Lea_Lane

I'll start. When I was in an East African country, I was at a large event where there were local dancers performing. One fellow came to me and pulled me in to join the dancers. I didn't want to disappoint, so I reluctantly joined in, swaying and shuffling for several minutes. All of a sudden the fellow sat me down and made hand signals; I responded, mimicking him. This went on for several minutes.
Everyone was laughing, and when the music finally ended, I asked someone why all were laughing.
"Oh," she said. "Yor new name in Ngunda. You two are now married!"
I never hear from my new husband. He never writes. He never calls. Men.
Lea

Lea_Lane

Just thought of another funny/unusual incident while soloing. I was watching a cremation in the center of Bali (a rather public thing to do, as people come and join the mourners outdoors). An old lady was laid out on branches and it all was humble and solemn and beautiful. I stayed in the back, standing on a mound. All of a sudden I felt stinging, and realized I was standing on a nest of fire ants. They had crawled up my legs. So I was hopping around on one foot and then the other, trying to scratch quietly and not disturb the ceremony. The mourners turned and noticed me, and kept staring. They must have thought the jumping around like a madwoman was my way of paying respects! It was a nightmare, and I hobbled back to my van, my sarong falling off my legs. All I wanted to do was scratch. The Balinese must have thought I was one of the weirdest women they had ever seen.
Lea

Lea_Lane

Hey, guys, c'mon. I know you're out there. Share some of your most unusual solo experiences.
Here's another of mine. In Malawi Africa I was told to stay in my tent by the river until an armed attendent would accompany me to dinner. Hippos came out to dine, and when a hippo gets hyper, no animal is more dangerous. Well, nobody came, and I got hungry, and I decided to gingerly walk to the boma, where everyone else was already eating. It was dark, and I was nervous, but I was happy to see another lady ahead, bending over.
But it wasn't a hippy lady. It was a lady hippo!
I ran (silently) into the closest tent, where three women were huddled. They must have met the hippo too. That is one way to meet others that I don't recommend.
Anyway, people eventually noticed we were missing and the guard came to fetch us. By that time the hippo had finished eating her dinner and was back in the river.
Lea

bellastar

Hi Lea-
Wow, so tempting-I know so many of us have wonderful stories....
I've been writing mine for a long while now, and so many people have encouraged me to go ahead and try to get them published on one form or another. I hesitated for a long time, but finally started the process last year, and seeing your success is very inspiring, in fact, it has reenergized me in that direction!
Thanks so much for that!
So I can't give them all away here, but hopefully some others will respond to your search.

Lea_Lane

Oh, Bellastar. Just one, please. I've told some of these stories for years, and no one stole any of them! And how about the rest of you???
Lea

Ms_T

I lived in the south of France for a year and decided to take a daytrip to the Pyrenees to ski one weekend. I am by no means a great skiier but I can snowplow with the best of them. So I showed up there in an eclectic assortment of ski hand-me-downs from various friends, rented some equipment, and snowplowed my way over to the lift line. As I approached, I noticed that this was not a chair lift, it was a poma lift, the kind where you stick the little disk between your legs and then get pulled up the hill on your perfectly parallel skis. I had never been on one. I watched the people in front of me as, one by one, they each calmly grabbed a disk and went soaring up the hill. When it came to me, I grabbed my disk for dear life, squeezed it between my legs, and stared hard at the tips of my skis, willing them not to cross. I got about half way up the hill in this petrified state when I noticed a large sign with the word “Arret” ahead of me. “Thank God, I’m almost to the top,” I thought. As the sign approached, I nervously pulled the disk out from between my legs, and let it go.

Needless to say, this was not the top of the hill, the sign was just a warning. My skis and I began a rapid descent, backwards, and managed to wipe out not only the kid behind me, but the two people behind him as well. I was humiliated. If this had happened at home, I would have been embarassed, but somehow, when you’re in a foreign country, and your language skills aren’t the greatest, and you’re being cursed in French by some 16-year-old boy, embarassment is elevated to sheer mortification. Of course, it is quite funny to think about today… isn’t that the great thing about travel?!?!

Lea_Lane

Hey, Miss T. Very funny!
The first time I learned to ski, near NYC, it was very crowded and rushed and I hardly could hear the instructor. I had no idea how to get off the chair life, so I just fell off in a heap. And even worse, I forgot that you were supposed to go from side to side--a small detail. I plummeted down the bunny slope, in terror, with horrified people running out of my way. I finally hit a fence. Years later, when I finally got some good instruction, I could laugh at this fiasco.
Lea

mitty

most wonderful..... on a tiny island in Belize. little girls 7,8,9 ? years old selling little shells they had hand painted, displayed on a cardboard box. i stopped and looked the collection over. there were 4 girls so i decided i should buy 4 shells. of course, they were not priced and the girls were happy to get whatever was offered. i guess i paid my fair share, because when i handed over the $, the youngest one asked what was my name? when i said Mitty, she said "I will never forget your name" .. (ahhh) these were healthy kids, not starvin'-same like in the US with a lemonade stand. it just so touched my heart and was very, very sweet. i look at those shells every single day as a point of positive energy in my life

Lea_Lane

Absolutely charming anecdote, Mitty. I think most often it is the people we remember. The smiley little boy in Morocco, who hawked an overpriced box that I didn't want, but we giggled and laughed, and by the time I got to the bus, shoved it into the window for almost nothing, but I chose to pay fairly. We had become buddies, and he waved me away till we turned the corner. And then there was the former Soviet soldier, selling off his uniform in a small Russian town, piece by piece. He asked $10 for his hat--I gave him $15! He was impoverished, but filled with memories of his happy postings in East Germany. When I look at the box and the hat I think of smiles, and warmth and fate, and how lucky I am.
Lea

Ellgie

I had been enjoying my morning coffee while reading this thread, and then I came to these last two entries, from Mitty and Lea, about encounters with the locals. Now the day has turned into something wonderful and magical just for having read them. Thank you.