AsiaLIFE

In the latest of the series of challenges to AsiaLIFE’s Finn extraordinaire, Nora Lindstrom, has a go at a common profession in the capital – driving a tuk tuk.

“Tuk tuk sir? Tuk tuk?” I shout as I drive past the Royal Palace. The tourists rudely ignore me. Infuriating. I mean how much effort does it take to say, ‘no thank you?’ Admittedly these people don’t look like they are in need of a tuk tuk, having just stepped off a tourist bus to enter the palace, but you never know, there is always a possibility they might need one. At least acknowledge that I asked, will you? I’m only trying to make a living here. Though perhaps they are right.

I’m two hours into the job and I still haven’t quite overcome the feeling that the trailer behind me is going to tip over any second. I was also very nearly hit by a truck at the senseless crossing by Wat Ounalom, and I don’t think I’ve driven faster than 20 kilometres per hour, for the fear of, well, tipping over. Kong, the man who is kindly teaching me the trade and whose tuk tuk I am driving, is looking more and more concerned. While I hustle potential customers he keeps a keen eye on the road. From his uncomfortable seat on the metal ledge behind me he occasionally reaches for the wheel to keep us off a collision course.

When we first met he gave me two pieces of advice ¬– never put your feet on the ground when the tuk tuk is in motion.
“Why?” I ask.
“It’s dangerous,” he says. And remember to turn the handlebars to make the vehicle turn, don’t think you can turn by simply leaning one way or another. Good advice, which I’ve followed pretty well so far. However, I think Kong’s increasing anxiety is not so much due to safety concerns, but over the state his poor motorbike will be in after a day of me driving around on it – mainly in the wrong gear.

I’ve had one customer so far. A hapless, but brave woman agreed to be my guinea pig after I, with great personal satisfaction, beat all the other hustlers in front of the FCC. And she wanted a roundtrip! Double score. Mercifully - for both of us – it was only a question of going up riverside and back. Driving straight is just about ok, but trying to turn – which I equate with a high likelihood of tipping over – in Phnom Penh’s anarchic traffic is a nightmare. Stingily she only offers me a dollar.

On the prowl, I drive around riverside. Ideally, I would like to park in front of the FCC and jump at punters as they leave the bar. That’s out of the question however as the spots outside the legendary bistro are not only highly coveted, but reserved for more established drivers. Couldn’t they give a newcomer a break?

Suddenly Kong’s phone rings and he passes it to me. How exciting, my first call-up customer! The man at the other end of the line seems a bit surprised when I explain that I’m driving Kong’s tuk tuk today, but he agrees to have me pick him up. To my horror, however, he lives near Toul Sleng, which I realise will take an amazingly long time to get to given my lack of speed, and will involve a lot of turning. With Kong increasingly rescuing me from disaster we make it, though I have to apologise to the customer for having taken so long.

Thankfully, none of my fellow tuk tuk drivers seem to have picked up on my inexperience and hesitation. There are susaddais and soksabbais coming from every direction, as well as waves and smiles. This is great. It’s like the whole tuk tuk community is welcoming me. I fully expect to be invited for a smoke and some beers at the end of the day. I might even be allowed to park my tuk tuk in a good hustling spot.

Alas, it is not to be. At the end of the day Kong moves from the awkward ledge he has been perched on to the driving seat, while I take my more customary seat in the cushioned back. I may not have made a riel all day, but I certainly have developed a respect for tuk tuk drivers, especially for the art of keeping the trailers from tipping over.

When I return home, my flatmates tell me how they thought they saw this barang driving a tuk tuk on the riverfront earlier that day. “That was, erm, me,” I reply, not without a hint of pride.