Dreaming in Bangkok: Á ceux qui montent!

I was on the back of a Grab motorbike at 2 a.m., careening wildly up Sukhumvit to take me home after a wild night at Havana Social, when it suddenly started to rain. The contrast between the intense heat, humidity, the cool apparent wind, and the refreshing raindrops brought me into ecstatic bliss.

Manny came to mind in that moment of bliss. Manny is a very close friend of the family who gave my sister and me our first dog and my second car, taught me to ski, and allowed me to drive his 1979 911 Porsche Targa for two years as though it were my own. His love for sports cars was contagious, and I got the bug.  I must’ve been around eight or nine years old, and I distinctly remember his 1961 190 SL Mercedes convertible parked on one side of 108th St. between Broadway and Amsterdam and his 1960 356 Porsche convertible parked on the other. He had this huge dog, a Great Dane named “Lady,” who he would leave on the street all day while at work. He left the convertible tops down, food for Lady in the back of one car, and water in the other. Lady would play with us all day, and when tired, she would lay down in the back of whichever car was in the shade. 

Years later, I witnessed a taxi strike Lady while Manny‘s girlfriend walked her across Broadway and 108th Street. Lady was violently flung into the air, landed halfway to 109th Street, and was killed instantly. It was one of the only times I ever witnessed Manny cry. I also cried, along with everyone on the block who had grown up with Lady. I recognized how Lady was such an essential part of my childhood and how I had completely taken her for granted until I saw her dead and bloody on the street with Manny bawling over her. It was my first lesson in not taking anyone or anything for granted- Memento Mori!

I learned so many vital lessons from Manny. Everyone would admonish him for leaving such beautiful and precious cars on the street, with doors unlocked and the tops down (sometimes he would find a homeless person sleeping in the back of the car, wake them up with a smile, and say that they would be welcome to join him on his drive to wherever he was going). His response was always: “They’re just pieces of metal, toys!“ 

I loved those cars, mostly because of Manny’s enthusiasm for them. Over his coffee table in his living room, he hung a polished 356 Porsche engine like a chandelier. My passion for these cars was reinforced: 1) When I learned that James Dean had (and died in) a 550 Porsche Spyder, inspired by the 356 Porsche; and 2) when I saw Luis Malle’s classic film, “Elevator to the Gallows,” which featured a Mercedes 300 SL convertible (from which the 190 SL was inspired) and a music score by Miles Davis. To this day, those are still my favorite sports cars. 

Despite my passion for convertible sports cars, there was a moment when I was about 18 years old when I wanted a motorcycle. I loved the freedom, exhilaration, and speed on two wheels. I wanted to experience the world unencumbered by the metal boxes, even convertible sports cars, that created a barrier between the driver and the world. 

Manny tried vehemently but unsuccessfully to talk me out of pursuing motorcycles. I was pretty surprised when, one day, he refused to tell me where we were going and pushed me into his 356 Porsche. He drove me to see his friend Vinny, a Jamaican, who raced motorcycles and owned a motorcycle dealership and repair shop on Queens Boulevard. I had met Vinny before, and he greeted me warmly. He walked me around the dealership, showing me all the powerful and magnificent motorcycles. He told me that Manny would buy me a motorcycle but first insisted on showing me something. I was overjoyed and very curious about what he would show me. We went to the back of the dealership to what I later learned was the motorcycle “graveyard,” where there were at least 20 motorcycles that were utterly destroyed. Vinny related a detailed story accompanying each shattered motorcycle, the injuries, disabilities, and death, as well as the trauma inflicted on the families and loved ones left behind. Afterward, he told me that I could choose whichever motorcycle I wanted on the condition that I think about all the stories he related for one week. Manny drove me home without saying a word, and I never spoke about motorcycles again.

Still, one of my many dreams is a year-long motorcycle adventure from the northern tip of Brazil to the southern tip of Argentina. But after a career in Emergency Medicine and the remarkable numbers of horrendous motorcycle accident victims (affectionately referred to as “organ donors“ in emergency departments across the United States) I’ve cared for over the years, I remain content with my mental fascination for them.

Nonetheless, whenever I travel to places where motorbikes are prevalent and the traffic isn’t too crazy, I rent a scooter. Although motorbikes are ubiquitous in Bangkok, the insane traffic intimidates me. I did, however, muster the courage to use Grab (the Uber equivalent in Thailand) motorbikes as my primary source of transportation. I remember the first dozen times as a passenger, flying through Bangkok traffic on the back of a motorbike, white-knuckling whatever I could hold onto as the driver weaved in and out of the bustling, seemingly disorganized, erratic, and nonsensical traffic along with the other gazillion motorbikes and cars doing the same. It was exhilarating!

I then noticed that many women in skirts sat sideways on the back of motorbikes, driving in the same madman style but holding on to nothing. Many were scrolling and texting on their phones, and more than a few were putting on makeup! I then realized that I was doing something wrong. I learned to relax and adjust with the to and fro forces using my core and feet against the pedals. Once I mastered this, I learned to embrace this experience even more. Moreover, in this relaxed state, I became hyper-aware of my surroundings- cars, traffic patterns, pedestrians, and the teaming life on the sidewalks. As my body traveled on the back of motorbikes in Bangkok, my mind spontaneously took its journeys and flights of fancy. So much so that, now that my hands were free, I held my phone and contemporaneously dictated these inspired musings as voice memos.

