First Accident (Ever) - a doozey

All the faranges (foreign expats) warned me it would happen one day, but I didn't expect it to happen at the beginning of my second month here in the middle of a balmy Saturday afternoon. I was on a mission of mercy. It was A's turn to battle the nasty stomach bugs and she was having a terrible day. I got in the car and headed out to find the classic cure – Coke and crackers. I found the Cokes easily at a small Thai style convenience store a few blocks away, but there was nothing resembling crackers on the shelves. (I didn't think dried, salted minnow snacks would do the job.)

So I headed out to the highway and made the loop around Wat Chalong looking for a Seven Eleven. Amazingly, Seven Elevens are well entrenched on the island and one normally sees one every three or four blocks. I didn't spot one nearby, but knew if I kept driving, sooner or later one would show up. Then it happened: The most worrisome and dreaded deal on these roads for cars – a motorbike coming from the opposite direction making a sudden right turn, thinking he can swish in front of you before you smash into him. I smashed into him. It was terrifying!

I'm not driving fast (I'm poking along looking for crackers, right?) and there isn't much traffic. I see the guy on the motorbike in the oncoming lane. He doesn't have his turn signals on – it looks like he is just going past me in the other lane. Without warning, the guy swerves in front of me to make a right turn. (We drive on the left here, so a right turn crosses the oncoming lane.) I slam down hard on my brakes about thirty feet away from him and veer to the left to avoid him. If I veer to the right I plow into a head-on collision with another car. My wheels burn a trail of rubber the whole distance, but it isn't enough to stop before hitting him.

I do not have words to describe the horrid feeling that blankets you when you realize you are really going to hit someone on the road. The sudden knowledge of the unavoidable, then the sound of the collision followed by an image of a body bouncing off the top of your hood and then back into the street is a nightmare I won't soon forget. My vehicle stopped exactly at our point of impact, so I didn't run over either him, or his bike. I scrambled out of the car and there he was, lying just in front of my right wheel – another five inches and he would have been a goner.

In very broken English, he told me he was okay, but I didn't believe him. I bent down to him; let him lay there for a while and then he tried to get up. He managed it with my help, favoring his right knee. I limped him to the side of the road trying to decide what to do next. I've heard all sorts of stories about faranges who get into accidents here. I went through a mental litany of them all. The story one hears most is that the farange is always in the wrong. For instance, if someone hits your car while it is parked on the side of the road, an argument can be made that the accident would not have happened if your car hadn't been parked there. (You can't assail that logic, now can you?)

Anyway... my immediate concern was for the fellow's well-being and I tried to assess the extent of his injuries. Miraculously, they appeared to be minimal – couldn't see any blood, or even small bruises, but he was limping. By now, a small crowd of people who had witnessed the collision had gathered around us. I expected the worst. I was ready for them to rally against the foreigner who had downed a motorbike. They were talking rapidly to the biker. I figured they were telling him to milk me for all he could get. One fellow, also on a motorbike, seemed to be doing most of the talking and it was obvious that he was offering advice. I pushed into the conversation and directed some pigeon English and Thai at the injured guy.

"You want I take you hospital? You want I call police? Hospital? Police? You okay?"

He shook his head vigorously and began wying me apologetically. (The wye consists of two hands pressed together close to the chest, accompanied by a bow – it's a significant Thai gesture used to apologize, thank, or show respect.) This fellow was apologizing to me and bowing deeply - and I couldn't figure out why. It turned out that, not only did he acknowledge that the accident was his error (all the witnesses agreed with him) and he was apologizing to me profusely. But still... what to do next?

I kept repeating the hospital and police offers and I finally saw that no one in the group wanted that to happen, although it also seemed obvious that it was my call. Since I was the one wronged, I had the option of involving the police and making a report. I finally got the message that it would be much worse for him if I did call the police and what he really wanted was for me to simply leave.

