Bumping down the road, clutching my chest and planting my feet, I had some epiphanies about tuk-tuks. They are small, open-sided taxis that fly down the roads like darting insects, daring and speedy, but they are unforgivably bumpy. As the river rushed past, and the wind whipped my hair, I pressed my arm savagely into my chest, aware of the driver looking back at me in the mirror. I tried to pretend that I was just holding on to my bag really tightly, but it was hard to make that one-armed embrace look natural. Even with three sports bras on, I would have been uncomfortable. My final epiphany was this: If one has perky breasts that one would like to protect, then one is better off riding in a taxi than in a tuk-tuk 
