Return to station

My husband is one of the most directionally challenged people I know, superseded only by our daughter. He is the last person you want to ask directions, or depend on, if you are lost in the middle of the wide open prairie. Even with the sun rising to his right in the sky, he cannot tell you which way is north, south, east, or west. If he instructs you to go left at the intersection, you can bet your bottom dollar, that you should go right.

In spite of this insider knowledge, I still allow him to take the lead when we are traveling. This is probably because I am not as smart as I’d like to think I am. For some reason, perhaps a certain innate laziness on my part, I always drop back and let him lead the way.

Many years ago, we had the opportunity to take a flight to London, England. It would be our first kid free trip anywhere since the youngest had been born. We were so excited. It was also our first trip abroad together and we were going to a place that I had always dreamed of visiting. It was going to be awesome.

Piedmont Airlines legacy paint.

Everything went extremely well with our flight to London. We were flying Piedmont Airlines on what was, at that time, their new EOW 767. Their permissions were for Gatwick so we would miss the hectic experience of Heathrow, for which I was grateful.

Upon arrival, we successfully navigated entry and customs. Then it was to be a train in to the city followed by a transfer to the underground that would take us to our hotel. We purchased our tickets and headed to our destination. We were in London! Without kids!

Arriving in the station, we purchased our passes. The man in the booth was a lovely gentleman of Caribbean origin who was extremely pleasant and didn’t mind helping the two novice travelers that were present in front of him. We followed his directions and found our way to the first platform. We jumped aboard the train and watched for our stop.

Once there, we got off on the platform and stood there perplexed. Where did we need to go next? Hubby quickly marched up and down the platform. The train on the opposite side of the platform was departing so, rushing, he grabbed my hand dragging me onto the train. I was trying to tell him to wait but we jumped aboard just as the doors closed anyway.

As we headed out of the station, my husband looked at me and said “we are going back the way we came…” with a look of consternation. Yeah boy, we sure were. I told him that that was what I was trying to communicate to him as we rushed aboard.

Imagine the expression on our fine Caribbean gentleman’s face when he saw us back at his booth! He looked at us and asked us what happened? We confessed our stupidity. He laughed and, in his lovely accent, told us “No, man, you got to go down…about 90 meters or so!” Ah! So there were LEVELS to the underground. Duh!

Sure enough, when we returned to our first platform, there were stairs leading down that had gone previously un-detected so we were finally able to make our way to the hotel. In spite of our novice status, we ultimately found the underground truly easy to use while the rest of the trip went remarkably well except for the goose attack incident at Leeds castle. However, it was a landmark navigational tale that lives on in the annals of our family history. It is filed in my little grey cells under “reasons why hubby should not be the navigator”.

Entrance to MBK from the BTS.

For years, I had the upper hand. But eventually, even the mighty must fall. A recent trip to MBK mall in Bangkok in search for inexpensive party shoes proved to be my downfall. After hours of searching, all I had to show for my time spent there was tired feet and an exhausted brain.

It is a pretty simple train ride from the mall. The train originates at the mall and I have to get off at my station. But, I was tired and didn’t want to get my reading glasses out of my purse. Thinking that I remembered things correctly, while squinting at the rail map, I got off at the transfer station and went across the platform to the other train. Seriously? I asked myself once I was on, realizing my mistake. Undaunted, I got myself turned back around.

Directional signs.

Well, I thought, since I got off the train directly opposite, one could ass-u-me that it would be the same train to take me to my “home” station. Well, guess what? Wrong – again! I was soon at the mall from where I started. Why read the directional signs? I knew what I was doing, right? Chuckling at myself, I got myself turned around, and ultimately deposited at the correct station. Anyone watching me would have thought I had lost my mind.

A clever woman would have kept this faux paux to herself. But, I am not all that clever. I confessed to my husband who has promptly filed it in his “things to goad my wife with” file.

The only way to console myself is to remember that it took me 25 years to commit the same mistake. I am sure that, in the end, I will have gotten the most mileage out either event; and, generally speaking, I can still figure out which way is north with a little help from my friend the sun.

 

Stairs going down to next level at BTS station.