"Better I go? You okay? Me okay. You okay? I ga ban (go home)?" Everyone nodded and wyed me. One fellow seemed to be telling me I had cause and should call the police, pointing to the damage on my car. "Mai bpen rai," I repeated a few times – meaning, 'no problem – it doesn't matter.' Others nodded in agreement. I finally left and the poor bloke that had just bounced off my hood thanked me all the way to my car. His bike was badly damaged and I'm sure various parts of his body are going to smart for quite a while. My front bumper looks like a praying mantis with a broken neck and I have a deep butt-depression in my hood. It's going to cost me.

I have a Thai mentor. Khun Das speaks English and is my source for advice on the do's and don'ts in this exotic land. He is highly respected on the island and seems to know everyone. He's the guy I call if we find ourselves in a sticky situation and he has so much pull here that he can generally unstick anything. I depend on him a lot and he's a good friend. I told him what happened and asked if my leaving the scene was the right thing to do.

His advice was interesting and informative. He said that I did the right thing in this instance, but avoiding the police is not always the right thing to do. He guessed that the motorbike driver probably didn't have a license (for starters) and that, because there were so many witnesses who thought he was in the wrong, he would be forced to pay for the damage to my vehicle as well as his smashed motorbike. Obviously, this would devastate this poor fellow's meager resources and he would lose even more face on top of it all. So my leaving helped him in a big way and he didn't lose as much face, or money.

Khun Das said that, if something similar happens again, he suggests I give the other person twenty-five to fifty dollars to help them defray costs – even though they caused the accident. He said that he always does that and sometimes he even takes the blame for an accident when it's not his fault, so the other (poorer) party won't have to pay anything. It's the Thai way. They look out for one another in inexplicably wonderful ways – always saving face for someone else and simply being kind to less fortunate folks. Had I known about the custom beforehand, I would have gladly given the guy two thousand baht to help him defray his costs.

It's going to take a long time for the pit in my stomach to stop rumbling. I can't believe I actually came so close to killing a man today.

Motorbike Taxi Service 

Wat Orphans 

Okay... I know, I know... but in my last life I was a human... can't kick the habit. 

Wat Orphans, Puppy Soup & An Espanola Training Unit

The old man's eyes are dim. A pale gray film covers corneas that once sparkled, but his nostrils are as keen as ever as he saunters over to evaluate the alien US odors that followed us across the globe to our new home in Choke Thip Villa. He assesses our scents quickly and decides we're okay, opens his mental notebook, annotates our aromas and sounds, then puts a check mark in the "Okay-Residents-Don't-Bark" column. His name is Kar Wee and he's in charge of security in our neighborhood.

The younger dogs on the street, maybe five or six of them, will bark at anything and anyone, especially strangers. Sometimes they bark just for the hell of it and sometimes because they hear another dog barking. But they all bark vociferously when Officer In Charge Of Security, Kar Wee, gives forth, because they know he is wise and never barks needlessly.

Our neighborhood dogs are generally quiet, except when you want them to be – like, from midnight until five AM. Those hours bring sudden bursts of cacophonic dog chorales that echo through the Villa. At first we thought it was some sort of jungle canine ritual (naïve and wary as we are of this coconut palm and cobra environment) until a neighbor explained the cause of the wee hour barking.

There is a Wat (Buddhist Temple) just a few meters away from us. (It's lovely, by the way.) Not surprisingly, Wats serve as animal shelters in Thailand and stray dogs are regularly deposited at their gates, then perfunctorily cared for by the monks. They are not kept in pens, as in standard shelters, but roam, sleep and feed on the temple's grounds – free spirits still, but opting to take advantage of the meager handouts from the monks rather than begging on the streets. They understand survival basics and survive they do.

These orphans bond, as best they can, and become canine packs, sleeping in the shade of the Wat's grounds during the heat of day and making exploratory forays into surrounding neighborhoods in the cool hours after midnight. The "homeowner" dogs raise hell when a Wat-pack enters their turf and a loud exchange of barking ensues. Oddly enough, A and I enjoy these noisy, after-hours outbursts. Don't ask me why. There is something genuine and pleasurably primitive about the sound and it beats the hell out of the sirens that screamed past our windows all day and night in Portland. The Wat orphans rarely make it into the neighborhoods – wary of and fearful of the landed gentry dogs, no doubt. (Hello... does this sound like a gated suburban community,or what?) We're tempted to go to the Wat and adopt one of these homeless darlings, but we've resisted the urge so far. If I give A an inch... well... it will be dog chow city here for sure.

