For as long as I can remember, I’ve been a girl on a mission, the one with a never-ending supply of grand plans. When I was ten, I became obsessed with the idea of boarding school, so I called an urgent family meeting to discuss my possible attendance. Though I loved my parents, I questioned whether my suburban hometown could afford enough adventure to sustain me through high school. As always, my mom and dad were sympathetic to my latest plight but claimed they’d miss me too much to send me away. Oh, the burden of being the sole offspring and family entertainer. But with other ambitions on the horizon, such as trips with my camping group, drama club tryouts, and sports leagues, I forged ahead.

By the seventh grade, I was knee-deep in a promising soccer career and working toward a varsity position as a high school freshman. As a junior, I was devising an advanced placement curriculum to max my GPA. Throughout college it was an ongoing schedule shuffle to fit in soccer, sorority, my business major, and a long-distance boyfriend. Then with only a few suitcases and an air mattress to plop on Amanda’s floor, I was off to New York City to pursue a television career. Soon I was plotting a path from sales to marketing, then from network to cable, followed by a GMAT course. Just when I thought I’d hit a wall, the round-the-world trip came up and I was back in business with the grandest plan of all.

But suddenly here I was, Bangkok-bound on a Boeing 757 jet, and it hit me: for the first time in nearly two decades, my future was 100 percent open, with no clear-cut path to follow. Unless a husband and two kids were waiting for me back in the States, there was no next phase to glide into naturally. I didn’t have a clue where I’d be living or what I’d be doing a few months from now.

“So you’ll be going back to Manhattan when your big adventure is through, I suppose?” my Irish flightmate, Daniel, asked. In the few hours since we’d left London—my stopover city from the States, where I’d just spent two and a half weeks visiting my family—we’d swapped mini–life stories, so he knew all about Amanda, Holly, and our world travels.

“You know, I’m not really sure,” I replied slowly, visions of sleazy apartment brokers, a zero bank balance, no boyfriend, and no job zapping my brain like migraine waves.

“I was there once as a boy and loved it. And how exciting that you work in television.”

“Yeah. It was exciting. Maybe I’ll go back. I’m not sure, though,” I said. Old snapshots of Brian and me meeting for lunch in our shared office building or swapping stories about projects and industry contacts over takeout suddenly flashed before my eyes, tempting me to activate the emergency barf bag tucked in the seat pocket.

“Hey, no worries. You’ll figure everything out when you get home,” he said, which was another sad reminder that my parents had recently sold my childhood house in Maryland to retire to Florida. “So, no sense in fretting now. And how could ya, when the attendant is giving us all these extra bottles?” he added with a grin, toasting my wineglass with his fourth whiskey mini.

Try as I might to stash Daniel’s free-spirited attitude in my carry-on and transport it with me off the plane, our innocent Q & A session opened a Pandora’s box of dormant neuroses. As I sat all alone in my Big John’s Hostel dorm, my inner demons flew out in a fury. In less than four months our trip would be over, and then what? Where would I live? What would I do for work? How was I supposed to start my dating career at twenty-nine, when most of my friends were nearing the end of theirs? What if “The One” was a figment of my overly romantic imagination and I never got married and had babies?

I tried to tell myself that it was just my fatigue talking. Between the six-hour flight from Tampa to Gatwick, a bus transfer to Heathrow, a nine-hour layover, a twelve-hour flight to Thailand, customs, baggage claim, and the taxi ride to Big John’s, I’d been awake and on the move for who knows how long. I’d lost track of time somewhere over Europe. But if I could just get some sleep, things would surely look brighter in the morning. Unfortunately, the morning on this side of the world wasn’t due to appear for a while. It was barely 5 p.m., and I knew that the nearly deserted hostel would soon be flooded with backpackers returning from a day of sightseeing to pile onto hall couches and watch movies, hit the downstairs bar, or get ready for a night out.

So as much as I hated to wrench myself off my comfy platform bed, it made sense to push through for a few more hours and crash out with everyone else later. Besides, it’d probably be good for me to walk around and clear my head, maybe grab a bite to eat. Plus, I still needed to e-mail the girls to let them know I’d arrived safely and coordinate meeting up either with Amanda and her family the next day or with Holly in Koh Tao, where she was getting her scuba certification.

Once the layers of travel grime were scrubbed off my body and rinsed down the communal shower drain, I changed into my standard Southeast Asia uniform (tank top, diaphanous skirt, and flip-flops) and headed outside to hit my favorite shopping pavilion up the street. Unlike Khao San Road, the infamous backpackers’ ghetto where Leonardo DiCaprio acquires the map to The Beach and where most of Bangkok’s budget accommodations are still found, Big John’s was nestled in the upscale Sukhumvit neighborhood—a formerly seedy area that had been recently revitalized with modern offices, trendy restaurants, dance clubs, art galleries, and bridal boutiques, and sprinkled with intermittent noodle stalls, lemongrass-scented spas, and tuk-tuk stands.

