My first trip to Thailand at the age of twelve was an adventure. My parents and I flew with Turkmenistan Airlines, stopping in Ashgabat, the capital. The airport wasn't yet well-developed at the time; passports were checked and stamped by hand, and hand luggage was rather roughly searched. That's exactly when my backpack broke. Of course, it was too heavy, and the men weren't exactly traveling with kid gloves. With my broken backpack, I continued on to a small island in Thailand. A few days later, I met a Thai girl my age. Her parents owned a small restaurant on the beach. We communicated with each other using hand gestures and quickly became inseparable. Shortly before the end of our stay, she looked at my hastily repaired backpack and said I couldn't fly home like that, so she gave me hers. Of course, I didn't want to accept the gift at first, but that would have been an insult. It wasn't until much later that I truly realized that my new friend had given me a very special piece, and above all, that the backpack was her only one. We remained in contact by letter for a few years, and I visited her once more, then our contact ended, but what remained was a beautiful backpack.
