While visiting an unfamiliar scene, whether a new city or a house party full of strangers, most people fall within two categories. Those in the thought camp of “I don’t know anyone; I have no idea who I might see here again” are generally conservative in their behavior, avoiding embarrassing accidents or outbursts in the case that someone in the crowd may remember the event and haunt them later with such evidence. The other half share the mentality that “I don’t know anyone; I will never see these people again” and tend to hold nothing back. Such individuals are freed from the typical inhibitions of their familiar circles and often feel as though they have nothing to lose.
As a simultaneously naive and overconfident traveller, I consistently embody the second group. This has led to wardrobe and dance move risks and, recently, asking for help. A lot of help. It may seem counterintuitive to equate “independence” with seeking advice on all of my decisions, whether I am gauging which street cart serves the best banh mi or how safe the night market actually is for a young woman. If I learned one thing this semester, however, it was that I never know more than the person next to me. Spending hours in my apartment reading various travel blogs posted by young couples who were paid two years ago to stay in a luxury resort in the Philippines may, in fact, not be the most relatable source when planning my own trip to the island country. Meeting people while traveling does not strictly serve a social function but introduces an abundance of new opinions into my database. Instead of taking Trip Advisor and the posts of millions of visitors as truth, why not spend that hour long taxi ride from the airport in a new city asking the driver for the best place to watch the sunset or which ferry service is the least crowded?
Sometimes, I still catch myself holding in a question because I know the result — I will undoubtably sound like an idiot tourist. I will play right into that cliche of an ignorant American who paid to see a new country and did not take any time to research its culture or history beforehand. What I realized, though, was that no matter how much preparation I may have conducted, there is simply no way to predict new challenges that will inevitably arise. Once, I had to ask a flight attendant how an international transfer worked: did I have to recheck my bag, or go through security? Where could I print my second ticket? Surely, “clueless” was written on my face. But the simple relief of letting a kind stranger spell out a solution instead of wallowing in my frustration (and probably missing my second flight) out of pride was well worth the momentary embarrassment.
Allow me for a moment to commend the innumerable benefits of hostels (trust me, I know I am not the first backpacker to discover them, but extend me the grace of pretending for a moment). As I travelled alone for the majority of my semester, I learned that hostels are a bottomless wealth of insider tips on a town. Instead of mapping out destinations and booking all flights and accommodation before a trip, I tended to draw a vague plan and execute as I go. This occasionally manifested as buying plane tickets the day before at double the price, but more often than not my spontaneity yielded unexpected advantages. A typhoon threw off one of my trips and left me stranded in a city that was intended to be a layover, so I adjusted and found a nearby destination I could reach by ferry. The chance to hear from another backpacker who just visited the next city on my agenda and has nothing good to share is well worth the financial sacrifice. Breaking the ice in a quiet hostel kitchen may seem intimidating, but if I look ridiculous, who’s to say I will ever have to face them again?
