Driving Miss Crazy - Part 3: Mass Transit

I come from a city where mass transit is a daily part of life. Whether it be the number 9 express on Ashland, the 151 local on Sheridan, or the ever popular and always temperamental brown line from Fullerton -- mass transit was a daily part of my life. Here in Thailand, more specifically Lampang, mass transit takes on a completely different feel. Sure Chicago's Transit System had it's fare share of neuroses, including defication on seats; customer service that rivals the DMV; service that is often questionable and highly unreliable; and fellow patrons that make a trip to the psych ward at Cook County seem like a mild adventure in comparision. Despite all its quips and debauchery, mass transit in Chicago was something that I became accustomed to during my time in Chicago. So, why is it that I was appauled and fearful for my life when I decided to partake in the adventure that is Thailand's mass transit?

On Friday I needed to get down to Bangkok to meet my friends for our weekend trip to Koh Chang. In my usual method of planning, I woke up late, I wasn't packed or ready to go, and I was moving very slowly. By the time I was ready to embark on my adventure, it was nearly 14:00PM. Packed like a mule, I headed to the train station. Upon my arrival, I met what can best be described as Lampang Bus Terminal's version of "Julie Cruise Director." In short, it's a Thai woman who speaks recognizable and semi-coherent English, and answers your questions about bus tickets, arrivals, departures, and destinations. Given that I'd never been on a long-distant bus ride, I was very appreciative of her help, however limited. I informed 'Julie' that I needed to get on the next bus to Bangkok. In hindsight, I realize that this was indeed my first mistake -- I wasn't specific enough with my request. She points me to counter number 2, where I purchase a ticket to Bangkok on the 14:30PM bus for about 350 Baht. In hindsight, I should have questioned the cost, as it was about a third of the cost to travel by train, but I didn't think twice at the moment. Besides, the counter included a photo of the bus, which looked decent. Again, in hindsight, I should have realized there was something amiss when I was issued my ticket -- a flimpsy piece of onion skin paper.

Ticket in hand (and melting quickly), I use the toilet and wait in the outdoor vestibul for the arrival of my bus. 14:25PM rolls around and sure enough -- here comes our bus. For all intensive purposes it's the same caliber as the rest of the Thai buses you see on the highways. In true Asian fashion, the moment the bus arrives, all the waiting people rush to the door of the bus, nearly getting caught under the tires as it continues to roll into the parking spot. I slowly stand, thinking -- I have my ticket, no need to rush to get on this bus. I stand in the back of the queue and wait my turn, realizing that though I may be American and question all authority, I still know how to stand in line and wait my turn. No sooner do I make my presence known at the back of the queue, when one of the bus workers quickly takes on the roll of Moses and parts the sea of anxious Thai people. I am quickly motioned to the door, where I am offered a front row seat. While this seat has the most leg room, hindsight proves that this is one of the worst places to sit on the entire bus. Sitting down, it's me and a very androgynous Thai teenager in the very front left-hand side of the bus. In front of us is a HUGE window with the curtains pulled to the sides. Again, this seems amazing at the time, but I will quickly learn that it is not the blessing I originally thought it was.

All the passengers aboard, the bus pulls from the station and we begin our trek to Bangkok. For those of you who are geographically unaware, the northern part of Thailand is semi-mountainous. Not quite the Rockies, but similar to Appalachia. I should be thankful that the mountains do not extend much further beyond Lampang, because our bus driver -- though I'd still like to see some credentials on that one -- was taking the sharp turns and winding roads as though we were late for a dinner date with the Royal Family. I was in the asile seat, and it took every ounce of self control not to brace my feet against the partitian in front of our seats. I've never tried to concentrate on a book so hard in my life - anything to take my eyes from the large window of death that was directly in front of me. Foolishly, I looked for a seat belt, harness, rope, twine, rubberbands -- anything to keep me strapped to my seat, should this bus go careening off the road and into a steep mountain ravine. My hopes of safety gear (as I suspected) were quickly dashed, instead I just sat hugging my backpack on my lap. I figured if we do crash and I go flying through the window, at least the pack will help cushion some of the impact -- like a popsicle stick as a turnakit on a broken leg. After I curse myself for not packing my Xanax, I try to relax and read my book -- looking up every now and again for death to come hurdling through the front window, Final Destination style.

