CAR TALES

by

Ray Storey

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Getting the Keys

Should have read the Road Rules Book

Lucky Number

Blessing the Car

A Weekend in the Country

A Learning Experience

More Police Intercourse

First Service

To Be Forgiven

Twice in One Week

1. Getting the keys

I have just commenced a new adventure in Thailand. I have a car. Now I get to participate in the "Rollerball" game that is Bangkok traffic.

Last thursday I went to collect it from the dealer. A Thai friend offered to go with me, saying I might be a little scared when the keys are thrown to me, and I have to face the aggressive traffic in a brand new and unfamiliar vehicle and navigate my way in the confusing mess of Bangkok roads that are frequently signed only in Thai. "I'll be fine" I say, thinking my biggest challenge is likely to be bargaining with the traffic police when they pull me over for a fictitious offence, and give me their coded requests for some below-the-dash payment; a Thai friend probably would not be much assistance, as there is a different schedule for farang.

Anyway, Na came with me, and Na says she knows the route from the dealer to our apartment. The appointment for pick-up is 9:00am…..on the day, and only 1 hour later than the date/time nominated by the fortune-teller some months ago….everything is positive.

Na took much longer than normal to prepare herself…I still have not fully grasped the fact that this is a momentous event in our lives…finally emerging, dressed and made-up as though off to an audition for a modeling job.

We arrive just a few minutes late….this is fine in Bangkok….9:00 means somewhere between 9:00 and 10:00 due to the unpredictable road traffic factor…. and no-one is ever offended. My salesperson is ready with all the forms…first things first, however….do you have the deposit with you? We complete the transaction; I get to sign another 8-10 documents, none of which I understand at all as:

 they are all in Thai,

Sales lady speaks zero English, and

Na communicates with the sales lady and then informs me that the concepts are all too difficult for her to translate into English for my benefit.

Of course, this is no problem for me by now….I sign Thai documents on an almost daily basis and have never had one explained to me yet.

One small frustration for me…the owner's manual is in Thai, and takes some time to get across the message that I would like to get my hands on an English language version so I can understand important things like how to set the pre-sets on the radio. [What do you expect…the engine is an Intercooler, turbo-charged , supercommonrail injected diesel…I doubt I will be doing much under the bonnet, except maybe re-filling the windscreen washer reservoir occasionally.] Eventually I make it clear I NEED the manual in English, and it must be available thus, as this vehicle is made in Thailand for export to countries like India, South Africa and Philipines, where the book is almost certainly in English. There is a phone call…everything is OK, and I can exchange the book when I return soon for the first service.

One other tiny item of detail I picked up…the vehicle registered owner in not actually me, but some other person about whom I know nothing! No problem, indicates the sales lady…it will all be fixed when you attend for the first service. Cool, I think, how the hell am I going to explain that to the traffic cop as he is trying to handcuff me?

One other miniscule matter remains before I go…according to the impeccable fortune-teller, it is important to give attention to the numerals on the car's registration plates. We have some time to do this…the red "temporary" plates stay on the car for about 4 weeks until the registration authority gets around to issuing permanents to us. Na decides we need the permanent plates to include the numerals "7" and "9"….no problem says the sale lady, you just slip me 1000baht which I then pass "under the table' to the registration authorities, and it shall be as desired.

We go to the garage for the key throwing ritual. There it is! Oh Hell, looks rather large to be nimbly cruised about Bangkok, I think. No matter…just part of the grand adventure. So then we have the exceedingly funny exercise where the sales lady goes through her hand-over routine; she is opening and shutting stuff, pointing to stuff, explaining stuff to an audience of me, who doesn't understand a word of it, and Na who has not a clue about things mechanical; we get to the engine compartment, I am trying not to laugh as the saleslady points out at least 50 features and explains what she thinks would be good for us to know, while Na is listening intently and grimly [whispers to me that there is no way she will be able to drive this vehicle as there is far too much stuff she will have to do under the bonnet…relaxes a little when I say perhaps it will not be necessary to replace the brake fluid before every trip].

Sales lady notices some dust on the intercooler cover…she hollers, and instantly 3 young attendants dash up with damp rags and vigorously remove the offending material.

