Last fall, I had a short stint playing with the local ultimate frisbee team, the Soi Dawgz. Finding them was difficult- their webpage was under construction. Their advertised email was non-existent. It took a brain fart for me to think to look them up on Facebook. Bingo.
Armed with a vague map and vague directions, directions that said “hope on a motocycle taxi and say you want to go to the Big Field” I went in search of pick-up ultimate.
I try to go by the map. And walk to it. It was a grid map. Walk a straight line. How hard can that be? After the third windy intersection, I gave up. I was utterly lost. I called the contact I had. And she had no idea where I was.
I wander to another fork, each side with a field clearing. Left: empty. Probably not it. Right: empty but a gaggle of people in the lot by it. Cool. I’m there. I walk up and realise the people milling about were men finishing their badminton practice. I work up the courage to ask the group if they knew where the frisbee field was. With perfect English, one man says he thinks he knows the general area they would be in and offers me a ride.
By now, alarm bells should be going off. But they’re not. And I’m sweaty, lost, tired. Probably against all logic, I took him up on his offer. As the car cruises around each drive methodically in search of the right field, I finally ask “What is this place?”
“It’s an Army base”