Driving Miss Rolin

Today's Thoughts...

To explain the title, here in Thailand and pretty much most of Asia, because the "l" sound cannot start a word but often lands in the middle, it is VERY hard for most people to manage the name "Lauren" without sincere difficulty. Most of my students have managed to master this with constant prodding and reminding. My fellow faculty members, not so much. So why are we driving Miss Rolin? Well this week was all about transportation-- le motorbike. Last weekend, Elena and I rented a bike thinking it'd be a great idea to take turns practicing. Well, that went okay up until the point when we tried to make a turn, were faced with a large frightening looking vehicle, and collapsed with the motorbike on top of us. Like something out of a wonderfully hospitable movie, or maybe just a NASCAR pitstop, several Thai men rushed out of shops and restaurants all around and within a matter of seconds before we really knew what had happened, the bike had been righted and we were plopped back onto it and off again. Only a few moments later did I realize the gaping, mildly gushing burn wound on my leg. The "Farang (or foreigner) Tattoo" they call it here since foreigners get burned on bike exhaust pipes all the time. Strike One for the bike. Grr.

Now in Thailand, right now it's rainy season, but fortunately for us there hasn't exactly been all that much rain going on outside of the occasional spurts and deluges. On Wednesday, I knew I needed to make my way to the bike rental place to check out the stats on a bike I wanted. So I hopped on the bike I had. Rewind. The bike I originally rented looked like something out of a circus sideshow. Harley Davidson-esque, it had three full sized headlamps on the front, spotlight style, a back support on the seat, leather studs and tassels on the handles and of course the nicely spraypainted name "Jessie" down the side. It was a piece to behold. But...Jessie failed me. The very next day, the gas gauge stopped working, the speedometer was shot, one head lamp fell off, dangling like a loosened eyeball from its socket, and Jessie wouldn't start. Bad, Jessie. Bad. So I set off after work to exchange her. On the way, I made a wrong turn. No biggie, I thought, I'll make a U-ey and be on my way. Uh uh. Not so fast. I tried three times to make a U-turn, but found myself lost in the labyrinth of Chiang Mai sois, getting deeper and deeper into surrounding Thai neighborhoods and further and further from my destination. To add insult to injury, it began to pour. I'm not quite sure how to describe the flood that fell from the sky, other than to say that I was so soaked and drenched to the bone that my underwear were sliding from my behind. Does that paint a picture?

To make matters worse, not only was my helmet fogging, my crotch sagging, and my spirits sinking, no one understood as I tried several times to find out where I was or how I had gotten there. Finally, I found a kind pharmacist who spoke perfect English, corrected my poor pronunciation, and informed me that I was so far outside of the old city that no one even knew the place I was talking about that I was trying to get to, one of the biggest tourist spots in Chiang Mai. He opened his shop, which he had closed because of the rain, led me inside, and pulled out a map to help me find my way. After an hour, I was back on my way again and within half an hour had finally reached the bike shop, tear-stained and shaken-up. Overwhelmed by my display of emotion, the owner agreed to hold my bike for the night and I made my way to walk to Jordan's apartment. Only of course, I went the wrong way and walked so far that no taxi would take me back to my own house. After two or three miles of wandering around the city on foot, I finally found the tourist hotspot and a taxi to shuttle my damp and dejected self home. But, at least I did get a bright purple poncho out of the nearly three-hour ordeal. Bike Strike Two.



Yesterday, at the behest of the head of our department after hearing about our biking debacle that landed me with the shiny burn tattoo, half asked, half instructed, three fellow teachers to help us learn to properly operate a motorbike. So after school, they tossed aside their work skirts and blouses and threw on gym shorts and tees (one with a curlicued "Rio de Janeiro" on the front though its owner looked baffled when I asked if she had ever been there. "Been where?" "To Rio" "Lio?" "No, Rio, the city. Have you--" "What is Lio?" "Nevermind.") After an hour and a half of slowly squeaking on the bikes with them running/waddling behind and holding onto the back of the bikes like we were small children (suddenly took me back to days of learning to ride a bicycle), they deemed us worthy of exiting the school parking lot. Never mind that I had already spent hours driving in the pouring rain with a fogged helmet, zipping in and out of traffic and cars. Well intentioned and well informed, we were then treated to an impromptu meatball party in celebration. Why meatballs? I'm not sure, but they were tasty and delectable as we sat around one of the motorbikes which served as a tabletop. The head of the department walked up to greet us as she got into her own pick-up truck and the act sent me into hysterics. This woman is no more than 4'11. She could almost just barely see over the steering wheel, but pride or pride, or something seemed to keep her from stooping (is that even the right word in context?) to sitting on phonebooks. Mighty Mouse, I want to call her. Or maybe Mini Me with a fierce uppercut.

Today is Saturday and since this week was midterms at the universities, I had to proctor a Saturday afternoon exam for my Greek/Bible lit class. But how to get there? Songtaews didn't really like to go out there on the weekends and Elena did not have to proctor, so what's a girl to do? Well, it was Mighty Mouse/Mini Me to the rescue organizing for one of my students to come pick me up. I come outside fitted with a steel helmet to ride on her bike and she laughs, "Teacher, I drive a car of course." As we zip down the superhighway to school, I learn a lot about her and her family and had a good 'ole time. Once I get to campus though and she heads off for the exam, I realize I am again stranded outside my office, trying to find a way to get across the superhighway and under a major tunnel to the off-main campus where the test is. Student #2, one of my Turkish guys, to the rescue! "Hop on my bike, Ajarn," he tells me. So I obey, if reluctantly. So, where exactly do I put my...er...legs? And arms? Can I hold his waist? Is that not okay? My inner thighs are definitely squeezing his rear, is that allowed? Well, I awkwardly manage to hold on just with the strength of my inner thighs (thank goodness for those leg presses) and opt to put my hands behind me to hold the bike like I see my students do when they're not riding side saddle (still haven't figured that one out). We arrive, me a little sweaty not from the heat, but the sheer horror of maybe having violated my student and finally the exam begins. Afterward, a third student comes up and informs me that she will be taking me home. Not, do you need a ride or I heard you might be stranded, but somehow amongst themselves in that wonderfully mysterious language of Thai, they have decided how their teacher would make her way home and I am offered a seat in a rather large Isuzu pick-up 2006. Why she drives a car that is as wide as my little Honda Civic is long, I don't know, but it got us there in one piece. Can't say as much for the rest of the cars on the road though.

Ahh, what a week. Can I start driving this silly bike thing already? My Blue Honda Wave is sitting in the parking lot waiting for me to either get up the courage to take it for a real spin (not just to the grocery store) or let it make it's way back to the dealer. Only time will tell, but if nothing else, the ridiculousness of riding this week was worth it.