The Bird Taxi

Our task was not a simple one: to somehow fill a small, energy efficient taxi with my landforms of suitcases--the various odds and ends and knick-knacks and tchotchkies and treasures and essentials from my two years in Thailand. Four huge suitcases, plus two small ones, plus Peter, plus me. It was like a problem-solving puzzle--shoving different suitcases into different places at different angles, deciding that a given solution wouldn't work, and pulling them back out again while the taxi bobbed under the weight like an exhausted beast of burden. These suitcases seemed to struggle and resist like stubborn livestock, and I found myself doing a guarded dance around them lest one of them decide to make a break for it. After thirty minutes of pushing and pulling and huffing and puffing, all of the suitcases plus two passengers plus a driver piled into the taxi. Its belly let out a rusty shudder before we proceeded out of the parking garage and down the fickle strip of Sukhumvit Road--its neckline jeweled in traffic lights and brake lights--bound for the hotel.

For a few minutes we all caught our breath, and I fashioned my body into a makeshift prop for the suitcase that was shoved against the door and threatening to topple over and crush both Peter and me. Once our collective heart rates had dropped below that of a drunk hummingbird, I began to look out the window and visually consume Sukhumvit road in sips and nibbles in the small blank space of window that was not covered by the monolith of luggage next to me.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw the driver fiddling with what I thought was the radio, until I saw the radio regurgitate a surprisingly large screen. The driver gingerly inserted a DVD while keeping divided attention (albeit not fairly divided) on the traffic in front of us. I was expecting Bollywood videos, or an instructional DVD for learning English, or even (this being Bangkok and all) porn. What popped up on the screen instead was a documentary about the birds of Papua, New Guinea. The narrator droned on in a soft, flute-y voice about mating habits and feathers and fruit preferences, and how these birds play a vital role in many of the cultural practices of a particular group in New Guinea.

It was absolutely the last thing in the world that I would have expected to see pop up as traffic entertainment, but the driver was completely (and much to my chagrin) transfixed.

I turned to Peter. "This would never happen anywhere else. Never. HOLY CRAP, it's stuff like this that I'm going to miss." He was apparently equally transfixed, as he shot me a quieting glance as the driver turned up the volume to block out my yapping.

One last gift of complete, total, and surprising randomness. Thailand maintained its mystery, its intrigue, its bottomless well of sights and experiences up until the very end. Nothing was ever boring or mundane. My eyes never suffered from want of fascinating things. Even taxi rides were an adventure. For that, Thailand will always be special to me--a topsy-turvy wonderland of nonsensical chaos coating a warm, creamy core of calm.

My next adventure? Maybe New Guinea......