
DisainaM
Senior Member
Themenstarter
Mit sehr unterschiedlichen Erlebnissen in Bangkoks Taxis ist das Thema wohl Stoff für umfangreiche Geschichten.
Während für Thailandneulinge oft die Erfahrung mit Bangkoks Taxis mit der tückischen Frage " You want to help my family ? " beginnt, kommt auf eine freundliche Reaktion oft die Geschichte "I get free petrol, if I bring you for 1 minute to a shop. Don't buy, just have a look, to help me."
Oft begint damit dann das Drama, in ein Abzockergeschäft, Schneider, Edelsteinhändler, Seidenhändler oder ähnliches zu landen.
Dies ist gewiss noch die angenehmere Variante, als die, wenn der Fahrer beginnt, einem Fotos von Frauen zu zeigen, "You looking for girl ?"
Manchmal hilft dann nur das Wechseln des Taxis.
Doch auch, wenn man schon über gewisse Erfahrung verfügt, und schon ahnt, zu wem man nicht ins Taxi steigt, selbst dann gibt es die unangenehme Erfahrung, wenn der Taxifahrer die Adresse schlichweg nicht kennt, aber sich nicht raut, das zu sagen.
Stattdessen fährt er einen 20 Minuten ziellos herum, bevor er anfängt, den Strassennamen mehrfach zu wiederholen.
Meist verbindet man mit solchen Erlebnissen kleine Dramen, weil man selber dem Fahrer schließlich sagt, 'halt da vorne an', denn schließlich bringt es nichts, weiter herum zu gondeln.
Dann steht man meist im Nirgendwo, und muß sich ein neues Taxi suchen.
Recht nett ist auch der Beitrag von Bangkok Phil,
der ihn heute ins Netz gestellt hat.
There are 8 kinds of Bangkok taxi driver.
A website reader threw down the gauntlet and bet me that I couldnt classify the different types of Bangkok taxi-driver, being as I drone on about taxi-drivers so often.
Well, never one to resist a challenge, here they are the eight kinds of Bangkok cabbie. If you feel that Ive missed one, be sure to let me know.
The Tear-arse
The tear-arse is usually young, and instantly recognizable by his floppy hair, cheap pilot shades, and at least one item of ear adornment. If youre very lucky hell be wearing flip-flops, but prefers to drive barefoot.
Driving a taxi is not the tear-arses regular job and you always get the distinct impression that hes filling in for a mate. I often feel inclined to ask to see some driving credentials, but think better of it and just sit back in the seat and get the rosary beads out.
One big, big advantage to being picked up by the tear-arse is that hell get you to your meeting on Sathorn Road in lightning quick time. It may involve running a few red lights and knocking over an old woman at the Asoke intersection, but youll not miss a minute of that meeting.
Uncle Somchai
Hes the complete opposite of the tear-arse. Usually in his late 50s or 60s, hes been in the game for donkeys. He knows every isolated industrial estate, every obscure soi, and every twist and turn of the expressway system. You dont have to wave badly drawn maps under this fellas nose.
The disadvantage to using Uncle Somchais services is that he loves to listen to that bloody dreadful radio station that reports constantly on how bad the traffic is in various parts of the city. People will phone up the radio station from their particular stretch of metropolitan gridlock, only to have the next caller ring up and say, You think youre in a traffic jam. You should see the one Im in
Its all riveting stuff.
Mr Homesick.
This is the man from the north east of Thailand, and he dont care who knows it. Theres a picture of the wife and kids on the dashboard (taken on a day when they werent nursing any bruises) and theres traditional Luk Thung music blasting out from a tinny stereo system with flashing light to sound.
Beware the question have you ever been to the north east?
If you say, yes, its wonderful, then you might find the two of you parked on the hard shoulder with you putting a comforting arm around the driver. And then he sobs uncontrollably, bemoaning the fact that Bangkok is hell on earth, and the northeast, with its unbearably hot summer days, its sub-zero winter nights, and hardly enough food to go around, really is the only place to be.
