In honour of a Thai taxi driver
By John Dwyer
TravelMag.co.uk
15 December, 2005
The anticipation of landing at a strange foreign airport
brings a bundle of conflicting thoughts to the mind of the
traveler. At least it does to this traveler. When I am a
passenger in an airplane on a final approach to a foreign
airport I experience a feeling of both the excitement and
uneasiness of looking forward to the unknown.
On an August day in 2002 I left Kandahar, Afghanistan, where I
was doing development work, to go on an R&R trip to Bangkok,
Thailand. It was my first trip to Thailand and I was looking
forward to time away from the torrid and dusty Kandahar summer.
I did not have a hotel reservation in Bangkok. I had one in mind
where I planned to stay, but decided to take a chance and wait
until I reached Bangkok.
After arriving in Bangkok, and claiming my luggage, I walked out
to the taxi holding area, paid for a roundtrip fare to town and
took the next taxi in the queue. The driver was both personable
and chatty. We had problems understanding each other but we
managed to talk about family and our work. He asked where I had
come from and I told him Afghanistan. He was quite concerned
that I was working in the unstable country. He also wondered why
I had chosen the hotel to which I had directed him. He suggested
another at half the price and in a good area. I did what a
traveler shouldn’t do; I decided to take his suggestion. I had
actually read about the hotel in a guidebook so I knew I
couldn’t go too far wrong.
The hotel turned out to be okay. It was worn but comfortable. It
was also in a
bustling area full of tourists. When I left my hotel for the
first couple of days I was constantly stopped by peddlers asking
me if I wanted company for the evening. They even pulled out
pictures of possible companions. After being stopped five or six
times I got annoyed. I started thinking about my taxi driver and
questioned his motives for directing me to the hotel. Finally
the truth dawned on me. Gray-haired men of my age, traveling
alone, usually go to Thailand for reasons other than
sightseeing. My driver apparently assumed that I was there for
those reasons. He was trying to accommodate me.
After a time the peddlers finally figured out I wasn’t
interested in their offers and left me alone. I relaxed and
spent a delightful week in Bangkok.
On the morning I left Thailand, and by previous arrangement, the
same driver came to pick me up at the hotel. From his
conversation I could tell that he had found out I wasn’t the
type of tourist he thought I was. We had a very pleasant trip to
the airport through the bustling Bangkok traffic. We again
talked about family. He told me how difficult it was to make a
living because of the post-9/11 tourist slowdown. He questioned
me about Afghanistan. He asked how difficult it was and if I
felt secure. He seemed genuinely worried about my welfare.
When we reached the airport the driver got out of the taxi to
wish me goodbye. He modestly handed me a small object. I looked
and saw that it was a medallion with the figure of a Buddha on
it. He told me he was worried about my safety and said that
Buddha would protect me. He also told me the proper way to wear
the medallion to both protect me and honor Buddha. He then bid
me goodbye, got back in his taxi, and left.
My
trip back to Kandahar was filled with thoughts of the ironies in
this tumultuous world. Initially both the Thai driver and I
misunderstood the other’s intentions. I thought about how often
that must happen with tragic consequences. I have had the
privilege to travel and work in many countries over the past few
years. If there is one certainty I have learned in my travels it
is the evidence of the brotherhood of man. When we get past the
fears of another’s culture or religion or perceived intentions
we find that most of us share the same desires and concerns. We
want security and peace for our loved ones and our friends.
The thoughtful actions of a taxi driver in Bangkok personified
the important and often forgotten connection that all humanity
shares.