The Lost Girls

by Jennifer Baggett

  “Oh, my God, Frank. You totally missed it. This tuk-tuk driver swerved off the road and almost hit that stand that sells coffee in plastic bags,” gasped a petite girl with a mass of wiry curls who suddenly burst through the door, three guys and another girl following in her wake.

  “Whoa, Libby, I leave you for a few minutes, and all hell breaks loose. Well, as long as my ladies there are all right,” my benchmate replied. “Man, that’s my favorite place to go in the morning. Have you been there? The coffee is the best. You have to try it,” he directed at me.

  In less than five minutes, the entire crew was piled around the table recounting their adventures from the day. There was Libby, an Israeli hippie who had grown up in Pennsylvania and recently graduated from UCLA. Dan, from Vancouver, who’d arrived in Bangkok from Cambodia the day before. Brad, who looked like a California surfer dude but was actually English and had befriended Dan on the bus ride into town. Charlotte, a blonde with wire-rimmed glasses and a thick Irish accent. Peter, a soft-spoken Brit who was on sabbatical from an engineering job. And hilarious Frank, an American who’d been teaching in China for the past few years but was taking some time off. Surprisingly, aside from Frank and Libby, who appeared to be in the midst of a fling, no one else had any past knowledge of the others. They’d just randomly stumbled in at the same time and created an impromptu circle of friends. And being on my own, it seemed, gave me instant street cred with the singles crowd, because before long, I found myself privy to personal tales and past life tidbits.

  In between the group’s round-robin of showers, wardrobe changes, and beer runs, I discovered that Frank had never planned to teach in China, but during a vacation he’d fallen in love with a woman there and on a whim decided to stay. They’d broken up a year before, but he had no regrets. Peter was an alcoholic, and this trip marked his fifth year of sobriety. Charlotte, who used to be married but was now happily single at thirty-two, thought Brad was gorgeous and planned to flirt with him all night. And Libby had recently decided to postpone her return to the States for another few months because her existential journey would not be complete if she didn’t make it to Sri Lanka—and it would piss off her stepmom.

  Though taking a vacation by myself had always appealed to me about as much as a root canal, in the presence of people who clearly thrived on indie travel, I wondered if perhaps I needed an attitude adjustment. Earmarking a few days for mandatory self-exploration might, in fact, make me a stronger person. Help me conquer my fears…prepare me to face an ambiguous future with grace and dignity…rediscover that precocious child inside who’d begged her parents to let her go off on her own to some far-flung preparatory academy. Or, at the very least, help me master my mysterious loner look.

  Considering that Amanda was knee-deep in coordinating a multimember family vacation and Holly was almost a full day’s journey away via yet another long bus-to-ferry combo, now was the perfect time for me to try flying solo. If I could direct a lost backpacker to a mass transit station, I could certainly find a way to enjoy being on my own in Bangkok for a week, right? Before I could chicken out, I sprang onto a freshly vacated computer and alerted Amanda and Holly of my plan, sealing my fate as a one-woman traveling show.

  As is often the case with daring leaps, the universe found a way to reward the faithful. From the moment I committed to being a single gal in Thailand’s vast capital city, any potential loneliness got quickly kicked to the curb. If I stuck around the hostel common area for more than twenty minutes, someone would inevitably plop down nearby and strike up a conversation. Any time I crossed paths with a member of my Big John’s starter crew, they’d inquire about my plans and extend sincere invites to hang out with them, a gesture that might not have been so instinctive had I been part of a preformed group.

  Don’t get me wrong: Amanda, Holly, and I had met tons of other travelers during our trip, but a clique of three projected a totally different vibe. When we weren’t in the mood to chat with strangers, we kept to ourselves. During our rare quiet times, we were as comfortable with one another’s silence as an old married couple in parallel rocking chairs. But being on my own provided a greater incentive to put myself out there and try to make new friends, so I tackled this new challenge with the same vigor I’d used to throw into special projects at work.

