The Wrong Bus

Last week I visited Bandung for the first time. I wanted to go to the famous tea plantation outside the city, so I asked a man at the bus station which bus to take. He said number seven. I got on number seven and sat by the window, happy and excited.

After an hour the bus stopped at a small town I'd never heard of. Everyone got off. The driver looked at me and said, "Last stop." I showed him the name of the plantation. He laughed. "Wrong bus," he said. "That's number seventeen."

I was tired and a bit angry, but the driver was kind. He called his friend, who drove a minibus, and in thirty minutes I was at the plantation. It was beautiful — green hills and cool air. Now I always check the bus number twice.