Gyp-sy cabs

One terrible day, not so terribly long ago, Temporarily Thairish walked sadly out the exit of Samui International Airport with a bag over his shoulder, tears behind his shades, and a lover’s eyes on his back. I’d just said an emotional farewell to somebody I wouldn’t be seeing again for quite a long time, and the horrible sense of loss was increasing with every heavy step. Her flight hadn’t departed yet, but I needed to catch the last ferry back to Koh Pha-Ngan. Besides, if I stayed any longer, I’d probably wind up getting arrested for clinging to the wheel of the plane.
I really wasn’t in the mood to talk to anybody, but a taxi fare to the pier had to be negotiated (very few taxis outside of Bangkok have meters). I approached the group of Thai songthaew drivers lounging around outside the cab office. There was about five or six of them, all in jeans, T-shirts, and in their mid-20s. They all smiled broadly as I walked over. I did my best to smile back.
Now, although Thailand is known internationally as the Land of Smiles, only the most naive of visitors would always take those smiles at face value. When you first, arrive you could be forgiven for thinking that that the government’s been putting Prozac in the water supply, but the longer you live here the more you realise that a Thai smile isn’t the same thing as a western one. Not at all.
My Collins English Dictionary (Canadian Edition) defines the word ‘smile’ as ‘turning up of the corners of the mouth to show pleasure, amusement or friendliness’. I don’t have a Thai dictionary to hand, but its definition would undoubtedly be rather different. We smile sparingly in the west, but the Thais smile as a matter of course, and for a far greater variety of reasons.
Sometimes they’re smiling for no reason at all, sometimes they’re smiling with you, and sometimes they’re smiling at you. It was immediately obvious that these guys were smiling at me. But of course they were. This was Koh Samui (aka Koh Viagra), where they’ve been fleecing tourists for more than two decades. I had a bag over my shoulder, and obviously looked as though I had just arrived. Another sucker farang.
“How much to Nathon?” I asked. (Nathon’s the ‘capital’ of Samui, located about 20 kilometres from the airport on the south coast of the island).
“Why you wanna go dere?” one of them asked, grinning broadly.
“I’ve got to catch the ferry to Koh Pha-Ngan,” I explained, before realising it was actually none of his business.
“Dere no Nathon fewwy today, my fwen’” he said, shaking his head. “You need go to Big Buddha pier and get fewwy to Hat Rin in de morning.”
“No, I’m fairly certain that there’s a ferry from Nathon to Thong Sala at 6.30,” I insisted. “I checked earlier. So how much?”
“No, my fwen’,” he smiled. “I no lie to you. Dere no fewwy. I take you to Big Buddha pier for 500 baht. You get fewwy in de mowning. You need hotel? I know good hotel – get you good pwice.”
Five hundred baht for a three kilometre ride was a totally ridiculous price, but I let it slide for a moment. I just wanted to get home and drunk, and in order to do that I had to get to the right pier. “There’s definitely a ferry from Nathon this evening,” I said. “And that’s where I need to go.”
At this, they all started shaking their heads and saying, “No fewwy, my fwen’.” The ringleader made some comment in Thai and they all chuckled amongst themselves. Ha-fucking-ha! I stepped back, took out my mobile and rang my landlord Mr. Pong. The boat schedules often change over here and he could’ve made a mistake. But no, he confirmed that there was indeed a fewwy. He also told me not to pay any more than 200 baht for the taxi.
I hung up and turned back to Samui’s finest. I was pissed off that they were lying to me, but I still needed a cab. “Nathon! I need to go there now. How much?”
“My fwen’, I no lie to you,” the same guy lied, with a big shit-eating grin on his unhandsome face. “Dere no fewwy today. You go Big Buddha. I get you good pwice in hotel. I take you dere no pwoblem.”
By now I was utterly exasperated. “Nathon! I’m going to Nathon!”
“My fwen’, dere no fewwy!”
“I still want to go there – right now!”
“OK,” he shrugged. “I take you dere if dat’s where you wanna go.”
Finally! “How much?”
“One tousand five hundred baht,” he said, without baht-ing an eyelid.
