Deciding to live together without even knowing each other’s names — the possibilities of travel with a British boy

Photos and text byOu Beilai’s Travel Diary

We hadn’t even learned each other’s names yet, but we decided to live together.

On the bus, he cheerfully said goodbye to an Indian friend, holding a guitar we had searched high and low in towns big and small but couldn’t find (we later learned it was called a guitalele — no wonder no matter how we tuned it, the sound always felt a bit off). Immediately excited, he borrowed it and played for quite a while, and then we started chatting. We talked a lot about Taiwan and even taught him how to write Chinese characters.

Sam, a boy with a thick British accent and a full beard, worked as a guitar tutor in the UK, and was currently building a skill-exchange couch-surfing website, planning to travel the world by teaching guitar. He had already been traveling in India for over two months and told us how he had just followed an unlicensed local guide, tracking elephant footprints, sleeping in trees in the forest at night with tigers walking beneath them. Before leaving, the guide climbed a tree and harvested a big handful of wild honey from a beehive for him to take away. The guide got stung and his face swelled up, but he said it was fine — the pain would pass, but the good memories would stay.

That honey didn’t just taste sweet, it also had a numbing, slightly astringent edge. With one month left in India, he decided to part ways with his travel companion. Worried about finding a cheap room alone, we said, “If you don’t mind, why not live with us?” And just like that, our new journey became a trio.

After getting off the bus, the tuk-tuk driver introduced to us by the guide we’d met in the last city seemed to have been waiting for ages and came running up to us excitedly: “You must be the friends XXX told me about, right? Come on, I’ll take you to see the room.” “Hey, if one of you can’t find 100 rupees, we’re not taking it!” Sam immediately cut in with a bid before we could even speak.

The driver’s expression changed instantly: “I’m not here to pick you up, I’m here for these two friends.” “Oh, no problem, we’ll just go look for ourselves then.” With that, Sam turned and walked off without looking back. We felt a bit guilty and at a loss, apologizing to the driver and saying we’d walk around a bit and come back if needed.

Facing the enthusiastically pushy Indians, who usually remained friendly even when refused, we would typically just smile and wave them off. We had never been so blunt before, so it was quite a surprise that Sam, who came from relatively wealthy Britain, was actually more daring in bargaining than we were, and almost ruthless in the process.

When faced with problems, he wouldn’t ask locals but instead looked things up in the “backpacker bible” — Lonely Planet, or exchanged info with other backpackers he met on the road. Even after verbally agreeing to stay at a guesthouse, he’d keep looking for better prices and was always prepared to back out if the price wasn’t right — just walk away. During the few days we lived with Sam, I kept observing and reflecting on this backpacking style that was so different from ours, yet shared the same nomadic spirit.

To most people, Sam might seem like a difficult customer, the kind that many vendors wouldn’t like. But he’s not a bad person, nor is he stingy. He still makes friends with locals (which is how he got access to that illegal tour), and after meals, he would leave a bill under his plate as a tip.
When splitting the bill three ways, he would pay a bit more if the amount couldn’t be divided evenly. When negotiating prices with vendors, it seemed less about saving money and more about exploring possibilities and challenges.

Like that afternoon, when we found a guesthouse, left our luggage there, and — based on trust — they even gave us the keys without any deposit. We went out and came back at night, and the moment he walked in, he reacted to the smell in the room, saying there was no way he could sleep there for even one night. So he strongly demanded a room change.

Honestly, at the time, I thought, “It’s already 500 rupees for all three of us, other places are fully booked, and cleaner hotels are so expensive — what more do we want?” But under his strong objection, they actually let us switch to a bigger, cleaner room with a better view for the same price. “How did you know we could change rooms?” “I don’t know, but this is India — anything is possible.”

Although Sam’s haggling methods often made us nervous for him, it also saved us quite a bit of travel money. The three days we lived together cost almost the same as what we used to spend in one day, which made us realize our expenses weren’t actually that cheap. And the “impossibles” they spoke of weren’t really impossible after all.

I know being tough in bargaining isn’t our style, and neither is making enemies with the world just to save money. But maybe there are many possibilities that we fail to see simply because we give up too easily. Brave attempts, even if they don’t lead to the desired outcome, at least teach us something more. Defending your rights gently also has its own power.

Never assume you’ve fully understood how the world works, and never think that only your way is the right way — that’s often where blindness begins.