Lucky Woman

February 29, 2008

2007 was the year my best friend and I decided to do a mini-tour of Asia: four countries in two weeks sounded perfect. In retrospect, however, trying to tour Bangkok in one day was probably not the best idea I’ve ever had. Perhaps it might have helped if Maggie and I had more of a plan than “Let’s see a temple and go to a market”. Or if we could speak more Thai than “Thank you.” Maybe then we would have had a proper tour instead of trying to break some kind of speed record. But we had a copy of The Lonely Planet; surely, we thought, that was really all we needed.

After a morning of being driven around by a tuk-tuk driver whose only English consisted of “Yes”, we decided to take refuge from the heat in one of the malls. We were looking at the floor directory when an Indian Sikh walked up to me. Despite being told never to talk to strangers, I’m really far too polite for my own good. When he said hello, I replied with a smile.

Bad move.
“You’re a lucky woman,” he said. “I can tell. I’m a holy man.”
“That’s great,” I said, trying to pretend interest.
“I can tell you three good things are going to happen to you next month. Do you want to know what?”
Not really, I thought. “Sure,” I said.
Maggie, meanwhile, was trying very hard not to laugh.
“Look at my forehead,” my new friend said.
I looked.
“I see three letters: M, S and F.”
At this point I was convinced the man was wacko, but my inconvenient polite streak refused to let me walk away.

“You’re conflicted about two men,” he continued.
“No, I’m not. There are no men!” Well, not unless you count Ralph Fiennes and Johnny Depp . . .
“Yes. You are conflicted. You don’t know whether to choose the younger man or the older man. Come sit with me at MacDonald’s and I’ll tell you more.”
It took a while to convince him I was not going anywhere with him, and eventually Maggie got sick of me playing Miss Polite, grabbed my arm and said, “Come on.”
Unfortunately, he was not so easily deterred and called after us, “You’re a lucky woman, don’t forget that.”
I turned back to say thanks, only to see him standing with his arms held wide.
“Shake bodies?”
Maggie and I looked at each other, and somehow managed not to run away as fast as we could. When we were around the corner, we collapsed against the wall, laughing.

“Do I have ’sucker’ written on my forehead?” I asked Maggie. Because, really, these things only ever happen to me.
Maggie was giggling too hard to answer.
I guess we were better off with our tuk-tuk driver and his quick-quick tour. If I ever go to Thailand again, I’m definitely going to make better plans! Because for all the beautiful statues and temples we saw, all the great food we ate that day, it is the image of the Indian Sikh, his arms wide open, that I remember most.
(And for the record, I am not torn between Ralph and Johnny. I love both of them equally. Now, if only I could arrange a trip with either of them …)

About the author:Nadia Asanova is a freelance writer/eternal student/sometime traveler. She loves to daydream, bake and sing in the shower. Her next big adventure is a trip to Turkey later this year.