Finally I get the keys. The adventure begins!

2. Should have read the Road Rules book

Climb aboard. Start the engine. Engage Drive.

Good place to start….on 3rd level of a car-park, so I can get a feel for the vehicle's external extremities from the sharp turns on the ramps in the first 200 metres. At the gate, I hand the papers to the smiling security guard, and point the car at the traffic.

Slight complication emerges. Na told me previously that she knows the way back to the apartment; appears there may be a slight nervousness with the passenger, as:

1. Na is working the smelling salts [not really smelling salts, but the ubiquitous menthol inhaler one frequently sees up the nostrils of otherwise sensible-looking Thais of all ages], and

2. she is saying "Not know to go left or right" and "What hand of mine is left?".

mai mi panha (No problem!) I am a bloke! I know what to do in a crisis! I decide "right" is the answer, and that's where I am going just as soon as there is a break in the traffic big enough for me to thrust my nose into. A few minutes pass...no break!

The guy, who has been patiently waiting in the car behind, gets out of the car and comes to my window; he does not look like he is hiding a tyre lever behind his back; I lower the window a bit; he sees I am farang (stupid foreigner); he draws our attention to the Thai road rule that says "You can't turn right across traffic here…you must go left until you find a U-turn bridge and then use that". " korp khun krub (Thanks mate)" I mumble with a beaming [I'm just a stupid farang, so how could I know that] smile.

I ease into the left lane, and we are off…probably the wrong way, but that's a minor adjustment to make later. The cars are mostly in other lanes, and the motor cycles prove to be skilled at avoiding me; this is not so hard; ease my way around a food-cart that has just been pushed out into my lane…close call, and I am not sure if the paint is guaranteed against damage from spicy soup; clearly I need to move one lane over, so I don't have to deal with things that suddenly lurch off the foot-path.

Ok…we are cruisin' baby! There is a decision point just ahead…right or left at the junction, and all the lights are green, so I cannot stop to work it out? There are signs, but they are in Thai, and I didn't learn to read Thai yet.

Na seems to have calmed down, after my skillful avoidance of the soup-cart, so I say "left or right here?" She starts flapping her left hand so I start to ease into the correct lane for that turn; she cries out while flapping her left hand and pointing to it with her right index finger "What one, this hand?"; "left" I say; "ok" she says, "go right"! I am calm [somewhat]; I swerve over into the right-turn lane, and invoke a chorus of toots, but no accompaniment of crumpling iron; "why you do that?", Na enquires, none too politely.

I'm cool! The engine's purring, and the new-car smell is intoxicating. Up ahead I see another intersection, and I guess I can only go left…suddenly we are into a major road and, amazingly, we both instantly recognise where we are; just a simple U-turn up ahead somewhere and we will eventually cruise right past our apartment.

We arrive home safely...no dents, no police fines, no wad of unhappiness between us.

3. Lucky Number

When first purchased, the vehicle comes equipped with bright red registration plates with white writing; the permanent, owner’s, plates become available a few weeks later.

We have ordered our permanent plates, along with a “sweetener” of 1000 baht to ensure we get the numerals that will give the vehicle good luck/fortune/health….whatever.

Experienced farang tell me that the real purpose of the temporary plates is to advertise to the traffic police that the approaching car is being driven by a sucker farang….I know, of course, that this could not be true!

Na rings me, very excited, to say that the good fortune has already begun…..armed only with the numerals from the temporary registration plates, she has already turned 20 baht into 3200 baht in the Government lottery. Not only that; she also told her friends about the opportunity, and they too experienced a similar windfall.

“So, how much did you have to give to the Lottery ticket seller in order to win this fortune?” I ask. “Only 20 baht”, she replies. “So, how much did you give the Lottery ticket sellers that did not win anything for you?” “1050 baht.”

What amazing powers these registration plates have!

4. Blessing the Car

We are off to the country to visit Wat Sothorn where, it is rumored, the Monks give good blessing to the motor vehicle.

Last night I studied the maps; of course I am well aware the maps are quite inaccurate, with each different map being an artistic representation of one road’s juxtaposition to all the others rather than surveyed fact; these things can vary depending on [COBOL term!!] conjunction of planets and other heavenly bodies, the menstrual phase of the family water buffalo, etc. However, I am already starting to get a “knee-bone’s connected to the...shin-bone” sort of an understanding of the road system.