One freaked-out hour later, we make our first stop. Though this is not a bus stop, it's a police barricade. Nothing will take your mind off a burning bus of death, quite like an army of militia toting guns onto your bus and inspecting your identification. Being the only white face on the bus, I expected some deliberation with my identification, but surprisingly, they glanced at my passport with the same interest as a fat man looking at salad. Ten minutes later, we were back on our way.

We began to start making stops, though none of these stops are marked with a traditional bus station. Instead, the bus stop is marked by a yellow canopy covered hut on the side of the road. Apparently, I was on the 151 from Evanston, all the way down to Union station -- and we were going to be stopping at EVERY stop. Just like the 151, this bus became more and more packed as we headed south. Imagine a coach-style bus -- similar to a Greyhound in the states. Now imagine that EVERYONE gets a ride, regardless of available seats. That's right -- the aisles were packed full. At this point, I had moved to the window seat, and lucky for me because the person next to me had someone sitting in their lap. I guess that was their version of a "backpack" should they be catapulted through front window during a crash. At one point, it was so crowded that there were a group of people crowding even the driver -- as though he needed to be any more distracted.

My memory of Chicago's transit system does not include the bygone days of CTA tokens or paying the bus driver directly, and thank goodness! Imagine taking 22 Clark Street bus, and with each passenger, the bus driver not only needs to make change, but also needs to stay on schedule (I realize schedule & CTA are a bit of a oxymoron, but humor me). Well, that's exactly what happened on this bus. There was one driver on the bus, and one 'attendant' on the bus. Much like the over-crowded CTA customer service station, this individual had no function other than wearing a suit and collecting money. However, the bus driver was the one who made change for the attendant. So, not only are we buzzing down the highway at extraordinary speeds, where the horn is used instead of the break pedal; the bus driver is also making change like a ice cream man in the suburbs. Already in fear of my life, I had to shoot up a prayer, though secretly I wished I was shooting up some morphine.

This is the scene for nearly 8 of the 12 hours we are driving down to Bangkok. As we find ourselves about 1 hour from our final destination, it would only make sense that we would stop for food for 45 minutes. I'm not talking they pulled into the Highland Park Oasis off 355, heck, I'd settle for the Des Plaines Oasis off 90/94. No such luck. We pulled into the parking lot of an abandoned petrol station that has about 5 woman with their cooking stands -- all selling the same rice and egg dish. They say when you're body is in "flight" mode, it suspends all normal bodily functions. This must have been the case for my tension ridden body, because it was at that point that I realized I drank nearly 1.5 liters of water and hadn't need to use the toilet. Not wanting to add insult to injury, I decided to not press my luck by eating questionable food from the side of the Thai highway. Besides, I didn't even want to imagine the bathroom on our steel cage of death we called a bus. Though, from years of road-tripping, I realize that you should always try to go when you have the opportunity, therefore I followed suit and peed in a bush and used the time to stretch my legs. Nothing says uncomfortable quite like 184cm crammed into a space designed for about half that.

Around 12:30AM, our bus finally rolled into the Bangkok bus terminal. I wanted to race off the bus immediately and kiss the ground, but in true Asian fashion I was out manuvered by even the littlest of old ladies who were throwing elbows to get off the bus. Maybe the bus ride made them realize they have limited time -- they were running to "carpe diem." I finally arrived at my friend Mango's apartment around 1:15AM. Exhausted and beat I wanted to lay down and not think of any more bus rides. As I begin to relax, I was quickly reminded that we will be taking a bus to Koh Chang the following morning -- at 07:30AM. Nothing puts you to sleep quite like post-traumatic stress, unless it's anxiety ridden thoughts about having to endure the experience all over again. My only request before I went to bed -- I'd like a seat in the back of the bus.