Stranded on the top of a mountain in an unfamiliar country wearing a pretty pink dress is a cute idea for pictures on Insta, but it turned out to be quite stressful in real life. We had just finished enjoying scones and tea at an overlook in the Highlands of Malaysia. Taking a cab up the mountain, we were told to just grab another one on the way down.
We enjoyed delicious tea and scones (which definitely felt a bit odd in this setting), but this place was built and farmed during the era of the sun next setting on the British empire. We took pictures of the rolling hills with both locals and fellow travelers, and figured it was time to get home before it got dark. Approaching a taxi driver, we were told the taxi was already spoken for. The driver said, “No taxi today. There is traffic jam."
Really? No taxis at all? Okay, then. I vividly remember where I was standing when he told us this. Realizing we were miles and miles from our hostel, my travel adventure buddy, Elizabeth, found a safe-looking trio who also spoke English (they were British): Pete, Aunt Shirley, and Aunt Shirley’s friend to take us down the mountain to the nearest village where there were allegedly taxis (there were not). It was a restful fifteen minutes in a stranger’s car, even though I am captain of “stranger-danger awareness.” Good thing we got some rest.
The day continued with *miles* of walking from village to village, hoping, praying to beat the sun and avoid those rogues who called us charming names such as “white rose.” I have blondish hair and Elizabeth has reddish hair. Neither of us pass 5’ 1.” Clearly we are twins, or so everyone thought. And we might as well have been wearing signs that said, “Hello! Look over here!”
There were three phases of emotions I dealt with when being whistled at, yelled at, and approached: fear, annoyance mixed with amusement, and anger. At home on Guam, I am accustomed to being a minority, but it is wearisome to feel objectified. And I know I am privileged to begin with, but it's still scary and no fun at the time!
I was processing some firsts at the time...
Never in my life had I been surrounded by head-coverings and veils (niqabs) that only allowed for a woman to peer out through a narrow slit in the fabric. I found myself desperate to make eye contact with them, determined to see them for more than a body with a black tent, attached to their husbands. There were others, of course, with bright and glitzy hijabs, beautiful faces showing, laughing freely.
I know they thought I was a wild child in my spaghetti straps and free-flowing hair. There were several local teenagers who asked to take photos with us. Their smiles, innocence, and “pleases” caused us to consent. My shoulders rubbed against theirs, and I remembered how much God loves us all. And there it was: my heart swelled--it dilated-- and I was able to see more clearly.
Back to the hitchhiking story...
A car full of local women waved us over and offered for us to jump in with them, but they were also in the traffic jam and our walking appeared to be faster anyway. We thought surely we were close to the next taxi station--and we were.
We eventually did make it back to our sketchy hostel, but first we had dinner at the outdoor Indian restaurant in the same village. I have never been so happy to be anywhere in my life. Truly. Ordering copious amounts of food, we filled our bellies with delicious naan, curry, and tea. Comfort food is the thing when you've been hitchhiking, you know.
“You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind. This is the great and first commandment. And a second is like it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself. On these two commandments depend all the Law and the Prophets.”
(Matthew 22:37b-40)
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