We have the car loaded, and we are off by 7:30am. So significant is this event that we even have the maid on-board [never know, but we might have some kind of crisis and need some ironing done in a hurry]; she seems thoroughly at ease...perhaps it’s the effect of new-car-interior odor getting her a bit high!

I have pre-decided to take the elevated road out of town. There is an extensive system of tung duan (elevated expressways that usually have a toll system) and connected to a few major arteries; the grandest of these roads is the expressway between Bangkok and Chonburi (part way to Pattaya) and this ribbon of overhead concrete up to 4 lanes wide each way takes us at least 40 kilometres out of Bangkok. The traffic is very light at this time of day on the weekend, so we have an easy exit. Also, it is a pleasant surprise to find that there is a reasonably accurate map already imprinted in my brain from the many taxi rides I have made, and so I have no problems in locating the commencement of the elevated road.

9:00 am and we are already in the village of Chacheongsao. We locate the temple with minimal fuss and go to chat with the duty monk. Sure…no problem… he would be more than happy to do [bless, baptise, exorcise??] the car for us; he tells us where to park, and gives instruction that the engine is to be running, the driver’s door opened and the driver’s seat back as far as possible...he will handle the rest.

While the monk is girding himself for the act, we head off to the temple paraphernalia retail mall, where we purchase a couple of fresh flower garlands, together with the standard car-blessing kit containing 1 of silk pendant for hanging over the rear-view mirror, plus 1 of brass plate inscribed with relief of Buddha and contained in a plastic mount for self-adhering to the dashboard.

I am in the act; I am handed a large brass bowl, filled with blessed water almost to the lip, and with candle wax dollops floating in the water, together with the grass broom for dispensing of the blessed water; I get to hold that out at arm’s length for about 10 minutes.

The monk hauls himself into the driver’s seat and it is immediately obvious that the open door and retracted seat is nothing to do with ritual and all to do with the fact that he is a very fat monk…a veritable friar tuck of a Buddhist monk, in fact!

The monk has a small plastic tray and on it are a few slivers of gold foil and a small plastic container filled with white finger paint, plus our recently purchased car blessing kit. Ok…no drama…I am expected this event will involve some kind of finger painting on the roof-liner...I’m cool! The monk does his thing with the paint and the gold foil, gives the engine the smallest of accelerator [possibly an accident as he was getting comfortable], whips the pendant and garlands over the mirror, sticks the Buddha to the dashboard, and then he is out of the car, standing in front of it and motioning for me to stand next to him.

There is some barely audible chanting from the monk, and then he dispenses most of the blessed water over the bonnet and roof of the car...and we are done...she’s good for one million kilometers of trouble-free motoring, discounted of course by the sum of all the fateful writings in the invisible book.

Brim-full of confidence now, I select the alternate, ground-level route home and it is a piece of cake!

5. A Weekend in the Country

Taking a weekend trip into Isaan in North-Eastern Thailand should be a good way to "run-in" the car, I think. We are off to Surin, and will possibly take a few side-trips.

I finish work a bit early, with intention of getting out of Bangkok ahead of the weekend crush. No such luck...a couple of friends have hitched a ride, and a mix-up means one of them can not join us until 8:00pm, so we will be getting the full exodus experience!

By 8:30pm it is raining. The rain is along for the ride, and does not leave us until about 12:30am. The rain is heavy, but not excessively. we are making progress, and seems to be in the right direction. Around 11:00pm we stop for a meal at one of the countless roadside restaurants.

We get confused and fail to take the correct road off the main highway. Our confusion is exacerbated no end when Na phones a couple of brothers and they give her conflicting advice. She and her friends are confident that we take a certain road, but it looks wrong to me. I go along with it for 40km, then become convinced we are doing the scenic tour that might take several days to complete. I retrace the 40km, then select a road that seems to my dead reckoning to be more likely to get us to our destination before sun-up.

An hour later we again get confused, and the brothers on their phones do not help. Na gets a vision, and points that way…I have no better idea, and cannot read the Thai language road-signs, so I go there. The vision is correct…at 1:30am we pull in to our destination and I am very tired.

