Solo female travel — my "thrilling" experiences meeting strangers!

Text & photos by Lin Xia’ai, excerpted from "No Love, No Goodbye"

Are you facing danger or approaching good fortune? Every moment you choose to trust or distrust someone, you’re engaging with risk. Take bold risks, stay cautious — solo travel only gets more exciting!

If there’s no adventure, no getting lost, no chance encounters with strangers around the corner, no frantic rush for the last train, no expectations or disappointments, no crazy-excited reactions to everything you see — then it’s just not real travel.

I love traveling alone — going wherever I want, doing whatever I want, without having to compromise with anyone. It's carefree and light, with no burdens. But at the same time, I haven’t ignored the odds of danger that solo female travelers often face. Around every corner, what greets you might be luck… or a major crisis. The most interesting part of travel is always the unknown. Are you willing to immerse yourself in an unfamiliar culture and environment, to bet on the unknown with nothing but your instincts?

I took a small boat to Gili Meno, also known as the “honeymoon island.” Onboard, couples were everywhere, glowing with sweetness. Truth be told, I was asking for trouble by heading to such a romantic hotspot, testing whether my ability to “enjoy” solo travel had leveled up. Though I might have looked a bit lonely sandwiched between those tall, loving couples, it also brought me more unexpected surprises!

“Hey, beautiful, do you have a room booked?” As soon as I arrived at Gili Meno, a tanned young man with curly hair approached me, trying to sell me a romantic double room on the island. “I’m traveling alone, and that’s way over my budget. Plus, I don’t need such a big room,” I told him. “Then let me show you some cheaper homestays — see if any of them suit you?” I followed the enthusiastic, energetic young man as he led me through all the single rooms on the island. That’s when I realized how hard it is for a solo traveler to find comfortable yet affordable lodging here on Gili Meno.

Just as I was weighing whether to accept an over-budget but cozy double room or a cheaper but uncomfortable single one, the young man suddenly came to the rescue with a generous offer: “Why don’t you stay at my place? I’ve got an extra room that’s not being used right now. Sometimes my friends come to visit and stay there.” Looking into his sincere eyes, I thought, “Solo travel really does seem to bring more chances to run into good luck.” Without hesitation, I happily slung my backpack over my shoulder and followed him toward home.

His name was Abi. He told me that over the past few years, he’d been working on cruise ships around the world — Europe, the U.S., and Southeast Asia. Now he was back on the little island taking a break, helping his uncles and cousins greet tourists at the dock. When he wasn’t busy, he’d grab his guitar and jam casually with friends. He loved this lifestyle, but there was one thing missing — a girlfriend. (As he said this, he glanced at me. Maybe I was being oversensitive, but I suddenly felt uneasy under his enthusiastic yet somewhat shady gaze.)

Just as I was starting to get suspicious and mentally raising my guard, we arrived at Abi’s house. This cute little place with a thatched roof and a small garden began battling with my growing unease. “Do you know what kind of tree this is?” Abi pointed to a large tree behind him, then mysteriously picked up a tuft of cotton-like fluff from the ground and placed it in my hand.

“A cotton tree? Is this really a cotton tree?” I asked, incredulously playing with the soft fluff in my hand. “Yeah, if you stay a few more days, you can collect enough to make a down jacket!” Abi cheerfully gave me a tour of his self-made garden, showing off the plants he’d grown himself, the thatched roof he’d redone, and more. “Should I stay or should I go?” I was stuck between a rock and a hard place, unsure whether to proceed or retreat.

“Just leave your luggage here. Let’s go to the beach, drink, and sing,” Abi said, holding a guitar and beer in one hand while draping the other over my shoulder. Ten minutes later, Abi, a Dutch girl named Julie, and I were sitting in a tiny thatched hut near the beach, sipping beer and listening to Abi strumming and singing his own island compositions. “Let’s eat, let’s drink, we’re friends — the most important thing is to sing and drink together!”

Having worked around the world, Abi was clearly curious about both the world and love. After playing a few songs and downing some homemade rice wine, his roving eyes and fidgety moves started showing. He moved closer and closer to Julie, constantly flirting with her through his gaze. I quietly asked Abi if he liked her, and he answered with a lecherous smile, “Just for fun!” He liked all pretty girls, he said, as he continued to grope the Dutch girl’s thigh while winking at me. I quickly distanced myself, silently deciding that after one more glass of rice wine and one more song, I’d grab my backpack and head back to the slightly pricier but safer double room.

There are many things to be cautious of when surviving on a small island: people trying to sell you marijuana or illegal drugs, those who see solo women as easy targets for freebies, overloaded boats that look like they’re one wave away from disaster, homemade rice wine that may or may not contain deadly methanol, and the young man before me, whose eyes were clouded with alcohol and lust. Travelers come and go, and when the chance for “just for fun” arises, they won’t let it slip.