The Planner
You dont automatically jump into the planners taxicab. You instinctively know that he might not want to go where you want to go. Something about his stern expression tells you that this is a man whos after the fifty baht fare that involves two left-turns, and an untaxing arrival in front of a first-class hotel (where he can pick up another fifty baht fare).
So you open the rear passenger door, stick your head inside, and tell him your destination, trying to hide the fact that its almost in another time zone.
The planner never gives you a straight yes or no, preferring to pause momentarily, then suck his teeth and scrutinize the road ahead. He considers a few things the route, an alternative route, the time, the weather, his bladder, his stomach, the Thai boxing on TV then says no and drives off.
The Masochist
The masochist drives for the whole period of his 12-hour shift with the air-conditioning set at its lowest possible temperature. The moment you get in the masochists cab, your arse sticks to the seat, and pools of sweat start accumulating near the small of your back. Its hot enough to grow beef tomatoes, and possibly less than five minutes before you pass out altogether. Finally you pluck up the courage to request that the wind be turned up a notch ..and a notch is exactly what you get.
At the end of a hard days taxi driving, this is the kind of man who goes home and slips into something uncomfortable.
The Interrogator
When youre faced with a lengthy taxi journey and all you want to do is lie back, close your eyes, and let the sound of smooth 105FM wash over you, youll be picked up by the interrogator I guarantee it.
It starts off with the innocuous what country are you from? and How long have you been in Thailand? but before you know it, the guy thinks youre the fucking encyclopedia Brittanica. Hes asking you about the population of Manchester and how long Maggie Thatcher was Prime Minister. You cant remember when you had to work your brain so hard. Its like being back at school again.
The New Guy
To say that this guy has not yet acquired the knowledge is something of an understatement. Its a small miracle that the guy manages to get his shoes on the right feet.
Silom Road? Yeah I think I know it. Could you tell me when were getting near?
You know youve got the new guy when he stops barely 500 yards up the road to ask for directions. And new guys will never ask someone who looks as though they might know (a businessman in a crisp white shirt for example). Hell invariably go for the most inappropriate person like some fried chicken seller with no teeth, who looks like hes never ventured further than the end of the soi, either that, or a teenager who only knows the route to her boyfriends house.
Expressway? Yes, its a complex road network that other people use.
The Opportunist
Perhaps its just me becoming more street savvy, but there seems to be a dramatic decline in the number of opportunists the drivers who whip out their massage parlor brochure before youve even had time to locate the seatbelt.
Now I dont disagree for one moment that spending an hour or two in a bathtub with those pair of insatiable vixens seems most appealing, but Ive got a train to catch. Maybe another time eh? But theres something hypnotic, something that draws you to pick up the brochure and read through it a dozen times. After ten minutes youre in love with both of the bath-time dollies and practically begging him to drop you off on the doorstep. Thats after hes taken you around his brothers jewelry shop and youve selected yourself a nice diamond ring.
Oh Im so glad that I ran into you.
The Mutterer.
Hmmmmm .the mutterer. Now heres an interesting one, and increasing in number may I add.
When I request that the taxi take me to my home on Moobarn Seri (Seri housing estate), the driver will spend the next five minutes repeating it at various tones and pitches for no other reason than to reduce me to a quivering backseat wreck.
Moobarn Seri?
Yes please
Moooooooooobarn Seeeeeeeeri
Thats right. Moobarn Seri
Moobaaaaaaaaaaaarn Seriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii
Its like fucking Chinese water torture. Is he doing this because he doesnt know the location or is it a prelude to something more sinister?
Put your seatbelt on, I want to try something. I saw it in a cartoon but Im pretty sure I can pull it off
You can never fully relax with the mutterer at the wheel. Is he just amusing himself with this series of staccato non sequetas or am I about to be driven to a piece of wasteland to re-enact a certain scene from Deliverance? You sit there in the back of the cab listening to every single syllable because you never know when a question is going to be thrown in. Failure to answer could have dire consequences.
