Seat of Our Pants

Martin and I just finished updating our About Us page with the story of how we met. I figured it would be fun to post the stories as well – in the event that you’re reading this and aren’t our parents, who already know the story. This version is Martin’s story…

How Martin met Jaime…

I had just spent a few months in Western Australia, mostly lazing around in the Kimberly region. My plan was to go back to Sweden, and I was determined to drag my return trip out as long as possible. For starters, I had decided to travel up the Malay peninsula by train, after which I was going to head up to China and make my way to Beijing. There, I hoped to catch a train to the European part of Russia and then on to Helsinki and Stockholm. For now, I was treating myself to a nice hotel in Bangkok – I felt a bit weary after sloshing around in Cattle Class trains for a week (I later learned that traveling in 1^st class is not that expensive around those parts).

I recall sitting in a dingy internet shop when a whim struck me: I should stop by and have a look at Cambodia. After all, I was really close and I wasn’t in a particular hurry anywhere. A visit to the travel agent next door informed me that it would be pretty inexpensive, so I decided to have an espresso and read the Bangkok Post first, and then make up my mind. Two gulps of coffee and a half-hearted attempt at reading the paper later I had made my choice: of course I had to go to Cambodia.

Twenty-four hours later, I was sitting in the lobby of the Ambassador Hotel, waiting to get picked up by the shuttle. A British Vietnam war veteran was talking into my left ear, and a big, slightly damaged guy from New Jersey was droning on and on at my other side. The Jersey dude (Tom) was doing what’s known as a ‘visa run’ – going across the border for ten minutes to renew his visa. Half an hour later, while Tom was telling me a long-winded and pointless story about his fourth wife’s family in Chiang Mai, a bell boy showed up and told us that the bus service was there.

Walking out through the front doors I had made up my mind to try to sit as far away from Tom as possible. The doors to the van slid open, and I was treated to a smile from a pretty, long-haired girl wearing weird green baggy pants. “Welcome to the Mini-bus”, she said in an unmistakeable American accent.

I guess I’ve been on that mini-bus ever since.

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