Summary

The author recounts an unforgettable encounter with an Indonesian woman living in Himachal, India, during a challenging solo trip.

Abstract

During a year-long dream trip to the Himalayas, the author, initially planning to travel solo, ends up journeying with friends. Despite the trip not meeting expectations, the author cherishes the unexpected moments, particularly a memorable meeting with an Indonesian woman on a local bus to Bir Billing. This woman, who had immigrated to India years ago, shared her life story, from living in the States to settling in the mountains of India, where she became a street vendor. The interaction, facilitated by their shared Indonesian heritage, left a lasting impression on the author, who reflects on the beauty of travel and the enriching experiences it brings, even when they diverge from initial plans.

Opinions

The author values the spontaneous and authentic experiences of travel over meticulously planned itineraries.
The author believes that the most memorable aspects of travel are often the unplanned interactions with people from different backgrounds.
The shared language and cultural connection between the author and the Indonesian woman were significant in forming a bond during their brief encounter.
The author views the woman's life journey, from Indonesia to the United States and finally to India, as a testament to the diverse and unpredictable nature of life's path.
Despite the physical discomfort and logistical challenges faced during the trip, the author does not regret the experiences, as they contributed to personal growth and storytelling.
The author suggests that travel continuously offers lessons and reveals beauty in unexpected places, emphasizing the importance of being open to new experiences.

I met an Indonesian Lady in Himachal, India

And she wasn’t a tourist

Image by author: Walking by a Hot Air Balloon in Manali

I had a year-long dream of traveling the Himalayas solo. The circumstances changed towards the end of my college, and I had a strong obligation to bring friends along.

I didn’t mind it. But many things didn’t turn out the way I imagined them. More than the infamous destinations we visited, it was the little moments I remembered most. And it all happened simply so unimaginably.

Among them, this was one that I still remember ever so clearly. After 3 days in Manali, our next stop was Bir Billing — Asia’s highest paragliding spot.

Having a tight budget, we decided to make do with the public bus. It was around 7 7-hour beastly ride with cramped seats, dizzy curvy paths, and stops every kilometer or so. To date, I think that was the worst decision we had made on our trip.

To make matters worse, I had come down with a fever that morning. Both my head and back gave me hell throughout the journey. I vividly remember passing out as soon as we reached our hostel.

But even more vivid was my memory of a person I met before we started the horrible voyage.

Where are you from Auntie?

We boarded the seemingly rundown local bus and settled down with all our bags. We had yet to plan on the itinerary in Bir Billing. Being early birds, there was only one other person on the bus apart from us.

With vegetable market bags on her lap, it was safe to assume her a local. We ended up asking her for advice about Bir.

As my friends conversed, even in my half-conscious state I realized she spoke Hindi with difficulty. Pushing further, I asked, “Aunty, where are you from?”

She replied in broken Hindi again, “I am from Indonesia, but I came here years ago. I have my family here now.”

I looked at her intently. Then I smiled at her, “Ibu dari Indonesia ya? Saya jugah dari Indonesia.”

Spending most of my childhood in Indonesia, I was familiar with the language. And I wasn’t trying to test her — I knew immediately with her facial structure and complexion that there was nothing to doubt.

She was taken aback, but she replied, “Iiya, saya dari …(Sorry, I forgot the place). You can speak Indonesian?”

The Vegetable market Bags on her Lap

I laughed and told her about how my family lived in the Riau Islands of Indonesia 20 km South of Singapore. She exclaimed that she had been to Batam Riau as well.

With wrinkles spreading sideways across her eyes and cheeks pouched beneath her face bones, I could tell she had seen the world quite a bit.

I asked her about the places she had wandered. With the only bits of Hindi, English, and Indonesian that either of us could communicate in, we understood each other’s lives as much as we could.

As far as I can remember, she moved from Indonesia to the States and worked there for a decade or two. That’s where she had grasped her English speaking skills.

But somehow she had ended up in these offbeat northern mountains of India and had settled down, found her husband and her life here.

Then she revealed how she was a street vendor here in Manali and now she was returning home. As she spoke, she opened that vegetable market bag on her lap.

Curious, I peeped in. She took out a local deep-fried snack of sorts. She said, “I make these at home.”

She handed one to me and another to my friends. Even with my nausea still racing in the background, I couldn’t help but take a bite. It wasn’t the obligation — the thought of resisting simply didn’t cross my mind.

I vaguely remember its taste yet remember it being somewhat sweet.

A Message from the Dearest Part of Himachal Pradesh

Tourism Overview from Manali’s POV

medium.com

Tailpiece

I know there were so many such events that happened across, if not all, most of my travels. Yet I can’t simply remember them as spontaneously.

It is unfortunate and enigmatic at the same time. But when I sit and dig through my mind of all the things that happened, that’s when something might spark up.

I never did ask the old lady’s name. Neither did we exchange contact information. But somehow as I write this, I have a good feeling that moment is to be well-imprinted on my mind now. And I don’t regret it.

I have always talked so much about how Traveling should be.

But as I dig deeper, there’s always something more to be learned — something more beautiful to be uncovered.