Traveler’s Nightmare

A good trip can go down hill quickly. It can happen to anyone—two good friends, husband and wife—as well as mother and daughter. It usually happens when you are hot, tired, hungry, and lost. All familiar signs are gone and no one speaks English.

When we arrived at the train station in Ubon Ratchathani, everyone started moving quickly, like they do at train stations on arrival—as if they knew where they were going. Loaded with two back packs, a shoulder bag and pulling a suitcase, we weren’t moving fast. We decided to go first to the bus station and get our tickets for later in the day and see if we could stow the bags. A tuk-tuk was waiting out front at the station. We climbed aboard.

A tuk-tuk is a three wheeled motorized conveyance with room for two. It has a top but no sides. We showed the driver the map in the book and said bus station. He took off and kept going at rapid speed, much further than the map in the book seemed to indicate. But he finally reached the bus station, we got our tickets for the 2:10 bus and then looked for storage bins. None were available but the station master said we could leave them in a room for 10 baht each bag, pay now. We looked back at our bags and wondered if we’d ever see them again. Traveling is full of acts of faith.

By now it was getting close to 10:00, we hadn’t eaten since before we left Bangkok, I was still fantasizing about those French-Indochina pastry shops. Katie checked the Lonely Planet once again, said we just need to walk up to the left then take the first right. The Fern Hut would be on the right.

The sun was hot and piercing down. Traffic along the road forced us to stay on the grassy edge that sometimes was a ditch. At the intersection, we realized we were the only people on foot—two foreign women, one old, one young, walking in the hot sun. We walk and walk. It is getting later and hotter. We have no idea where we are. No English at all. No road signs. No tuk-tuks, no taxis. We are entering the nightmare zone.

We cross the street to where it is a bit shadier and sit on the curb\step of a shop and ponder, look at book. We ask the shop clerk for help. She doesn’t speak English and runs for help in panic. A man comes. We show him the map and point to the Fern Hut. He looks confused. We ask him to point to where are we now. He looks and turns the book around and says—we are not on the map.

By now, I was getting a headache. My blood sugar is dropping fast. I ask where can we eat. He points out back. We go behind the shop and there is a row of little off-the street eateries with aluminum pots of boiling things, unrecognizable except for hard boiled eggs. Ok, I could settle for a hard boiled egg.

I say to Katie, Let’s eat here.
She says no.
What about hard boiled eggs?
She says no. She’s holding out for the pastry shop.

I need to do something, can’t let my blood sugar drop any lower. I’m becoming weak, headachy. I rummage through my bag and find a smashed granola bar. We sit on the curb again and I choke it down with water. Now my reason is coming back so I gather my wits. Aren’t I the experienced one on this trip? Aren’t I here to help my daughter learn the skills of traveling? I say, “What I would do in a situation like this is to get a cab to the Fern Hut.”

“In case, you haven’t noticed, Mom, there are no cabs here. And besides I don’t know the address.”
“Well,” I collect my mature self again, “I would ask for help.”
“Well," says Katie, not at all mimicking me, "that guy is gone and he didn’t seem to know where we were anyway.”

Finally, we agree to walk back to the bus station.

At the bus station we get a ride and point to the map, saying something about food. He looks at these two foreigners and takes us to the local KFC. We say NO, and tell him to go to the hotel. He knows where that is and we have some options from there. The first restaurant we ask about is “gone.” That’s the disadvantage of using an old guide book. So we ask for the second one—it’s around the corner.

At last—This is not the pastry shop that I have imagined but it offers western breakfasts, has clean toilets and a fan. I order scrambled eggs, toast and coffee. Katie orders green curry, rice, and spicy vegetable soup. We are happy. We “listen” to the Olympics ut can’t see the screen. Katie changes her contacs and we relax a moment. The travelers’ nightmare has ended and we are still taking to each other.

Just as an addendum—the trauma turned into treat that afternoon. At the museum we saw a display of regional woven fabrics. Katie looked up in the guidebook and found a seller. She assured me it was just down the street and to the right. This time she was right. I was delighted. We bought some local hand made cloth and then walked along the food stalls where Katie bought a Thai mortal and pestle that we had used in the MayKaidee cooking class. It is so much fun to travel with someone who shares the same fetishes—food and fabrics.

A tuk-tuk man has had his eye on us and waited til we were ready. We showed him the map and pointed to the bus station. He nodded and headed in the opposite direction. After a little ways, we realized he wasn't turning around and stopped him, explaining that the bus staion that we wanted was the other way. He turned around.

So you see, in only a few hours in this town, we had already learned to go in the right direction.

We realized the Chinese fortune cookie that said "You are going in the right direction, " wasn't so easy as we thought. We caught the bus to KhamKuenKaew.