Während für Thailandneulinge oft die Erfahrung mit Bangkoks Taxis mit der tückischen Frage " You want to help my family ? " beginnt, kommt auf eine freundliche Reaktion oft die Geschichte "I get free petrol, if I bring you for 1 minute to a shop. Don't buy, just have a look, to help me."
Oft begint damit dann das Drama, in ein Abzockergeschäft, Schneider, Edelsteinhändler, Seidenhändler oder ähnliches zu landen.
Dies ist gewiss noch die angenehmere Variante, als die, wenn der Fahrer beginnt, einem Fotos von Frauen zu zeigen, "You looking for girl ?"
Manchmal hilft dann nur das Wechseln des Taxis.
Doch auch, wenn man schon über gewisse Erfahrung verfügt, und schon ahnt, zu wem man nicht ins Taxi steigt, selbst dann gibt es die unangenehme Erfahrung, wenn der Taxifahrer die Adresse schlichweg nicht kennt, aber sich nicht raut, das zu sagen.
Stattdessen fährt er einen 20 Minuten ziellos herum, bevor er anfängt, den Strassennamen mehrfach zu wiederholen.
Meist verbindet man mit solchen Erlebnissen kleine Dramen, weil man selber dem Fahrer schließlich sagt, 'halt da vorne an', denn schließlich bringt es nichts, weiter herum zu gondeln.
Dann steht man meist im Nirgendwo, und muß sich ein neues Taxi suchen.
Recht nett ist auch der Beitrag von Bangkok Phil,
der ihn heute ins Netz gestellt hat.
There are 8 kinds of Bangkok taxi driver.
A website reader threw down the gauntlet and bet me that I couldnt classify the different types of Bangkok taxi-driver, being as I drone on about taxi-drivers so often.
Well, never one to resist a challenge, here they are the eight kinds of Bangkok cabbie. If you feel that Ive missed one, be sure to let me know.
The Tear-arse
The tear-arse is usually young, and instantly recognizable by his floppy hair, cheap pilot shades, and at least one item of ear adornment. If youre very lucky hell be wearing flip-flops, but prefers to drive barefoot.
Driving a taxi is not the tear-arses regular job and you always get the distinct impression that hes filling in for a mate. I often feel inclined to ask to see some driving credentials, but think better of it and just sit back in the seat and get the rosary beads out.
One big, big advantage to being picked up by the tear-arse is that hell get you to your meeting on Sathorn Road in lightning quick time. It may involve running a few red lights and knocking over an old woman at the Asoke intersection, but youll not miss a minute of that meeting.
Uncle Somchai
Hes the complete opposite of the tear-arse. Usually in his late 50s or 60s, hes been in the game for donkeys. He knows every isolated industrial estate, every obscure soi, and every twist and turn of the expressway system. You dont have to wave badly drawn maps under this fellas nose.
The disadvantage to using Uncle Somchais services is that he loves to listen to that bloody dreadful radio station that reports constantly on how bad the traffic is in various parts of the city. People will phone up the radio station from their particular stretch of metropolitan gridlock, only to have the next caller ring up and say, You think youre in a traffic jam. You should see the one Im in
Its all riveting stuff.
Mr Homesick.
This is the man from the north east of Thailand, and he dont care who knows it. Theres a picture of the wife and kids on the dashboard (taken on a day when they werent nursing any bruises) and theres traditional Luk Thung music blasting out from a tinny stereo system with flashing light to sound.
Beware the question have you ever been to the north east?
If you say, yes, its wonderful, then you might find the two of you parked on the hard shoulder with you putting a comforting arm around the driver. And then he sobs uncontrollably, bemoaning the fact that Bangkok is hell on earth, and the northeast, with its unbearably hot summer days, its sub-zero winter nights, and hardly enough food to go around, really is the only place to be.