The Thais are very big on conflict avoidance, and on keeping jai yen (cool heart). When you fail to keep a cool heart, you’re jai ron (hot heart). You lose all their respect when you display jai ron. But so what? I’m not Thai – I’m Irish. I could give less of a fuck about the respect of a bunch of taxi drivers. And I didn’t just have a hot heart, I also had a broken one. My girl was probably still just a minute’s dash away, and I was stuck under the hot sun arguing with this greedy wanker. So when I heard his outrageous price, I just exploded in a big burst of jai ron. It was either that or burst into tears.
“Fuck you! You think I’m some stupid farang who’s just arrived. I live on Koh Pha-Ngan! Fifteen hundred baht is a fucking rip-off and you know it! Why are you trying to steal from me?”
The group’s smiles didn’t quite disappear, but they certainly faltered at this outburst. Money obviously being slightly more important to him than his pride, the driver attempted to chill things out and cut a deal. “My fwen’, my fwen’ – welax! No pwoblem. OK. I take you dere for one tousand!”
Unfortunately, I was still a little jai ron – and his price was still five times the actual rate. “Go fuck yourself, you greedy arsehole!” I replied.
It’s extremely difficult to wipe the smile off a Thai’s face, but that certainly did it. Jai yen or no jai yen, if we hadn’t been at the airport, within sight of the manned police checkpoint, they would undoubtedly have kicked the shit out of me. I stormed off, angry, upset and still in need of a taxi.
********************
Five minutes later, I found myself perched precariously on the back of a motorbike, sans helmet, weaving erratically in and out of the kamikaze Samui traffic. Mawtoesai rap jaang (motorbike taxis) are extremely common throughout Thailand, but they’re far from the safest form of travel. Generally I avoid them, but needs must.
The teenage driver had agreed to take me to Nathon for 300 baht. I could’ve bartered him down, but time was getting tight. If there was a ferry, it was leaving in less than 40 minutes. At least I thought that was the time frame. I was holding onto the back of the bike for dear life, and didn’t want to risk removing my hand to look at my watch.
We were about two thirds of the way there when the motorbike’s chain snapped so suddenly that it nearly caused the driver to veer straight into the path of an oncoming bus. My already hot and broken heart almost stopped. Fortunately, he regained control and pulled in sharply at the side of the road. We both knelt down to inspect the damage. I didn’t know if he could fix it quickly or if he’d have to take it to a garage. I didn’t get a chance to ask him either because, within seconds, he’d stood up and begun wheeling his bike away. He didn’t say a single word to me, just up and left. It was somewhat surreal, and also a bit silly of him. I would’ve uncomplainingly paid him 200 baht for taking me this far.
As I stood at the side of the road, cursing my luck and pondering my options, a plane flew low overhead. Unless she’d had a sudden change of heart and was currently rushing to join me at the ferry, my girlfriend was on it. I started humming Jeff Buckley’s ‘Last Goodbye’ under my breath as I watched it disappear from view.
The road was quite busy and I quickly managed to wave down a passing songthaew. Because he already had some Nathon-bound passengers, the driver agreed a fare of 100 baht. Songthaew is Thai for ‘two rows’ and that’s essentially what the cab is – a pick-up truck with two wooden benches in the back. There was a French family of four already on board: a friendly, bearded papa, a dour-looking mama, and a couple of sulky teenage girls.
Papa attempted to engage me in some typically touristy conversation, but soon realised that I wasn’t in the mood for small-talk. During our brief exchange, though, he did manage to smilingly convey the information that they were paying only 150 baht for their journey, which had begun almost 10 kilometres away. Whether you’re talking to a Thai or farang over here, you can always be guaranteed that money will be an early conversational topic. In fact, given the vastly varying prices for goods and services, usually it’s unavoidable.
When we pulled in at Nathon, though, I was quietly amused to hear the driver tell him, “No, my fwen’- I tell you 150 baht each! You pay me 600 baht!”