I asked Abi, “Do you like living here?” He replied, “Of course, it’s my second paradise.” “Then where’s your first paradise?” His bloodshot eyes locked onto mine, paired with a wicked smile as he whispered in my ear, “If you want to know, come home with me later and I’ll tell you…” I left the scene of potential mischief, immensely relieved to have escaped unscathed. I glanced back at Abi, Julie, the scattered moonlight, and the sound of the guitar…

I remember when I graduated from university and traveled solo across Europe. At a remote little station in Prague, I was surrounded by scammers from all directions. These crooks pretended to be “fake” police officers, claiming they needed to “help” me check my tickets and cash. The excuse sounded completely bogus, and there was no one around to call for help. I had to save myself — fighting four on my own was no-win. Thinking fast, I played the “crazy woman” card, screaming and running for my life, sprinting at full speed toward the nearest crowd.

Back then, the internet didn’t exist. All you had were dog-eared maps and well-worn copies of Lonely Planet. On long trips, you had to track down phone booths to call youth hostels for reservations, struggling through all kinds of strange accents in English, and even after hanging up, you still weren’t sure if you actually had a room.

During those little setbacks and minor crises, there was always a pair of warm hands reaching out to me — “Do you need help?” And usually, miracles and good fortune would naturally follow that question. Back in my student days during my solo travels in Europe, I was once rescued by four kind strangers who invited me straight to their home to stay. I was lucky — I received genuine help, completely free of ulterior motives. The greatest warmth a solo traveler feels in a foreign land is the selfless care and hospitality of strangers.

I’ve hitchhiked in many different countries, and each time, luck seemed to be on my side. But could it be that when you meet someone briefly in a foreign place, feel a spark, and end up chatting, drinking, dancing, and sharing a holiday romance — you might actually be moving closer to danger, even letting the wolf into your own home?

Sometimes you only have one second to think, judge, and decide — to say yes or no. You don’t want to be so cautious that you think everyone in the world is bad, but you also don’t want to be naïve and think everyone is good. After all, stories of scams, assaults, even organ thefts are all too common. Any drink you leave unattended might turn into poison. Solo travel is a constant invitation to both romance and adventure — good luck and bad luck are always waiting for you at the next crossroads.

In Chiang Mai, a boy I met at a pool party asked if I wanted to go to his room. I said no. Then he asked if I wanted to continue the night at a bar. I pretended to feel unwell and said maybe next time. On a small island near Bali, many people asked if I wanted to smoke weed or try a “special” kind of alcohol. I smiled and said no every time because I sensed the danger. I’d already heard stories of people dying abroad after drinking that “special” brew. When you’re traveling solo, you really need to keep your guard up — you could be gambling with something huge.

One morning in Lovina, a village in northern Bali, a strange man knocked on my door. “Hey, you must be Mila, right? I’m a friend of A’K. He asked me to pick you up today to go to Gitgit Waterfall. He said you mentioned wanting to go yesterday, but he’s not free, so he asked me to take you instead. It’s free, no charge!”

I cracked the door open a bit and peered at this burly, slightly bearded, tanned man. My still-half-asleep brain tried to process everything he was saying: A’K was a local guy I’d just met (see the later story “The Blue Eyes I Can’t Forget”), and I had indeed mentioned wanting to visit the waterfall. This bearded man knew my name, the homestay I was staying at, and even my room number — he must have gotten it from A’K. I trusted A’K, so I figured I could trust this “friend of A’K.” After a quick mental checklist, I decided to hop on the shiny new heavy motorcycle he offered and headed toward Gitgit Waterfall.

The speed of the motorcycle snapped me back to reality. I kept asking the bearded man how much farther it was, but he dodged the question, bragging instead about how cool his new bike was and how much he’d saved up for it in installments. I didn’t care how cool or fast the bike was — I just wanted to know why I hadn’t seen a single sign pointing to Gitgit Waterfall. Where was this road even going? Was he really a friend of A’K? More and more questions and doubts crept up my spine.

“The weather’s nice today. There should be a lot of people at Gitgit Waterfall, huh?” I didn’t want him to sense my growing anxiety, so I tried to play it cool and subtly figure out where I actually was. … (No response.) … (Still nothing.) The motorcycle had already left the town area, climbing continuously through valleys. The scenery of green mountains and clear water was beautiful, but I had no interest in enjoying it.

“We’re almost there. Just two more minutes.” Finally, the bearded man turned his head and told me this. My mind raced, calculating how I’d get out of this situation in two minutes.