Settling in a lounge chair on the al fresco patio of Au Bon Pain, which, along with Starbucks, was the preferred haunt of local artists and designers, I nursed an iced latte under a striped umbrella and watched the community’s daily grind slow to a smooth churn. Well-heeled wives greeted their sharply dressed businessmen husbands for dinner, teens in the latest punk/mod attire browsed record store aisles, schoolkids nibbled on sweet banana skewers, and expats loaded groceries into parked BMWs and Mercedes-Benzes.

While the implications of Daniel’s in-flight survey still pressed on the back of my mind, sitting in this serene pocket of the city, I felt much more relaxed and couldn’t help but relish the quirkiness of my existence. Less than forty-eight hours earlier, I had been lying on my parent’s sofa watching old movies, and now here I was in another country halfway around the world, chilling alongside a crowd of Thai hipsters.

“Excuse me, do you know if this is the right way to the Skytrain?” asked a slender blonde who stood a few feet away on the sidewalk, motioning down the street.

“Oh, um, yeah, it is,” I said, realizing she was talking to me. “Just keep going until you get all the way to the end of the road and turn right. You’ll see the tracks above you and a set of stairs up to the entrance.”

“Ah, brilliant. You’re a lifesaver. Thank you,” the girl said.

Although Bangkok was an incredibly user-friendly city, the similarly named and numbered sois (streets) could be really confusing. It’d taken Amanda, Holly, and me a few wrong turns to get the city down, but at this point, even as directionally challenged as I was, I could navigate the public transportation system to most major landmarks.

Once I was caffeinated enough to stay awake for a while longer, I headed back to Big John’s, where a typical hostel scene was already in progress: new arrivals crowded the lobby, tossing out questions about prices and facilities, regulars lounged with books or took advantage of the free Internet connection, a handful of guys was engrossed in a rugby match on TV, and the local staff delivered bottles of Chang Beer and Australian-style pies (think meat, not fruit) to tables of backpackers, then dashed back to the desk to distribute keys and promote packaged tours.

Without Amanda and Holly there as social buffers, I suddenly felt exposed and self-conscious, as if it were my first day at a new school and everyone was staring at me thinking “Aww, look at that nerd, she doesn’t have any friends to sit with.” Since all the lobby computers were currently occupied, I found a seat at an empty table and immediately snagged a menu, studying the dinner section as if it contained the secret to eternal bliss. During the torturously long wait for my meal, I tried to project the image of a mysterious loner. Yes, I lounged in golden wheat fields contemplating the tragic beauty of the universe. Yes, I poured my poetic angst into leather-bound journals while sipping bourbon in smoky speakeasies.

But after a few odd looks from the waitress, I assumed I looked more crazy than cool, so I gave up. Even after I had eaten a plate of pad Thai one noodle at a time, strolled to the reception to inquire about the cost of laundry, and scribbled a slew of useless travel to-do lists in my notebook, no one looked any closer to abandoning their keyboards, and I was running out of ways to appear busy.

Jesus, Jen, get a grip. You could run upstairs and grab a book, buy a cookie or maybe even…

“Is anyone sitting here?” asked a muscular guy with a slightly affected American accent. Whew! Saved.

“Nope, it’s all yours,” I replied in my most nonchalant tone.

“Cool. Thanks,” he said, plopping down next to me and pulling an expensive-looking camera from around his neck. “Holy shit, I’m sweating. I should really go change my shirt. Hey, you know, supposedly there’s a restaurant down the street with a garden and lots of fans and…”

“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 impossibly 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.

“I just can’t believe that it’s my last day here in Bangkok. I’m actually really bummed,” I said, returning to the table and pulling up a chair next to Frank.

“Aw, man. I didn’t know that. When are you leaving?”

“Our flight’s actually not until 3 a.m., so my friends and I are just going to hop in a taxi from here around midnight. They’re going to be here around 6 p.m., but I’m supposed to meet Mark for dinner later, so I should probably try to pack at some point.”

“Mark? Life-changing guy, right?” Frank said. “Well, hurry up and pack, and let’s go out and celebrate. It’s not every day that you meet someone life-changing. Believe me, I know. I mean, shit, I moved all the way to China for a chick I’d just met.”

“All right, you convinced me. Meet you back here in forty-five minutes?” I asked. “And hey, maybe we can even play tourist and do something really cultural for a change.”

After a quick shower, I set aside an outfit for later, shoved everything else into my backpack, and headed downstairs to check my e-mail. Waiting in my inbox was a note from Mark confirming our dinner and suggesting a meeting place, which sent me into a giddy tailspin all over again. So this was what it felt like when a guy you really like “calls” you back to ask you on a second date?