After some sleep we are up and ready for a 350km side-tour to Roi-Et to visit Na’s sole remaining grandparent.

Sunday morning I decide I would like to see some of the villages on the surrounding back-roads; that results in another 120km side-tour. One interesting observation….there are quite a few rice farmers who are trying some other crops; we see sugar-cane and rubber-trees. On the way back to our house, we stop at Prasat and pick up 3 bags of 15:15:15 fertilizer...about 150kg, and enough for a top-up for the 20rai of rice crop. I put this weight right at the back of the car, and find it makes almost zero difference to the ride, steering, etc.

It's about 4:00pm, and time to commence the return trip to Bangkok. For the first hour the traffic is light and the weather is perfect. Also, I have spent a little time with the maps I forgot I had on the outward journey, so now I am totally comfortable that I know the way home!

There is a major intersection; I start across when the green light is with me; a brave or stupid motorcyclist comes across a red light and I am within centimetres of picking up a bonnet emblem of honda125 with rider and pillion!

A few enormous drops of rain hit the windscreen, then a few more...pretty soon it is bucketing down. It does not let up for 5 hours. Somewhere, in the middle of it, we stop at a restaurant and eat a leisurely and relaxing meal. Then we are into it again.

At times the rain is so heavy that the roads have at least 10-15cm of water on them; the traffic slows at times to 20kph. Where there are 3 lanes available, I notice an interesting and perplexing phenomenon...the many trucks on the road are hogging the middle lane; the cars are competing for the right lane; the left lane is virtually vacant; thinking there must be a problem with the road surface on the left lane, but unable to see it for the water, I make like the rest of the traffic; finally, though, I decide to give it a try and I discover there is absolutely nothing wrong with the left lane; for most of 2 hours I stay in the left, and move along at least 10kph faster than everyone else.

Another thing I experience is a bit off-putting; as the rain intensity increases, more and more drivers switch on their hazard lights, until the whole road is a flashing christmas tree...it is blinding, or at least perspective-muddling.

We are near to the centre of Bangkok before the rain eases, and so the last few kilometres are relaxing.

The car has performed well. Feels comfortable, powerful and functional in the up-country conditions. Diesel fuel costs about 24baht/litre [AU$0.80], up about 50% in the past 4 months but still much cheaper than in most countries.

6. A Learning Experience

Today I am going to learn a whole new set of skills from a relatively trivial experience.

I need a few things from Pantip Plaza [massive computer-related shopping complex] and Na would like to shop for some new clothing at the huge Pratunam Market over the road. We could take a taxi, but it is an opportunity to find our way about in Bangkok and the roads are not too congested on Sunday morning.

We eat in the Soi, climb into the car, and we are off. I feel I know the way there, and even have some ideas about short-cuts that will make the trip more interesting. I am in a narrow lane about the enter Param4 Road; there are cars parked along the lane, making it quite narrow; I ease my way between the parked cars; a taxi darts into the gap and I am forced to move left to avoid collision; there is a crunching noise; I have missed the taxi but gone too close to the parked car.

I park the car at the curb, and return to the damaged vehicle to see what has happened; driver's side rear-view mirror snapped off...not too much. A young lady comes quickly from a nearby restaurant; she is the owner driver; she is OK when she sees I have no intention of departing the scene.

I return to my car for an inspection; small scratch along the left rear door and a small spot of paint gone.

The lady is calling someone on her cell-phone. When she finishes, I ask her what needs to be done. She has just rung her insurers, so I do the same; not such an easy task as the English competence on the end of the phone is not great; we are doing OK, though, until she asks for my registration number...it consists of 4 numbers preceded by a Thai character that looks a bit like an "M"; I have no idea, but she instructs me that it is pro parn.

OK, I am thinking, that wasn't so hard. I speak to the lady, "Everything OK with your insurance?". "Yes", she replies. "So, can we go now?". "No, cannot go...we must wait for insurance agent to come and take details".

Na takes the Boy off to a food cart, and soon returns with several varieties of delicious fresh fruit. We have a picnic...I think it would be good form to offer the aggrieved lady some fruit, but Na indicates that is not a good idea as it might be seen as some kind of admission of guilt.