The Planner
You dont automatically jump into the planners taxicab. You instinctively know that he might not want to go where you want to go. Something about his stern expression tells you that this is a man whos after the fifty baht fare that involves two left-turns, and an untaxing arrival in front of a first-class hotel (where he can pick up another fifty baht fare).
So you open the rear passenger door, stick your head inside, and tell him your destination, trying to hide the fact that its almost in another time zone.
The planner never gives you a straight yes or no, preferring to pause momentarily, then suck his teeth and scrutinize the road ahead. He considers a few things the route, an alternative route, the time, the weather, his bladder, his stomach, the Thai boxing on TV then says no and drives off.
The Masochist
The masochist drives for the whole period of his 12-hour shift with the air-conditioning set at its lowest possible temperature. The moment you get in the masochists cab, your arse sticks to the seat, and pools of sweat start accumulating near the small of your back. Its hot enough to grow beef tomatoes, and possibly less than five minutes before you pass out altogether. Finally you pluck up the courage to request that the wind be turned up a notch ..and a notch is exactly what you get.
At the end of a hard days taxi driving, this is the kind of man who goes home and slips into something uncomfortable.
The Interrogator
When youre faced with a lengthy taxi journey and all you want to do is lie back, close your eyes, and let the sound of smooth 105FM wash over you, youll be picked up by the interrogator I guarantee it.
It starts off with the innocuous what country are you from? and How long have you been in Thailand? but before you know it, the guy thinks youre the fucking encyclopedia Brittanica. Hes asking you about the population of Manchester and how long Maggie Thatcher was Prime Minister. You cant remember when you had to work your brain so hard. Its like being back at school again.
The New Guy
To say that this guy has not yet acquired the knowledge is something of an understatement. Its a small miracle that the guy manages to get his shoes on the right feet.
Silom Road? Yeah I think I know it. Could you tell me when were getting near?
You know youve got the new guy when he stops barely 500 yards up the road to ask for directions. And new guys will never ask someone who looks as though they might know (a businessman in a crisp white shirt for example). Hell invariably go for the most inappropriate person like some fried chicken seller with no teeth, who looks like hes never ventured further than the end of the soi, either that, or a teenager who only knows the route to her boyfriends house.
Expressway? Yes, its a complex road network that other people use.
The Opportunist
Perhaps its just me becoming more street savvy, but there seems to be a dramatic decline in the number of opportunists the drivers who whip out their massage parlor brochure before youve even had time to locate the seatbelt.
Now I dont disagree for one moment that spending an hour or two in a bathtub with those pair of insatiable vixens seems most appealing, but Ive got a train to catch. Maybe another time eh? But theres something hypnotic, something that draws you to pick up the brochure and read through it a dozen times. After ten minutes youre in love with both of the bath-time dollies and practically begging him to drop you off on the doorstep. Thats after hes taken you around his brothers jewelry shop and youve selected yourself a nice diamond ring.
Oh Im so glad that I ran into you.
The Mutterer.
Hmmmmm .the mutterer. Now heres an interesting one, and increasing in number may I add.
When I request that the taxi take me to my home on Moobarn Seri (Seri housing estate), the driver will spend the next five minutes repeating it at various tones and pitches for no other reason than to reduce me to a quivering backseat wreck.
Moobarn Seri?
Yes please
Moooooooooobarn Seeeeeeeeri
Thats right. Moobarn Seri
Moobaaaaaaaaaaaarn Seriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii
Its like fucking Chinese water torture. Is he doing this because he doesnt know the location or is it a prelude to something more sinister?
Put your seatbelt on, I want to try something. I saw it in a cartoon but Im pretty sure I can pull it off
You can never fully relax with the mutterer at the wheel. Is he just amusing himself with this series of staccato non sequetas or am I about to be driven to a piece of wasteland to re-enact a certain scene from Deliverance? You sit there in the back of the cab listening to every single syllable because you never know when a question is going to be thrown in. Failure to answer could have dire consequences.