“It’s a good thing we’re going out to sightsee, because I have way too much pent-up energy right now,” I said to Frank while quickly dashing off a response to Mark that I, too, was really looking forward to our night out.

Frank had suggested we go to Wat Pho, the largest and oldest temple in the city and home of the Reclining Buddha, which meant we’d have to travel downtown to the central pier and hop on a water taxi. Amanda, Holly, and I had taken one of those canal (khlong) boats to the Flower Market, a delightful fairyland of blooms located near the Memorial Bridge on Thanon Chakphet, and I’d relished the experience. Considering that Bangkok had been nicknamed the “Venice of the East” it’s certainly the most authentic way to travel, plus you get a little bonus sun and spray while you ride. After speeding down the banks of the Saen Saeb, we hopped off at the Tha Tien pier and went in pursuit of the big man on the temple campus.

One of the city’s most visited landmarks, the Reclining Buddha measures forty-six meters long and fifteen meters high and is designed to represent the passage of the Buddha to Nirvana, which likely explains the serene smile on his face. With a body decorated entirely with gold plating and mother-of-pearl engravings on his eyes and soles of the feet, the Reclining Buddha, who lies on his right side, is an impressive sight to behold. Frank and I spent hours at Wat Pho, trying to digitally capture all the Buddha’s wide angles and snapping as many shots as we could of the more than one thousand Buddha images on the grounds.

As the day flew by, I was continuously struck by the bitter-sweetness of my impending departure. I’d grown so fond of the mini-life I’d carved out for myself in Bangkok. For the first time since leaving our students at Pathfinder in Kenya, I was genuinely sad to say good-bye to a place and, more important, to the people I’d met there.

On the upside, I was really excited to see Amanda and Holly and get back on the road again, especially since our next stop was Bali. It was strange to think that after one week in Indonesia we would leave “hard-core” foreign travel behind and enter an English-speaking country for the first time in nearly nine months. From that point we had just four weeks in New Zealand, eight weeks in Australia, and it would all be over. I could hardly believe how fast the trip was flying by. In a way, it seemed as if we’d been gone forever, but at the same time, I could remember sitting on the airport floor in Peru waiting for Holly’s lost luggage as if it were yesterday. There had been so many extraordinary moments throughout our journey that I longed to freeze-frame, rewind, and replay them forever. And the second I saw Mark again later that night, I added another one to the list.

I’d arrived at our agreed-upon meeting place a few minutes early, so I sat down on a nearby bench to wait for him. In a sea of petite locals, it’s hard to miss a strapping six foot blond guy, so I noticed Mark when he was still about fifty feet away. Like the first time he’d walked into Big John’s, my heart leapfrogged toward my throat. When he saw me, he grinned and accelerated his pace. Perpetuating the movie moment, I stood and walked quickly toward him, and when we reached each other, he swept me up into a kiss, my arms around his neck, feet dangling in the air just as they should. With a soccer bag slung over one shoulder, his face freshly shaven, and his hair still wet from his postgame shower, he was disarming in every sense of the word.

Since we’d both been experiencing withdrawal symptoms from going too long without Indian food, Mark had picked a place nearby that he said served a mean chicken masala. It was still fairly early for dinner, so aside from a handful of local patrons, we were the only two people in the room. Splitting a bunch of dishes on the menu, we stretched dinner over several hours. Compared to the nervous anticipation that had bounced between us the night before, it suddenly was the most natural thing in the world to be out at dinner together in Bangkok, holding hands and having “How was your day, dear?” chats. Too soon the gold Ganesh wall clock indicated it was time for us to leave. But before we did, I had the waitress snap a quick photo of us with my camera. That way, when I woke up the next day in a totally different country thousands of miles away from Mark, I’d have proof that I hadn’t just imagined him. That he and everything we’d done together had been real.

As we walked hand in hand to the Skytrain, I couldn’t get over what a difference a week had made in my life. I hadn’t magically shed all my worries or uncertainty about returning home, starting all over again, and finding the man I was meant to be with, but knowing that there was someone out there like Mark made me trust that it was possible. While the hopeless romantic in me had desperately wanted to believe that every Juliet had her Romeo, I’d started to lose faith that it could happen to me.

But suddenly there I was, standing in a train car in Bangkok wrapped tightly in the arms of a man who’d completely swept me away the moment we’d met. It had taken me 28 and ⁵/₆ years to experience that elusive notion of love at first sight, but my God, was it ever worth the wait. And I knew now that I could never settle for anything less.

As the car sped along the tracks, Mark leaned back against the door and held me against his chest. Before I knew it, the train began to slow. As we approached Mark’s stop, he looked down at me and smiled.

“You know something, Jen. I’m not sure when or where in the world it will happen, but I have a strange feeling that our paths will cross again.”

With that he pulled me in for one last delicious kiss before the doors slid open and he stepped out. As I watched Mark’s silhouette fade away in the distance, I knew that he was right.