***********************
I walked up the pier at 6.29 and saw no sign of either waiting passengers or a ferry. It didn’t look too promising. I approached a group of net-mending fishermen, who just smiled, nodded and said “yes, yes” to everything I asked them. “Is there a ferry to Koh Pha-Ngan tonight?” “Yes, yes.” “Has it already left or is it still due?” “Yes, yes.” “Well, which is it?” “Yes, yes.” “Do you think my girlfriend will change her mind, abandon her studies, and come back to live with me on a tropical island?” “Yes, yes.” “Well thanks for that, at least.”
I lit a cigarette and walked around aimlessly, wondering what to do. In truth, I was past caring, and somewhat resigned to fate. There was a songthaew parked at the side of the pier with its driver resting in the hammock in the back (a fairly common sight in Thailand). “Hello my fren’ – can I help you?” he called out as I walked past. “You need taxi?”
“No, but I’m just wondering if there’s a ferry to Pha-Ngan tonight?”
“No fewwy tonight,” he said, shaking his head.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“No fewwy tonight,” he repeated. “Fewwy tomowwow.”
I couldn’t believe it. The driver at the airport had been telling the truth after all. Admittedly, he’d tried to overcharge me as well, but he hadn’t been lying about the ferry. I felt guilty and embarrassed. Maybe my display of jai ron had been out of place. Nah, fuck him! He was a rip-off merchant. He deserved my abuse.
“You need hotel?” the driver asked. “Me take you to good hotel. Get you good pwice.”
I wanted to overnight on Samui about as much as I wanted to tattoo the words ‘David’ and ‘Beckham’ on my forehead. I detest the place. I stayed here a few months back and woke up with two sneak thieves in my hotel room. Still, if there was no ferry running, I didn’t really have any choice.
“Where’s this hotel?” I asked resignedly.
The driver smiled broadly as he clambered out of his hammock. “No wowwy. It not far. You want anyting else, you ask me. I get you nice woman.”
“I don’t want a woman, thanks,” I replied, sighing.
“Boy?”
“No.”
“Marijuana?”
“Just a hotel will do fine.”
“Okay, my fren’ – I take you to hotel for 100 baht.” Seedy sales pitch over, he unhinged his hammock and climbed out of the back as I climbed resignedly in. I didn’t really need him to find me a hotel, but by that point I was just going with the flow. Whatever.
As we drove down the pier I recognised Sylvie, a French near-neighbour of mine from Hat Salad, walking hurriedly along the pavement. I banged on the roof of the pick-up to tell the driver to stop and called over to her. “Sylvie! Where are you going? There’s no ferry.”
Her face fell as she crossed the road to the taxi. “Are you sure?” she said, checking her watch. “Hazz eet already gone?”
“I don’t think there was one to begin with.”
“Merde!” she said. Then she looked into the distance behind me and pointed. “But look – zere eet eez!”
I turned and scanned the horizon. There in the far distance was the dark distinctive shape of the approaching Seatran Ferry. Emerging from the hangar at the start of the pier was what was obviously a group of passengers. I hadn’t noticed them earlier in my rush to get to the docking point. I jumped out of the back of the songthaew and went to the driver’s window. “Why did you tell me there was no ferry?”
He didn’t even look at me, just muttered something in Thai, and drove quickly off.
*************************
Apologies if this fortnight’s column seems a little moaning and self-piteous. Some days are better than others, and this particular one definitely ranked amongst my worst in Thailand. If there’s a point to my retelling it, though, it’s this. The Thai people generally are as friendly, honest, decent and likeable as you’ve heard. But, as with any other country, some of them are total wankers. Unfortunately, it’s in the nature of tourism and travelling that these will probably be amongst the first natives that you meet.
While I’m sure some Irish taxi drivers can be just as conniving, the drivers on Samui (and also in Bangkok) take some beating. They don’t care if they upset your travel plans, just so long as they make a fare. In their beady eyes, you’re a rich farang, and many of them really resent you. Most drivers also work as touts, and they’ll often tell you that the hotel or guest house that you’ve got reservations in is closed (or even burned down) simply in order to earn a tip from the owners of a different establishment. And they’ll invariably smile like they mean it as they lie to your face.
If you’re planning on visiting here, you have been warned. Take a tip from me – never tip them.