After about 20 minutes her agent shows up on a motorcycle, and proceeds to fill in forms and take pictures of both vehicles and our licences.

Then, an older guy shows up in a car...evidently knows the young lady, and I surmise it is her Dad...he looks at the mirror, then goes over the whole right side of her car, and the front, and points out all her old bingle-marks to the agent. I see the agent is a bit bemused, but the old guy is persistent.

A few minutes later, our agent shows up on a motorcycle…evidently it is the standard form of transportation for these guys. He also has forms and camera, and does pretty much the same as the other guy. The two agents have a chat...both now look bemused...both go to my car and then to the other and can plainly see most of the claimed damage is historical.

There is more chat, and then my agent indicates we must attend the local police-station as the older guy is persisting with his point-of-view. So, we all get into our respective vehicles and travel to the local police-station.

After reassembling at the police-station, we all traipse inside, find a cop who seems to be one of the duty officers, and explain the situation. The cop asks if I consider myself to be at fault, and I reply in the affirmative. He decides I will need to pay 400baht fine for careless driving. He decides to inspect the damage, so we all go outside...the two insurance agents find a bench, where they sit and have a communal smoke.

The cop is a young guy; quite thin, poured into impossibly tight brown uniform; with very stylish, spiky hairdo. He lights up, casually wanders around both cars, laughs when he sees the old damage being claimed as new wounds, and goes back inside. On the way back, he stops by the insurance agents and says the claims are nothing to do with him.

I sit with a couple of other cops...the fine-takers; I show my Victorian Driving Licence to one of them, and have to assist him with identifying the various information he needs. I hand over the cash. The other cop is recording a statement; he enters my name as "Riddells Cree...my address on the licence; he asks my address in Thailand, which I give, and then his partner sees his mistake, so he crosses out the Australian town name and enters my actual name.

I sign the statement, as does the other lady...neither of us read what it says…I don't, because it is written in Thai apart from my name; she doesn't probably because it would be seen as a sign of distrust in the cop.

Another conversation with my agent, and some more forms to be filled and signed, and we are done.

Off to Pantip Plaza, only 2 hours later than intended.

7. More Police Intercourse

I received an eMail from the sales lady to say my special registration plates have arrived, and I should come to the sales office to have them fitted. I was a bit too busy at work the last few days, so put it off until this morning.

We have a relaxed breakfast in the soi...sen mi ghai (chicken with thin rice noodles) for me and car moo khao (boiled pork hock with rice) for Na, plus some iced coffee...then into the car for an early morning family outing.

I have a good feel for how to get there, the traffic is light and we are there in no time. The sales lady recognises us, so we go through to the sales lounge where Mawin jumps about on the leather chairs while we sip iced tea. In just a few minutes it is done, I have recovered my 2000baht red plates deposit, the car is fitted with the new you-beaut regular ones with the enormously lucky numbers **7339, and we are out of there.

Easy return, I think, I'll just retrace our in-route. The traffic is much heavier now. Right turn into the return road…only one lane traveling our direction and the other 5 or 6 are all heading in the reverse direction…this is one of those Bangkok quirks, where at certain times of the day many roads suddenly become nearly one-way; I am sure it does wonders for moving traffic but sure confuses the hell out of me.

The one lane going our way is moving slowly, but it is moving. Funny thing, but it seems to be pretty much choked with buses of various shapes and sizes. Na says "I hope we are ok here…maybe this lane only for bus right now".

Here's the exit; left turn into the next leg of the return journey and...ooooops!...why is that policeman giving us so much attention? Its all happening in slow motion…he has leaped off his parked motorbike, and has dashed out in front of us; he is motioning for us to pull to the left curb and stop. I check him out...immaculately attired in his impossibly tight brown uniform; police issue crash helmet in brown and gold colors and with the police emblem on the front, like a third eye in his forehead; black boots as shiny as a fresh oil slick on the river; he's about 35 years old, quite heavily built and has a moustache.

And...he is smiling broadly! Buddha is treating him kindly this morning. He has his own farang money-making opportunity, and its only 10:00am.