When we arrived, all I saw was a very basic little table serving as a ticket booth, with two thuggish-looking young guys standing nearby. After whispering with them, the bearded man tried to charge me an outrageously high entrance fee (500 Taiwanese dollars) — a price that seemed astronomical for the area. I couldn’t run away, I couldn’t scream — I had to negotiate my way through. “This isn’t even Gitgit Waterfall. Why is the ticket so expensive? Can you give me a discount? Aren’t you all friends of A’K?” I lowered my stance, using gentleness to fight back, and eventually agreed to pay 50 Taiwanese dollars to get in.

I followed the bearded man into what he claimed was a hidden gem known only to locals. The so-so scenic area had only the two of us. Along the way, I pretended to admire the beautiful surroundings, trying to hide my fear. He gave half-hearted introductions about the tranquility of the waterfall. Suddenly, he turned to me, towering at 180 cm with fierce eyes, and barked, “Give me money. I brought you here, so you owe me for gas and labor — 1,000 Taiwanese dollars. If you don’t pay, I’ll dump you here, and no one will ever find you!”

He grabbed my shoulder with one hand while the other stayed in his pocket. I couldn’t tell if he was holding a knife, a gun, or just pure determination. To be honest, I felt completely defeated. Since there was no hope for rescue, I had to rely on my wits to save myself. I tried to calm down and defuse the danger I was about to face.

“Of course I’ll give it to you. You went through so much trouble bringing me here and riding such a nice motorcycle. But I didn’t bring that much money with me right now, I’ll go back and get it for you later~” I chose wisdom over bravery—using a soft tone to ease his guard first. “Give me the cash you have on you, I need to buy cigarettes.” The stubble-faced man wasn’t giving up. “Don’t rush it, this place is so beautiful, let’s take some photos first. Come on, take one for me!”

This move was all about “turning an enemy into a friend.” I told myself that pissing him off was the least wise thing I could do at that moment—after all, we were in the middle of nowhere, totally isolated, and I was in a highly vulnerable position. If the stubble-faced guy got annoyed and decided to get rid of me in the mountains, no one would hear my cries for help. But he just kept pushing his luck—actually hugging me and insisting on taking an intimate selfie. Oh my god. At that point, survival was all that mattered, so I endured the humiliation and went along with it, taking two extremely uncomfortable selfies with him in front of the waterfall. But even after the photos, he still didn’t let go. He started speaking broken English and leering at me with suggestive eyes, his hands roaming roughly up and down. “I think you’re really beautiful, your body is great, I really like you. Why don’t you stay in Indonesia as my girlfriend? I’d treat you really well…”

Believe me, those looks and words still haunt me to this day—they make me feel genuinely sick. “Ah, my foot hurts so much!” Diverting attention—misdirection—was probably the only tactic I had left. I pretended to have twisted my ankle, immediately acting as if I was in unbearable pain. The stubble-faced man, who had been enjoying his unexpected advantage, panicked at the sight. “Can you take me back? Please, my foot really hurts!” “I’ll give you the money when we get back.” “Ow, my foot really, really hurts!” I cried out dramatically, tears streaming down my face.

One thing long-term solo travel has taught me is this: stay calm. Calm. Calm. Even when things spiral almost completely out of control, you must calmly cling to the last shred of a chance to save yourself. My top-notch, truly convincing acting skills managed to reach the greedy and lecherous stubble-faced man. I’m grateful he seemed to be a “first-timer,” not a repeat offender—he still retained a trace of basic decency and humanity, and didn’t end up enacting some brutal mountain murder scene.

But on the way back, he still tried to extort money from me using very unskilled intimidation tactics. Still, I deflected his demands with ease, and even managed to talk him down from 1,000 New Taiwan Dollars to just 50 (NTD). That felt like a small victory in an otherwise awful situation. (Damn, I’m good at bargaining!)

“Can you teach me how to speak Indonesian?” Once back in the city, I breathed a sigh of relief and continued solidifying our “turned-friend” relationship. The simple-minded youngster was thrilled that I showed interest in his language—I think that was the key to successfully “bargaining” my way out. So along the way, we went through counting from one to ten, saying good morning and good night, hello and goodbye. By the time we reached the homestay, I could already say a simple and complete sentence in Indonesian: “Have a smooth day!”

He happily took back his 50 dollars, and I collapsed onto the bed, utterly exhausted, savoring the victory I’d scraped out from the edge of disaster. That was the closest I’ve ever come to losing both my money and my safety. I blamed myself for being naïve, took pride in my ability to stay calm under pressure, and felt grateful for every twist that led to survival. I reminded myself once again: “Don’t expect to get something from someone else, because nothing is ever truly free.”

“Have a smooth day!” After deleting the terrifying selfie taken with the stubble-faced man in front of the waterfall from my phone, I fell into a deep, weary sleep…