On one such flight of fancy, I noticed that the movement of the cars, motorbikes, and crossing pedestrians was not haphazard. There were distinct patterns that everyone, wittingly or not, adhered to. From this new perspective, this seeming chaos now appeared similar to a swarm of bees, flock of birds, or colony of ants, moving in unison as if orchestrated. Once I made this observation, it became even clearer that despite the apparent madness, no one honked their horns; cars and motorbikes cut in front of each other or patiently waited for others to pass effortlessly; cars at a standstill always left enough space around themselves for motorbikes to maneuver around them; and everyone thanked others for letting them pass. At first, there were moments when I wondered why my motorbike driver allowed another to pass or why they let us pass. It was as though they were in tune with a GPS enabling them to see the larger picture. I understood that everyone was answering to the greater good and purpose of keeping traffic moving, and with their GPS, somehow knew that it made sense that they should go or stop without any hesitation or doubt. 

I imagined myself floating around a flock of birds in the sky as they did their beautiful routines and how their flight patterns would appear chaotic. But when on the ground, I could appreciate these thousands of birds flying with the grace of a synchronized swim team (more likely, the swim team is as graceful as the flock!), moving in unison and never bumping into each other, creating beautiful patterns in the sky. Suddenly, the madness transformed into a great symphony. Each driver surrendered to the will of the group to keep things moving.

On the evening of the earthquake, when everything seemed to be back to normal, except that the traffic was an order of magnitude worse than usual, I hopped on the back of a motorbike to explore the city and the aftermath of the earthquake. Even in the worst traffic jams, motorbikes typically manage to weave in and out between the cars to continue moving. Even the motorbikes were at a standstill that evening, but my driver tapped into another frequency and drove onto the sidewalk, weaving in between pedestrians. My initial reaction was that he was insane and that I should demand that he stop and let me off before he killed someone. However, I noticed that he did this with precision, patience, and kindness, rarely disturbing the pedestrians while managing to push forward. 

The weaving of the motorbike led me to another flight of fancy and raised the idea that perhaps we, too, are moved in a drone-like fashion, orchestrated and guided. We believe we decide to go left or right and make decisions, but perhaps, like drones, we are guided in those directions and decisions. This is not apparent to us because, like the swarm of bees, flock of birds, or colony of ants, we cannot appreciate the big picture. Could this be why every religion or wisdom school has some version of: “Inshallah!” Or “Not my will, but thy will be done!”? Or in the current vernacular: “Let the Force guide you!” (See https://www.richardlanoix.com/post/the-orquestra)

Untitled, by Christopher Wool (B. 1955)

In my life, I’ve been gifted the capacity to appreciate patterns and synchronicities. I’ve also held the contrary belief that we are meaning-giving machines in a reality inherently without meaning, and the world we experience may be a giant Rorschach image to which we provide meaning. How do I reconcile this contradiction? I don’t! I find comfort in the words of the great poet Walt Whitman [paraphrased}: “My chest is broad enough to encompass all my contradictions!” 

Please entertain me for a brief thought experiment. Let’s suppose that there were, in fact, larger forces at play that our human minds cannot perceive – similar to sound and light frequencies beyond our range. In this scenario, like a swarm of bees and a flock of birds, we are all being guided by a higher force, and ex post facto, we are coming up with a mental framework to justify what is being done. Note that there are well-documented experiments in the neuroscience field that support the model that actions proceed in the decision-making process (however, these experiments do not in any way address what is the progenitor of these actions)! 

Keep in mind that this thought experiment has been in practice since Shiva worship (the oldest form of prayer known to humankind), described in the Vedas (c. 1500-500 BCE-oral tradition), and then expounded upon rationally and philosophically by Buddhist scholars, such as Nagarjuna (2nd-3rd Century) and Atisa (c. 1000AD). 

So, fully immersing yourself in this thought experiment, would phrases such as: “Inshallah,” “not my will, but I will be done,” or “let the force guide you” make more sense to you? What if, as suggested by sages throughout the ages, our purpose in life is to experience since Consciousness, as everything, could not experience itself? (See my related post: https://www.richardlanoix.com/post/reflections-on-the-nature-of-love-sex-an-emotion) What changes would you make in your life? Please share! Enquiring minds (I) want to know!

When asked what I’ve been doing since retiring from the practice of Emergency Medicine, I respond that I’m in the business of abundance. Thus far, it appears to be quite successful. If it goes belly-up, I plan to start a religion, which is guaranteed to make me a billionaire and have throngs of adoring followers. I’m going to call my religion “BDAOism”: Breathe Deeply, Allow, and Observe! 

In the paradigm I am offering (note that it is not in any way original, but instead borrowed), you embrace that you are the director, star, and audience with a front-row seat to this consistently sold-out “Play of Lila,” where you allow yourself to be guided without resistance. In adopting this way of life, you quickly recognize that, as the great Shaman, Don Diego, used to sing so beautifully: “Life is so simple, all you have to do is breathe!”

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