I am cool; I am in good hands; the policeman will have some reasonably painless remedy, and Na is smiling so broadly and disarmingly that I am wondering if her face will break in half before the policeman's pistol falls out of its holster.

I lower the window; he offers a toothy sawasdee krup, and we respond likewise; he and Na chat for a while, and I study his face and confirm it is absent of malice entirely.

The policeman returns to his motorcycle, takes a book from his bag, and returns. "He wants to see your licence", says Na. I fumble about in my wallet, and hand him my State of Victoria drivers licence, which he barely glances at...he has noticed the fat and healthy appearance of the wallet, though. He is leaning a little into the car, and the hand that holds the licence is inside the car.

I say to Na "How much?" and she replies "500 baht". I fish around and find a crisp "purple". I hold it out; he quickly and expertly palms it and returns my licence in the same motion. He salutes and says sawasdee krup, and we reply likewise.

We continue on our way. I am ok...I broke the law, and paid for my misdemeanor, Thai-style. The policeman is ok…he has had a start-of-shift windfall, and will probably stay in a good mood all day. No messy paper-work to clog up the arteries of bureaucracy.

8. First Service

The vehicle has the usual 3 year or 100,000km warranty; there is a service plan based on 10,000km cycles; there is a free first service at 1,000km.

It has not been convenient [another way of saying I can't be bothered] to organise the service but, finally, after 4,000km of travelling I am curious to see how the servicing process occurs.

I know there is a Toyota service place in the car park of the building I work at a couple of days each week. Today I simply pull into the reception area, rather than continuing my search for a vacant parking space.

A well-dressed parking attendant assists me in putting the vehicle where he wants it. I get out of the vehicle, clutching my keys and my backpack of laptop and stuff for work. Immediately I am approached by a young lady with a clipboard in her right hand and a white cotton glove on her left; she hands me a laminated card with a large "7" on it, and indicates I should go into the airconditioned reception room and "wait 1 minute, please".

I take a seat, and wait. After 5 minutes, the young lady comes in and asks for the keys for the vehicle. "Strange" I think, as I have left the vehicle unlocked. Then I realise she probably wants to read the odometer, which cannot be done unless ignition is "on". I hand over the keys.

I wait another 15 minutes; not bored, as I am able to observe the processes. It seems that there is a lot of discussion, filling in of forms, signing of stuff happening, and no-one seems in much of a hurry….no-one, that is, apart from the customer who just jumped queue; his number is "8"; damn, I feel bad about being treated so badly.

A receptionist becomes free; I leap up and demand service; I am seated now in front of this smiling young man, and he is speaking to me in a mixture of Thai and English, and I am understanding a little. "Where is your car?", he asks. "Out there" I say indicating with my hand…following up with my eyes reveals my car has, in fact, disappeared. "Well, it was out there before", I say. "What is the number of your car?". "Ummmmm! Haven't a clue, as I just got the white plates on it and don't remember the number yet. It's a silver fortuner." Probably 15% of the vehicles sold in Bangkok in the last 6 months are silver fortuners!

The young guy is no longer smiling. In fact, he is no longer sitting behind his computer screen. He has leaped up, and has run out into the car parking area. After a few minutes, he returns. "Where is your parking card?" he asks. "In the vehicle" I reply. He looks even less happy than before. I say "See that young lady out there with the white glove on her left hand….she took the keys from me and she will know where you can find my vehicle".

The young guy runs out again. He talks to the girl; she gives the universal, raised shoulders, "buggered if I know where the vehicle is". He dashes off into the car park.

15 minutes pass. The young guy returns. He is smiling again. He has the parking card, the vehicle service smart-card, and the registration number written on the palm of his left hand…not necessary really, as I have remembered the number by now.

What was that all about? I am only guessing, but I think perhaps they have had a car stolen in the past…it would be easy to do as the unlocked car, complete with keys and car-parking card are all sitting unattended…I feel he feared it was gone.

We complete the paperwork; he is unfazed about the car being on his computer with a owner name not at all like mine; I give him my name and address and it is all corrected; we establish easily that it is the free 1,000km service even thought the vehicle has traveled 4,000km; he offers, and I accept, the free car-wash; I sign several documents, and he gives me one with the speech about it being "a very important document", which must not be lost, and must be returned to him in the afternoon so he can return the vehicle to me.