One sees few recognizable breeds, but poodles and a couple of other cutie breeds show up now and then. The vast majority of dogs are a kind of Thai mongrel and they have propagated themselves into a unique breed – short-haired, brown-to-motley, lean, mini-shepherd types with mild and charming dispositions. Like the Thai people, they are friendly, unhurried and appear to be content. They are rarely mistreated, although a young pup in a very poor neighborhood stands the risk of finding itself in a neighbor's soup pot if its owner doesn't keep an eye on it. (Thais are great chefs and can make a tasty meal out of anything from ants to armadillos.)

What amazes me most about the dogs are their street-savvy ways on these congested and dangerous roads. Like the woman crossing the street I mentioned in the post below, these dogs are absolutely nonchalant in the pandemonium created by speeding wheels and hurtling metal. The dogs I see lounging on the side of the road sleep in the same spots every day – right next to the road - hell, even on the road - and dangerously close to heavily trafficked lanes. I avoid them and so does everyone else and sometimes at the risk of knocking a hapless family on a motorbike off their treads. For the life of me, I don't understand it. I don't understand why the dogs aren't squished under our wheels a thousand times a day and I don't understand how the dogs I encounter in the middle of the road on my late night ride home make it to the next day. I look out for them, I avoid them and they expect me to - presumptous devils that they are!

I find their survival – the fact that they survive this crazy traffic – and their enigmatic attitude, to be keyed to the overall Thai culture. Thai dogs, oddly enough, seem to me to be extensions of the Thai way – trusting and devoid of fear. Can it be that the dogs too believe in reincarnation, are totally fearless of death and maintain a hope for a better next life? Maybe reincarnated as a human? (Wait... Is that better?)

I lived in Espanola, New Mexico a while back. One often sees dead dogs on the sides of the road there, hapless victims of motorist's wheels. It's a mystery - why are there so many around Espanola? Someone once told me that Espanola was the home of a breed of suicidal dogs. Hardly. I think motorists there find sport in bumping off dogs that are walking along the highways and go out of their way to hit them.

A and I came up with a notion the other day. We thought it would be a great idea to enlist a cadre of Thai dogs and send them to Espanola as a survival-training unit. You know... they could teach the US desert dogs how to spot suspicious, malicious vehicles and trick them into maneuvers that would entice them into deep arroyos and soft desert sand – a counter terrorist movement of sorts. I think we could do it cheaply (especially if we promised the Thai training group beer and bitches on the weekends).

Survival savvy is the core of Thai dog knowledge, but how they achieve it is as mysterious as how the Thais themselves survive their poor economy – always with smiles – always with a keen understanding of human nature and a trust that defies understanding. For the moment, we are not attempting to understand anything and simply basking in the wonder of it all - fitting in as best we can. We are humbly grateful that the Thai government allows us to live here. Thousands of folks from all over the globe immigrate every day to America and other countries and now we are immigrants in Thailand. We love the people, we love the country and we love Thai dogs. For my part, I only hope we don't end up having a Wat dog as a permanent guest. Well... maybe a Siamese cat, eh?

And that brings to mind a humorous incident from our first days. A, still in the throes of absorbing it all as fast as her intake valves would allow, looked across the street at a neighbor's cat and exclaimed, in a surprised tone of voice, "Look... Look... a Siamese Cat," as if something familiar from our former world was unexpectedly discovered on foreign turf. She laughed when I said, "Right... and how odd is it to see a Siamese cat in Siam?" Don't know how long I'm going to be able to hold out against having pets here. Pray for me, or whatever it is you do to invoke helpful spirits for those in need.