  Before long, I found myself with quite the burgeoning social calendar. Frank, Peter, and Charlotte became my most compatible sightseeing partners, and we did almost everything together. If it was a nice day, we’d hit our favorite jogging spot, Lumpini Park (named after Buddha’s birthplace), and take a light spin around the lush green space, passing tai chi masters, spandex-clad aerobics classes, and street musicians who competed with public speakers blasting eclectic native melodies—and the national anthem at 6 p.m. daily. If we were feeling lazy, Charlotte and I would browse the stalls at Little Siam, an inconspicuous side street near the mega–shopping complex Siam Center for trendy urban ware and custom-designed jewelry at bargain-basement prices. And as often as we could, we’d all pop into one of the city’s innumerable massage parlors advertising “60 minutes with scented oil for 250 baht,” which was always the best $8 I ever spent.

  On day three of my “solo” adventure, the four of us managed to peruse dozens of downtown shops, squeeze in a matinee screening of Babel at the Siam Center multiplex, and make the requisite pilgrimage to Khao San Road. While the labyrinth of seedy guesthouses and back-alley bars was still woven into the background, the veritable “Bourbon Street of Bangkok” was now splattered with brightly lit pubs, restaurants, travel agencies, and vendors hawking everything from bootleg DVDs and fake driver’s licenses to discount antibiotics and incense burners. Though I was glad to be staying in our Sukhumvit sanctuary, there was nothing more old-school cool than Khao San Road.

  By day four, I practically needed a Palm Pilot to keep track of my packed schedule. Amanda and her family had returned to the city the night before after a three-day trek near Chiang Mai, so I’d met them for dinner and ended up crashing at the foot of Amanda and her sister Jennifer’s plush king-size hotel bed for the night. After a delightful four-star (and free) breakfast, I’d had to hightail it back to Big John’s to meet Frank, who’d offered to treat me to coffee in a bag if I’d be willing to burn all the photos I’d taken of our group onto a CD since he’d accidentally wiped out his entire memory card the day before.

  After that, I would be joining Peter and Charlotte to attend my first professional Muay Thai fight at Ratchadamnoen Stadium, then meeting up with this guy Mark, an American teacher in Bangkok, who’d gone to college with my friend Stephany from Maryland. An avid globe trekker herself, she’d sent e-mails to some of her overseas contacts to let them know when I’d be in their neck of the planet. Once I’d decided to stay in the city alone, I’d figured it couldn’t hurt to shoot Mark a note. Of course, when I’d sent the e-mail I’d never expected I’d be so busy that I’d just barely have time to squeeze in a quick drink, but I was always happy to meet a friend of Steph’s. And as luck would have it, Steph was going to be joining me, Amanda, and Holly in Bali the following week, so I wouldn’t have to wait too long to thank her in person for the Bangkok connection.

  I arrived back at Big John’s with an hour to spare before I was supposed to meet Mark in the lobby. After a quick shower and wardrobe refresh, I bolted back downstairs and settled onto a bar stool to wait for the “tall blond who would appear to be wandering around looking for someone,” as he’d joked in his e-mail. Less than five seconds elapsed from the time I saw Mark walk through the door to when he noticed me across the room, but within that tiny sliver of time, I knew that this gorgeous stranger was about to turn my world upside down.

  As he walked toward me, his eyes locking hopefully onto mine, my heart fluttered straight out my chest and hit the floor with an audible thump. Oh, my God, I can’t believe this is Steph’s friend. I was not expecting this at all. Confirming that I was, in fact, the Jen he’d come to meet, a deliberate and impos
sibly charming grin spread slowly across his face, almost as if he were thinking the very same thing. As we crossed the threshold into the sultry night, it suddenly felt less like a casual meeting and more like a first date, both of us animatedly reiterating how fortuitous it was that Steph had put us in touch.

  Walking side by side down a warmly lit street, I still couldn’t get over how drop-dead handsome Mark was with his thick mass of sandy hair, soccer jersey, and sun-brushed complexion (but not in that too-pretty, overly chiseled way that immediately turned me off of prototypical “hot” guys). At first glance, Mark was a striking combination of all-American athlete and rugged cowboy, but he also had that sweet, unassuming boy-next-door quality that I’d always been hopelessly attracted to (which my girlfriends referred to as my Bryan MacKenzie complex after my adoration of the fiancé in Father of the Bride). My God, Steph really should have warned me, I thought, as Mark and I settled at a two-top in a trendy jazz bar across the street.