40 minutes in the reception area. Early afternoon there is a polite phone call to say vehicle service is complete. Later in the afternoon the young guy is present to retrieve his very important piece of paper and to accompany me to the vehicle…no drama.

I wonder how I will get on if I have to explain at the next visit that the brakes are spongey, or the oil pressure light illuminates at 110kph.

9. To Be Forgiven

We are shopping. Actually, we have finished shopping and are in the process of exiting the shopping centre car-park. It is a multi-level affair with a quite narrow circular ramp for driving between floors.

There are major road-works in progress out in the street, so every time we shop it seems that the traffic arrangements have changed. One has to be alert at all times as car lines can attempt to merge anywhere.

We are at ground level and approaching the exit door. There is a lot of noise…many cars in a close space, several whistle-blowers trying to direct traffic, occasional car horns.

I am in the main line and about 2 cars from the door. I hear a car horn close by and feel a slight bump at the same time. I look over my left shoulder and see a mercedes sedan much closer to my car than I would have thought possible.

I ignore the whistle-blowers and get out of the car.

There is a lady at the wheel of the mercedes. There is a young man in the front passenger seat, and he also gets out. Actually he bolts out… "Why don't you listen to our horn?" he yells. "Can't you hear that we are here?"

I inspect the situation. The right front corner of the plastic bumper has lightly struck my rear left wheel…probably the tyre, as there is some black stuff on the mercedes and it rubs off at a light touch…clearly they have driven into me.

The female driver gets out, and inspects the damage. There is some discussion, in Thai, between them.

"Anyway, I forgive you." says the young man.

"You are very kind." I say, trying not to laugh.

10. Twice in One Week

Learning to bite one's tongue…strange expression, that…I think about the intense pain associated with the act, and the possibility an involuntary loud and profane utterance will result.

First time…

We are on the very long elevated toll-way, returning to Bangkok from a visit to wat sothorn where the family made merit on behalf of the baby who was born premature and had eye problems resulting from less-than-perfect hospital care.

I am at the toll plaza, handing over the modest charge. I notice a policeman has materialised in front of the car; realising he has my attention, he makes exaggerated hand gestures that anyone could interpret as come into my lair, juicy fly.

I pull over to the edge of the roadway, as instructed, let down the power window…wait. Na is fumbling with her seat belt, and finally gets it organised. The policeman approaches, sticks his helmeted head in through the window and checks us out.

sawasdee krub he says, in a jaunty tone, and with his face radiating bonhomie in large dollops; we all respond likewise. Pleasantry out of the way, his expression immediately morphs to classic schoolyard bully. "uh oh", I think, "this looks expensive".

"Hello…where you from…show your licence."

I fumble with the wallet and hand over my plastic Australian Driving licence. He stares at my picture, turns the plastic over a few times, then says "Australia". "Yes", I think, "that is precisely the information I gave when you enquired a minute ago." He taps the plastic on his hand-gun handle a few times, and I find this behaviour strangely threatening.

Now there is a performance; he minces around to the passenger side of the car, where he studies the stickers on the windscreen for a long time; he swaggers back to my open window, thrusts his head almost up against mine; he vociferates!!!

He seems to be getting himself into a bit of a lather about something, but I am not able to understand a word of it; he is forced to pause by the on-set of a coughing fit; I turn to Na and ask "what is he telling me?"

Na responds "Big problem; actually many problems! Your Australian licence no good…you have to get special licence to drive in Thailand. Number two…no have insurance sticker on window, so should not drive car. Number three…no have tax sticker on window, so should not drive car."

Suddenly, I am not cool. This string of mis-demeanors sound like they are going to turn into a heavy fine. Tentatively, I try a defence move, to see if I can get an idea of the intended outcome; "Australian Embassy tell me this licence is fine for Thailand…no need special International licence." He stares at me, incredulously, and I fear he has a kind of occupational hearing impairment [the kind I imagine one gets from blowing away too many traffic offenders with one's strapped-on cannon] that may have caused him to somehow think I accused his mother of being a drug-runner.

