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Today’s blog is another discussion about how solo travel can help push us to be better people. I’m going to be comparing how instead of trying to “find ourselves” on our next solo travel trip we should instead focus on finding out about others. For another post about how solo travel changes our mindset, you can read this blog about receptivity, or this one about freedom.
If you prefer to watch and listen, remember you can always check out my Youtube channel.
For this discussion I am sharing an excerpt from my memoir, which tells the story of my time in India. I’ll start with a bit of background before I get into the memoir (learn more about my book here!).
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While in India, I was living and working with a few locals in Bangalore at a preschool. I spent the majority of my time with my coworkers’ friends and family, which made me feel like some kind of adopted Canadian relative. I loved it.
I was constantly amazed at how so many things felt foreign and strange to me in India, while at the same time I became used to them so quickly.
My friends were shocked at how I tolerated (and loved) the spicy food, and how I tolerated (and thrived) in the heat. My housemates would sleep with only a top sheet and the fan on full blast, whereas I had a thick blanket and the fan off most nights. They often joked that I was not a real Canadian and that my parents had to be from Andhra Pradesh (an Indian state known for super spicy food).
When I first tried Indian tea, I had no idea how much cream and sugar I was about to consume. Unlike the tea I am used to which is usually served black with cream and sugar on the side, I was served this thick sugary hot beverage. Though not what I considered as ‘tea’ in my mind, I began to consider tea time in India as dessert time, which worked for me. Who doesn’t like a midday treat?
To me, one of the most fun things about solo travel is trying out new things like this for yourself. Sometimes you end up liking the new things so much you make them a part of your life forever after.
The idea is that opening up to foreign things as simply ‘different’ rather than ‘strange’ does two important things:
1. Helps us become more empathetic to other people, and appreciate different ways of life, traditions, and ideas.
2. It allows us to eventually bring that open-mindedness toward the way we view ourselves, which inevitably helps bring about a sense of peace and fulfillment from within.
With that said, let’s get into the excerpt from my memoir about my year-long solo travel adventure!
One morning Rishik, Chetan, and I are working in the living room when I hear a strange whining voice coming from outside. It’s an older man’s voice, but I can’t understand a single word.
“What the heck is that guy saying? ‘Pay for’? Pay for what?” I assume either Rishik or Chetan can answer.
“Ah, simple.” Rishik clears his throat. “Paper. ‘PAYYYPA!’ He’s asking for yesterday’s newspaper.”
“Couldn’t he enunciate better?” I raise one eyebrow. “It’s a bit confusing screeched out like that, no?”
Rishik laughs. “This is how they get people’s attention. You should hear the guy who used to sell milk. He’d go ‘HMMF!’ Milk is ‘halu,’ but the ‘ha’ and the ‘lu’ he took away—possibly because he has no teeth—so he was left with ‘HMMF!’”
I drop to the floor with a stomach cramp from laughing. Rishik repeats his milk and paper man impressions for me like a broken record for the rest of the day and my entire time in India.
We laugh and poke fun at each other, not just the street hawkers. Late one afternoon, the three of us are glued to our laptops working. Rishik breaks our focus, as he is usually the first to do so.
“You know,” he lifts his gaze from the laptop screen. “When I picked you up from the airport, I could barely lift your bag! Seriously, I don’t know how you lug that thing around.”
“She must be incredibly dense.” Chetan strokes his chin with his thumb and first finger. “I bet if we calculated her body density it would be far higher than the average person’s.”
“Right,” Rishik squints. “It would be easier to calculate if you were liquid.”
Chetan’s eyes widen. “We can put you in a grinder!”
I slap my hand into my face. “Or,” I say as I uncover my face, “I could be submerged in water, and we measure the difference in volume that way.”
“I agree with Chetan,” Rishik chokes on a snicker. “It’s simpler if you’re liquified. It would provide the most accurate volume.”
Not all our conversations are this dark humored, but they are always this silly. My Indian friends are different from me in terms of our habits and physical traits for sure, but we share our sense of humor.
Moments like these remind me of some close friendships back home. In the middle of a crowd at a party, my other dancer friends and I are the first to break into a choreographed dance routine if the right song comes on, without a care of who’s watching.
Rishik and Chetan allow me to set my silly, funny side free even when I’m oceans away from home. Wherever I travel to later this year, I hope to find this kind of connection with people.
The paper man, vendors selling live chickens, a family of six on a single scooter on the road, and eating food with my hands—everything is novel to me.
“It’s not too spicy for you, Danika?” Divya fans at her mouth in a futile attempt to cool her palate from the biryani we ordered for lunch.
I use my thumb to push another scoop of rice off my fingers into my mouth. “No.” I swallow the mouthful of biryani. “It’s super tasty!”
The explosion of spices and flavor entices me to continue eating despite the heat building on my tongue.
Chetan and Rishik usually eat leftovers from the evening before for breakfast. One morning, I stir together my usual cinnamon raisin oats, sweetened slightly with a pinch of brown sugar, leaving extra for Rishik and Chetan to try.
Chetan creases and puckers his face like he’s eaten a rotten lemon. “Seriously . . . I’m sorry Danika, but there’s no flavor here at all.” He reaches into the fridge for green chilies and then into the cupboard for masala spice.
My jaw drops as I watch him add both to his bowl. I take half a teaspoon to test out the spicy oatmeal. It’s not bad, but I still prefer my sweet alternative. Days later, I’m face to face with prepackaged instant “masala oatmeal” at a market as a healthy breakfast option. Masala oatmeal is typical for them but foreign to me.
“I think masala oatmeal is another bucket shower scenario,” I tell the guys.
“I still can’t believe you didn’t know why we kept the mug and bucket under the shower,” Rishik chuckles.
Chetan pushes his glasses up the ridge of his nose. “I can’t believe you wash yourself with the trickling water of the shower head!”
Indians normally fill a large bucket with hot water, squat down, and pour mugs full of the water on themselves to wash and rinse. If you’re lazy like Rishik, you sit on one of the spare kindergarten school chairs we have in the house.
We laugh and tease each other about what we believe to be standard, like savory versus sweet oatmeal or bathing squatted versus standing. I had never considered that normal could be such a subjective term.
That’s it for today’s excerpt!
A lot of the time I hear people talking about ‘finding themselves’ while abroad on a solo travel adventure. But I prefer to look at solo travel as an opportunity to learn about the vast diversity of ways of life on the planet.
We should try and alter our thinking to become less self-centred, and realize that the world does not revolve around everything that we already know and are used to. We can only hope to learn and experience everything the world has to offer in a single lifetime.
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this excerpt and find the story interesting make sure to subscribe to my email list so that you don’t miss out on any new ideas, tips for solo travel, and excerpts from my memoir.
If you’re keen to read about another special place I visited during my year-long adventure, read this story about a tiny village in Nepal.
Wishing you all the best in your future adventures and I hope you find some magic wherever you go, whether a solo travel trip to India, or to a new part of your home town.
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Much love,
Danika
