Tattooed in Thailand
I refer to it as my near death experience.
I mean, I didn’t see the white light or my dear life flash before my eyes. I didn’t lose consciousness. I didn’t even need an ambulance.
Fine. It wasn’t as near death as I might have remembered. But it was one of the scariest things that ever happened to me.
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I’ve always had this slight phobia for the front seat of a scooter. I know, it’s a very specific fear. Slap me on the back seat of a scooter and I’m feeling as free as a recently rehabilitated bird. I love to lift my arms up, close my eyes as I tilt my head back, and channel my inner free bird.
Hopping on the back of a scooter is one of the top 10 reasons I love Asia so much. The noodles are number one.
It’s not like I grew up with this very specific fear. It all started in 2012. I was on a weekend getaway in Myrtle Beach with my boyfriend at the time. It wasn’t romantic. It was dingy, grimmy and an overly tacky version of South Beach (which, for the record, is already overly tacky).
But it was convenient at the time. In an attempt to get an adventure out of this drab place, we decided to rent scooters. Yea. That should spice things up. Never having driven a scooter, I didn’t even think twice before jumping on my temporary big red bike, throwing up a “hang loose” shaka hand sign and snapping a photo.
That’s what I ignorantly thought. It’s just like riding a big bike with a motor.
It’s nothing like riding a big bike with a motor. It’s nothing at all like riding a bike.
Within seconds, I was mangled in the bushes. Oh, so the accelerator is not the brake? I pushed that thing right back to the rental shop and swore on my very precious life I would never rent a scooter again.
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Fast forward 7 years later to the countryside of Thailand. I had been backpacking Thailand for about a month and was missing out on so much.
Here’s the thing about Southeast Asia. It’s one of the best parts of the world to backpack. It’s affordable. It’s beautiful. It’s tasty. It’s super friendly and safe. And if you can’t drive a scooter, it’s the most inconvenient place to explore.
Nobody told me this (I’m looking at you, travel bloggers on the first page of google). As a matter of fact, all these “20 things to do in Thailand” posts always say the same thing: “Rent a Scooter! Get lost in the countryside of Thailand. Scooters are cheap and the best way to explore the country.”
They are also incredibly dangerous if you have no experience driving them, especially in the undeveloped back roads of a foreign country that, mind you, drives on the other side of the road. Where was this mentioned?
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I’ve never had an issue getting around while traveling. In India, you have 20 tuk tuks in every corner willing and ready to take you anywhere for a small fee. In Central America, you have public buses that will drop you off wherever your heart desires for coins. But in Southeast Asia, if you want to leave the city walls and do some serious exploring, you have either:
An overpriced private car or scooter driver (expensive, safe, freedom)
A group tour (affordable, safe, no freedom)
A scooter (cheap, risky, freedom)
Those are pretty much your options.
After a month of opting for option B, I saw a sign. A literal sign:
“Scooter Lessons”
This was my chance to face my scooter fear and explore Thailand without a schedule and 20 other eager tourists. The desire for freedom will drive you to do some questionable things.
In an act of desperation I hired Alan, the scooter whisperer, and we were off for an hour of scooter lessons. An hour? That should be enough time to conquer my fear, register the difference between the accelerator and the brake into my brain, and drive off confidently. Right?
Alan was an excellent teacher. He made me feel comfortable on the driver seat. He showed me how to handle this big bike with confidence. Most importantly, he gave me plenty of high fives.
The first day on my own scooter was one of the best travel days of my life. I even nicknamed my scooter rental Skeet. Swerving Skeet around the hilly countryside of Pai was the most freeing feeling ever. I drove wherever my heart desired, with a permanent smile on my face and swaying to the reggaeton in my ears, channeling my inner cautious bad-ass.
Day one had me hooked, and I was ready to relive this magical day the next morning. I woke up and skipped on over to the scooter rental place, high on freedom and adventure. My sexy, sturdy Skeet wasn’t available, so they offered me a not so shiny alternative.
The second I sat on that scooter, I felt off. I didn’t feel as comfortable. It wasn’t new and smooth like Skeet. This one didn’t get a nickname. But I ignored my gut instinct and drove off anyway.
I was en route to a well-known bamboo bridge that’s famous for for its rice paddy field views and secluded silence. I was warned about the drive to the bridge. “It’s really bumpy and rocky. Be careful.” But I also ignored their warnings.
The drive was torture. The road was not paved. I felt every little bump and bounce as I tried my best to avoid the bigger rocks on the gravel makeshift street. I lacked the confidence I had embraced the day before. But I once again ignored that little feeling.
I eventually reached an eerily steep hill with a sharp left turn. My heart instantly dropped. I froze, yet was still driving. This Florida girl had no familiarity with hills. But I powered through my fear, hit the accelerator, and made that sharp left turn.
Gravel roads, steep hills, sharp left turns and inexperienced scooter drivers are a recipe for disaster.