His head re-enters the window and proceeds to tongue-lash me; he thrusts my licence back in the window…I think he is handing it back to me, and reach for it…deftly he snatches it away from my grasp, and I feel quite foolish. Now, the tongue rests; he retracts his head and hurries over to his motor-cycle. Now, he returns, with a handful of small white booklets; he submits each, in turn, for my scrutiny, intoning softly for my benefit the nationality of the International licence of which this is a real sample; "England, Germany, France, New Zealand…..".

I perform a theatrical slump of defeat…an attempt at signaling I am giving up and throwing myself on his mercy. He steps away to his motor-cycle again, returning shortly to stand at Na's window…this is a good sign as it tells me we are moving to an on-the-spot cash fine with no paper-work situation, which is the best outcome for me here as I am clearly in the wrong and therefore defenceless.

Now he is lecturing Na, and she is being respectful to him and testy to me; he gesticulates repeatedly at the window, pointing out the seriousness with which he regards my offence of not displaying the required stickers, and obviously talking up the size of the cash fine. He pauses occasionally, to give Na the opportunity to vent on me, and seems to be enjoying the whole situation

Finally, I have had enough!

"How much?", I ask.

Na asks, politely. Another mini-lecture results, and the windscreen suffers several near-fatal forefinger stabs.

"How much?", I ask again.

paen I hear, which is 1000baht.

I also hear a loud gasp from the back seat…Na's brother is clearly distressed as he has had this treatment himself and been able to settle for 50 or 100baht…Na's brother is unaware of the common practice of having two pricing schedules, and with the farang schedule set much higher than the local one. Na's brother launches into the classic wounded parent routine, which runs something like this…

Please be gentle with us…this kind farang is on a mercy mission for us…our baby is sick and he is rushing us to a hospital in the city where it can get emergency treatment…..errrrr?…..how does 500 baht sound, then?

"OK…ok", responds the policeman, wiping mock tears away with the back of his hand, "500 baht, no paper-work, and the matter is finished". I sift through my wallet, and quickly come up with a "purple". I hold it inside the car and below window height. He reaches in, takes the note, drops my licence into my hand, makes a crisp salute and steps back. We depart the scene.

Second time…

Slip forward a few days.

We have been up-country to attend the wedding of a friend, and now we have nearly completed the return journey. I have entered Bangkok on the elevated too-way that passes the [old] don muang aiport. We have slipped off the toll-way to visit Na's sister and leave a freshly butchered chicken with her [a gift from her dad, and highly sought after as up-country yard-chickens are infinitely more tasty than the battery raised stuff that is normal fare in Bangkok]. Now I am at the toll plaza to pay the fee to get back on the toll-way for the final 5 kilometres of our 1500 kilometre round-trip.

I hand over the 40 baht and move slowly through the barrier. A policeman materialises directly in front of me; Na fumbles with her seat-belt, etc, etc…

"Hello", I say. He is laughing, audibly and nervously; he is carrying a prop…an enormous, black walkie-talkie.

I hand him my plastic Australian driving licence, which he takes but barely glances at.

"He he…you were traveling a bit…he he…too fast on the tollway…he he…" he says, and nominates the precise piece of tollway we skipped because of our detour to deliver up-country chicken.

A denial is on the tip of my tongue, and demanding to be released; however, I bite my tongue; I say nothing.

"He he…you want to see the evidence…he he…I have it on my computer over there?"…points to his motor-cycle ten lanes away on the other side of the toll plaza.

"He he…there is nothing we can do…he he…you have to go with me to the police station, where…he he…I fill in many forms and you…he he…pay big fine."

"How much fine can I pay you now…and we finish…no forms…no go to police station?"

"He he...har roi [which is 500 baht]…he he…you pay me now and everything finish already…ok?" I have placed the "purple" in his hand and recovered my plastic licence almost before he has finished the sentence. We depart the scene.

***

[Footnote: I am quite unclear of the law about International driving licences. I have sought opinions a few times, but am still unclear about whether one is required or not. The event described above is the first time the matter has come up, even though I have been asked to show my licence by police at least 20 times in the past year. My feeling is that the dodgy looking booklet is not required, but this policeman has developed a very effective intimidatory routine for when he "captures" a foreigner.]