My fiancé, Pete, and I had been traveling for about six months prior to meeting up with his best friend, Blake, in Thailand. Despite my worrisome nature – or because of it – we had not been mugged on any backstreets in Vietnam, we had not found ourselves lost and hungry during our hikes in New Zealand’s Southern Alps, and, maybe most importantly, with the use of a silk sleep sheet, we had entirely avoided bed bugs through hundreds of nights in youth hostel bunks. Yes, with proper precautions, we had become travel pros.
But I worried about Blake.
He had been alone for much of his month-long trip. His international experience consisted of near-isolation on an island in Laos, swinging in a hammock with just his thoughts and skittering geckos to keep him company. I imagine it looked something like a Corona commercial; peaceful, but the reason for my concern. We were meeting Blake in a city called Chumphon (or Chumporn, depending on your map and travel agency). This was not a big city, but poor Blake would have to first fly into Bangkok; crazy, dirty, loud, seedier-than-Vegas Bangkok. Then he would have to purchase a train ticket from a suspicious source, probably a man at a makeshift counter on a busy street, where everything from tailor-made suits to pad thai could be ordered without leaving the improvised storefront. Beach life to Bangkok would be a harsh transition.
The plan was for Blake to get to Chumphon a day ahead of Pete and I because we were budget travelers and that was just how the cheap transportation worked out. Riding in third class from Bangkok to Chumphon, Pete could hardly contain himself. Not only were the train windows open, making it possible for him to poke his head out into the wind, but Blake would be meeting us at the end of the line. At stations along the way, we carefully reached out the windows and bartered for Cokes and meat on a stick from vendors selling goods. Though meat was not my first choice, travel guides suggest that it is relatively safe since it is cooked on the spot. And while the train sped along, we enjoyed the smell of damp countryside. Crowded, stuffy cities had given way to lush, green landscapes.
It was getting late by the time the train pulled in. Before departing the train, I felt for the money belt under my t-shirt and we untied our backpacks, which had been tethered to the legs of our seats to protect them from being snatched by a passerby. When we hopped off the train and onto the dark platform, we were greeted by folks hoping to convince us to stay in their hostels or take a ride on their motorbikes at unreasonably inflated rates. We were perfect targets: the only non-Thai tourists around. I comforted myself by giving the money belt another pat.
Ignoring the hawkers, we squinted into the dim light of the station, but there was no Blake in sight.
Then one Thai man pushed through the crowd with a sign that read, “Blake is in Jail.” The train pulling away on the tracks and the swarm of travelers blurred as I began to panic. I couldn’t even hear the train’s whistle. My mind raced. In thickly accented English, the man told us the story of Blake’s arrest. Once more I felt for the little lump under my shirt that held everything important to me: passport, calling cards, cash. Those things were still safe, but how could we get to Blake? Could the cruel shift from island life to Bangkok’s squalidness really have led to his imprisonment? This situation was not part of the travel pro’s itinerary. Poor Blake.
I looked to Pete for reassurance as I quickly went over every possible solution. Pete just smiled at me. Not because he was more laid-back and untroubled (though he generally is), but because he had known Blake longer than I had. Pete started turning in circles, searching the platform again. Out of the shadows stepped a tanned, carefree Blake. If my memory is correct, I think he casually took a pull from a bottle of Beer Chang. My seizing panic ceased for an instant as I took it all in. Blake approached us with arms open, hugging Pete and I, then shaking the hand of his co-conspirator with the sign. I’m pretty sure my concern had not yet worn off, my brow still furrowed, my mind still racing with worst case scenarios. The three guys laughed and patted each other’s backs, the way guys do when a prank has gone off successfully. The joke had been on me and my vigilant planning.
During our week with Blake, Pete was grateful for an easy-going travel partner, and I slowly allowed myself to relax. I even left my money belt and passport in the hostel’s safe. It was like shedding a confining winter coat and feeling the sunshine of freedom. There is security in being a travel pro, but there is adventure in unplanned, impromptu travel. Nice one, guys. Lesson learned.
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