  Since Mark had to be up early the next morning for class, I’d assumed we’d swap some fun stories and call it an early night. But before I knew it, hours had slipped by and we were both still bursting to learn more about each other. A boundless stream of carefree conversation spilled out between us—everywhere we’d traveled in the world, all the places we still ached to visit, our college soccer teams, careers, friends, past lives in and out of the States, anything and everything we were passionate about. At one point we even relocated to the front patio to avoid having to shout over the live band, all the while continuing our intense discussion about the effectiveness of U.S. volunteer programs overseas versus locally run organizations.

  Never in my life had I been drawn to someone so instantaneously and, rarer still, someone who challenged and intrigued me as much as Mark did. Not only had he been to nearly twice the countries that I had, he cared deeply about pro social causes, loved kids, and just happened to be a star soccer player in his spare time. He was accomplished, kind, adventurous, and dreamy—the type of guy I didn’t quite believe existed. But as Mark fervently shared his teaching experiences in both inner-city schools back home and more posh academies abroad, bragged about his nieces and nephews, and discussed his latest aspiration to start an orphanage in South America, for the first time in my life I knew that I was capable of falling insanely head over heels for someone I’d just met. Because if given the chance with Mark, that’s exactly what would happen. Sadly, I could feel the night slipping away, and it was all I could do not to rip off the tablecloth and hunker down on the sidewalk with him until dawn.

  Somehow sensing my inner thoughts, Mark glanced at his watch disappointedly. He wasn’t ready to leave yet, but in a few hours he needed to be freshly pressed and ready to wow his students, so he’d probably need to go soon. But…yes, there’s a “but”…he added that he’d really like to see me again and wryly insinuated that I hadn’t experienced the “real” Bangkok until I allowed someone who lived in the city—himself, for example—to take me out. At the sound of the words “really like to see you again,” I’d already flashed forward to us holding hands and cuddling in a tuk-tuk, but there was no point in mentioning that little fantasy. The important thing was that this night spent with Mark would not be my last.

  Throughout the entire next day, I felt like a kid on Christmas Eve, full of nervous energy and bouncing all over the place in anticipation of my downtown meet-up with Mark. Maybe it was silly to make such a big deal out of it, but I hadn’t gone on any sort of first date in nearly half a decade and I was going to enjoy every second of the experience, even if it was the backpacker version. Either way, it was a fun excuse to retire my ratty Reefs for a night and break out my one pair of low-heeled sandals. And any embellishments to my typical on-the-road beauty routine of lip balm, sunscreen, and headband were bound to make me feel like a new woman.

  The plan was to meet Mark across town at the Sala Daeng station near Lumpini Park, so after a quick dinner at Big John’s, I hopped onto the Skytrain and headed west. Since I didn’t have a cell phone, we’d resorted to the old-school tactic of designating a specific landmark and time. At 9 p.m. sharp, I arrived at the large fitness center Mark had described in his e-mail, and there he was, standing on the corner of Silom and Soi Convent, still just as adorable as when I’d left him.

  We moved through the night with the giddiness of a young couple in the honeymoon phase, chatting and laughing and continuing to reveal more layers of our personalities. Although Mark was a humanitarian by nature, it didn’t preclude him from having a quirky sense of humor and the perfect touch of sarcasm. Before I knew it, we were engaged in a full-scale competition to classify the dancers at our current Patpong location as either ladies by birth, ladies by surgery, or lady boys who took impressive concealment measures.

  Originally established as the red-light district for U.S. servicemen in the 1960s during the Vietnam War, Patpong was now a bustling tourist hub famous for its night market and boisterous social scene. Packed with shops, restaurants, pool halls, live music venues, countless go-go bars, and dancing girls (or boys, or too-tough-to-tells), Patpong was a hilarious place for me to explore with Mark, who, after living in Bangkok for nearly two years, knew the area well and got a kick out of taking newbies there.

