"Just a stranger in a car, drivin' down your street. Acts like he knows you; slaps his hand on the empty seat and says... do you wanna get in, or do you wanna stay out. "He might be the one they warned you about!".
— Marc Cohn
When you're young, those who take care of you teach you to be wary of strangers. Because you can't know as a child, or fully as an adult, who the Bad Peopleare. And there are bad people everywhere, even in Thailand. I've met one or two of them. But Payam's got some things going for him, and while I don't sit back and analyze this exhaustively, they make their subliminal impression and it's good enough to take the small risk. Payam's offered to take me to my intended destination, and I'm getting in a stranger's car, sitting on an unfinished bridge. Why?
First, he's got official-looking papers with him, which is to say he's on business or on the way to business. Second, his English is halting; the real scammers tend to speak English better than many of my neighbors (OK, I don't really have any neighbors). I thinkin' the worst that can happen is he hits me up for a couple hundred baht. And he's not trying too hard to get me to go with him, just offers it as an alterative to my staying lost and having to live out my life in the tiny side streets of Thonburi.
"My car over there". I look. There's one car in sight, it looks like it was abandoned and left for dead. Maybe some homeless people are living in it. It's parked between moveable barriers, on the unfinished bridge. A BMW 528 that was old when I was young. This brings up more than a question or two, the biggest one is: why is this car parked on this bridge?
Payam is a Government Bridge Inspector. The City Engineer for Bangkok, as it were.
We get into the car. He apologizes: he has to open the Driver side door from the passenger side. We get in. There's an ID card with picture of him in a uniform on the dash. Gold epaulets. Nice uniform. He's legit. He puts the transmission into neutral, presses the button dangling from wires from the dash to start the engine. Connects the plug that turns on the air con. It's using a US-style plug, hanging from the dash, like plugging one end of an extension cord into the other. Engine. Aircon. Even the seat belts work. It's a German car, it's supposed to work. But it's pretty crotchety.
We set off. We approach the barrier. He stops the car, gets out, moves it out of the way (it's a metal fence type, looks like a bicycle rack. Maybe it is a bicycle rack). Gets back in. Drives past. Gets out again. Moves it back. We're off.
He drops me off as close as possible to Khao San (it's one way "the wrong way") thanks me for the English practice. Shakes my hand (this is "un-Thai"), and we part company. He seems very happy. I'm delighted.
Khao San road is Backpacker Central. I expected it to be a lot more "downscale" (and maybe the Guesthouses are), but it's really just another street scene in Bangkok, just with more English on the street signs. In fact, there's relatively little Thai on the signs — and Japanese here and there (both language and Tourists). There are a bazillion street vendors, half as many travel and trekking shops. Hair braiding services abound, evoking Bo Derek but without the ample breasts. All this punctuated with Backpackers hurrying to and fro, or not headed anywhere at all.
An hour or so and I hail a taxi back to Bangrak (the district of Bangkok where I'm staying). The trip takes about an hour because of the traffic (not the distance). My Thai instructions work flawlessly, down to "turn left here!". Another hour and another shower (it's steamy out there) and I'm back a taxi, headed for the Bangkok main train station (HuaLumPhong). Now I've been to two hospitals and the two train stations in Bangkok. Brings to four the number of places this week I've visited for the first time, with no special interest to return.