Within seconds, the scooter and I were flying off the steep hill and down another hill. I lost control of the scooter, while unsuccessfully trying to maintain balance. But the downhill was too steep. My body launched itself in front of the scooter, I landed face first, got tangled up with the scooter and together we rolled down that hill for what felt like 10 minutes, but was probably only seconds.
The scooter landed on top of the left side of my body. It was like I got into a car accident, but without the four walls or a seatbelt. This was the opposite of an out of body experience. I had never felt so in my body before. I was reminded I had a fragile body that was susceptible to agonizing pain.
I mustered up all the strength I had to push the scooter off of me. I don’t know why, but the first thing I did was open up my phone camera to make sure I still had all my teeth. I then wiggled my left foot to make sure I didn’t break it. I was covered in dirt and blood. The shock of it all had me in full-out fight mode. I was shocked I didn’t break any bones.
There was no time to cry or feel sorry for myself. I needed water to cleanse my deep wounds. Three on my left leg and one on my left hip.
By the grace of God, I landed in front of a waterfall. With my teeth and feet in place, I disorientedly crawled my beat up body up a rocky path only to find myself at a waterfall with no water. By the grace of God, it was dry season.
Without a soul in sight on this backroad Thai countryside, my only other option was to drive myself to help. There I was, right back on the very thing that almost killed me, driving towards God knows where. My smile and reggaeton sways were replaced with shivers and bloody clothes.
I found an empty little cafe off the side of the road. I carefully pulled over and silently yelled;
“Hello. Can someone help me.”
A sweet local lady looked at me, grabbed my hand, and shuffled me to the hose outside. She smiled as she hosed me down, asking me if I was ok, not to worry, this happens all the time. It happens so much that they’ve dubbed the local hospital “Farang Hotel” (“Tourist Hotel”). I wanted to giggle, but I couldn’t.
Perhaps it was the healing water dripping from the hose, or this stranger's loving touch, but the shock had settled, fight mode was gone, and I was left overwhelmingly sad and afraid. I cried enough tears to makeup for the dry waterfall. I didn’t, but I could’ve died out there. The worst part, alone and 8,000 miles away from home.
But I couldn’t wallow just yet. I had to get the scooter back to the rental shop. But how? The only people I kind of knew were my guesthouse owners.
“Hello, Kahn. It’s Janelle, from room 3. Yes. I got into a scooter accident on the road to the bamboo bridge. I’m at the cafe here. Can you help me?”
Within 20 minutes, Kahn and his friend were at my rescue. They loaded the beat up scooter on the back of their truck and the beat up girl in the front seat. They insisted on taking me to “Farang Hotel.”
The indifferent nurses apathetically cleaned my deep cuts, slapped a few bandages on, and didn’t crack a single smile. This was the scariest day of my life. For them, it was just another day wondering how their dreams of tending to the sick brought them to Farang Hotel.
Kahn waited two hours for me at the hospital before bringing me back home. He told me I was his first guest to get into an accident. An honor or a stigma? His wife was waiting for me with medicine. She refused to take my money for it. These strangers soon became the only people in all of Thailand that cared about my recovery.
It was finally time to wallow.
I spent the next few weeks doing just that. I got off social media, I reflected, and I questioned everything. What’s really going to matter when I die? From here on out, I was only going to focus on that answer.
The scooter accident pain was far from over. It was the tending to my wounds that got the best of me. Overnight the scabs dry up and form a sticky crust on the bandage. A scab crust you have to peel off every single morning. You have to do this again in the evening. Everyday, twice a day, for three weeks, I had to remove four different bandages from the left side of my body, meticulously clean my open wounds, and gently bandage myself up again.
Now, I’m the first one to do things alone. But this was one instance I wish I had someone there to hold my hand, remind me everything was going to be ok, and do all the “how to heal a wound” research for me. I learned, the hard way, not to wipe with alcohol but with water and mild soap. My new friends at the pharmacy also taught me how and when to apply the antibacterial cream I didn’t even know I needed.
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I want to end this story with a victory. I want to share with you the greatest lesson that accident taught me. But I don’t have a grand lesson or a grand victory.
I’m still terrified of scooters, probably even more so now. I have zero desire to “face my fear.” I accept my fear, and oddly enough, honor it. This doesn’t make me weak. This makes me human.
I was reminded how kind the people of the world are to complete and total strangers. Before I left Pai, I gifted Kahn and his wife a small hand drawn painting of the two of them. I cried when I hugged them goodbye.
I don’t know if I’ll ever drive a scooter again. I don’t know what this experience was meant to teach me. I don’t know why this happened to me. There’s a lot of things I may never know.
I do, however, know that I’ll never ignore my gut instinct ever again. I now know to always heed a local’s warnings. I now know that on the other side of fear is sometimes just more fear, and that’s ok.
I bear my scooter scars proudly. My Thai tattoos, as Kahn so lovingly called them. A right of passage for any true Southeast Asian backpacker.