  During the course of the night, the space between us had naturally compressed: Mark protectively placing his hand on the small of my back to lead me across the crowded street; me affectionately patting his arm during one of his funny stories. Each touch was more enticing than the last. As we sat on the outdoor patio of a popular café, our knees brushing under the table, the chemistry between us was as palpable as the balmy air. As our conversations escalated into passionate debates, so did our anticipation. Somewhere between the value of traveling to third-world countries, concerns about returning home, and needing to be around people who understood us, Mark’s gaze intensified and he slid his hand across the table and placed it on top of mine.

  Capturing my eyes with his gaze, Mark grazed his fingers along my jawline and pulled me toward him. His hands wrapped tightly around my face, and he kissed me, a deep, slow, fall-to-the-ground kiss. My breath momentarily froze, then drizzled down my throat like warm honey. Sliding my hands up his chest and around his neck, I melted against him, every clichéd sentiment I’d thought existed only in silver-screen romances crashing over me in unfathomable waves. The frenetic sounds of the city, people passing by, tourists laughing at the tables around us…it all evaporated away. Temporarily unlocking me from his lips, Mark looked at me and smiled.

  “I hope that was okay, I just couldn’t help myself,” he said with a wink. It took all my willpower to construct coherent sentences after that, but somehow I managed to discuss a tentative plan that involved going back to his apartment, opening a bottle of Riesling, and sitting out on the balcony to watch the stars.

  As if that proposal weren’t enough to convert me into a full-fledged swooner, what Mark said next certainly did. We’d just settled the bill when he paused and explained that though he would love for me to come back with him to his apartment, it didn’t mean that things needed or should go too far. Not that he wouldn’t seriously be tempted. But he wanted to know that we were on the same page before we left. I just stood there stunned for a few seconds. Until he mentioned it, I hadn’t thought very far beyond a sexy make-out session over a bottle of wine. But, hey, I’d never claimed to be a saint. And considering I’d spent the majority of the past decade in two committed long-term relationships, I certainly wasn’t opposed to a torrid love affair with a gorgeous man in an exotic overseas destination.

  But as unbelievably attracted as I was to Mark physically, he already meant more to me than a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am fling. And even though we’d just met, I was completely captivated by him, by everything. The way he looked at me. How he touched me. His seriously sinful kisses. We could just do that all night, and I’d be more than satisfied. So…that’s pretty much what we did.

  With the bright lights
of Bangkok flickering like tiny fireflies in the distant skyline, Mark and I lay together in his moonlit bed, discussing our pasts, our fears about the future, and what we yearned for out of life. I’d never felt such a powerful connection to another person so quickly, and I knew, deep in the recesses of my soul, that we’d been placed in each other’s lives for a reason. Kissing, cuddling, beautiful moments of silence filled the space until dawn. My head on his chest, his arms draped around my back, we eventually drifted off. But right before we did, Mark smoothed my hair off my face and whispered that he’d try not to wake me when he was getting ready for school and that he was going to take me out to dinner that night. Comforted by the promise that I’d have to wait only a few hours to see him again, I finally gave in to sleep’s grasp.

  Where have you been all night, little lady?” Frank inquired coyly as I walked through the front door of the hostel with my bed head, rumpled clothes, and huge grin plastered on my face.

  “Oh, that’s right. You had your date last night. How’d it go? Really well, by the looks of it,” Charlotte interjected.

  “I can’t even begin to describe how perfect it was. Seriously. It was life-changing,” I said.

  “Way to go, Jen. You’re really moving up in the world. Doing the walk of shame back to Big John’s. I love it!” Frank said.

  “And you speak from experience, now, don’t you, Frank?” Charlotte said, before adding that she had to head out soon if she was going to make her bus to Cambodia.

  That’s the weird thing about backpacker life. One moment someone’s there, the next they’re gone. Charlotte and I had already exchanged e-mail addresses earlier in the week, so there was nothing left to do but wish her good luck and help her out the door with her stuff.