Have you ever missed a train? I have. And not alone, but as a tour guide with a group of 23 tourists following me. I stood frozen, clutching all the tickets in my hand and looking at the departing train on one side and confusedly facing the tourists on the other. I thought I failed big, but it turned out to be a start to a better journey and a trip full of fun. How? Listen to my story.
Around six years ago, one of my friends who runs a tour agency called to ask me if I could be a guide for a group of Afghan tourists who were visiting Uzbekistan on a USAID program. My friend didn't speak any foreign languages and didn't have extra budget to pay for tour guides, and that was the reason why he needed a helping hand. Working on a flexible schedule and remotely as a journalist, I agreed because it sounded like fun.
We welcomed the tourists in Tashkent, the capital city, and placed them in two different hotels as we couldn't book enough rooms for such a large group in one hotel because of the tourist season. The next two days in Tashkent went smoothly with cultural nights, seminars, and morning trips. On the third day, we were to depart for Samarkand on a bus as per the schedule. However, the night before, the Afghans said they had never been on a high-speed train and asked us if we could adjust the program and book tickets for a train. Usually unavailable for not only the coming days, but for weeks because of high demand, there were over a hundred tickets available on the website of the carrier. So we agreed and changed the plan by canceling the bus ride and purchasing tickets for the high-speed train, not knowing what unexpected turn of events was waiting for us the next morning.
As the guests were staying at two different hotels, my friend and I decided to split and take them from their accommodation to the train station separately. My friend, who felt he was in charge, believed he would reach the station earlier, took all the tickets with him, and left early at 6 a.m. I headed to the other hotel, woke the 12 Afghans, told them to hurry, and took them to the station. It was 7:45 when we reached there, and our train was due at 8:30. One of the Afghans, who was the group leader, said, smiling, “We will miss the train.” But I assured him there was no need to be pessimistic as we had 45 more minutes. However, he said calmly, “You will see, we will miss the train.” I didn't take him seriously because I had never missed a train and was confident we would be well in time. I called my friend and asked if they were coming, to which he replied, “Yes, we are,” but that was not true as I later realized. As his group contained mainly girls and women, they took longer to prepare, and by the time they arrived, it was 8:27!
We rushed onto the platform with all the luggage and backpacks. Even the security staff let us in without checking our documents, understanding our situation. We reached the platform at 8:29, handed our tickets to the conductor, but he said we couldn't board as the train doors would close automatically at 8:30 and there was nothing he could do about it. As he said this, it did really happen – the doors of the train compartment closed and it started moving! And I was there, clutching the tickets and looking at the departing train, and the tourists were looking at me. Some were smiling, some were confused. Imagine being left on the platform with all eyes on you. My friend was silent. It was his first negative experience as well. We stood there for about a minute or two when the Afghan group leader came to me and said, “Don't worry, what seems bitter may be better.”
He was right. I gathered myself together and told my friend to go to the ticket counter and ask if we were eligible for a refund. In the meantime, I told everyone to wait for me there while I went to get a bus. I found a comfortable bus and returned to take them from the train station. We boarded the bus and headed to Samarkand. The bus trip turned out to be much better than I expected it to be. We stopped several times at different locations on the way, had lunch by the mountainside, and got to know each other better. By the time we reached Samarkand, it was around 5:30 p.m. The bus ride took us much longer than the train journey, but it was worth it.
That day I learned a lesson: not everything you think is bad for you is actually bad, and conversely, not everything you believe is good is actually good. We plan and God plans, and God's plan is always better than what we asked for.
Today, even after six years, I still have great relationships with all those Afghans. Some of them moved to other countries because of their career choices or political reasons, but we still communicate like old friends. That trip on the bus was rewarding, for it gave us all long-lasting memories. And today, whenever I encounter a hurdle in my life, I remind myself: “What seems bitter may be better.”
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