Stateside (can you imagine how pissed off Atlanta drivers would be if someone dared to beat them to their exit?), Bangkok drivers are hyper aware of their surroundings and are accustomed to looking for brazen pedestrians and zippy motorcycles. Its just part of the normal traffic scene here. All this praise was a lame attempt to justify my use of them to my mother. Maybe it worked? Doubtful. 
Finding transport and navigating the city is a daily adventure that can be dually exciting and frustrating. I look forward to having my car again but, for now, view my daily commutes and outings as constant adventures. Life is never boring here.