Don’t Be A Stranger: Here’s Why You Should Travel With People You Don’t Know!

Have you ever spent weeks—months even—planning a trip with friends, only to have every single one of them bail out at the last minute? Yeah, I know the feeling. After countless “Sorry, got too much work,” and “Can’t miss cousin’s birthday,” I had it. I realized that I’d either never go on this long-dreamed-of Kheerganga trek or just pack up and go solo. And, one random weekend, I chose option two.

Now, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little nervous at first. It’s one thing to stroll into a café solo; it’s another to trek alone in the Himalayas, far from familiar faces. Still, I promised myself that I’d find peace in nature and rely on the wisdom of strangers if things went awry. Little did I know I’d end up joining a hilarious group of strangers from Kerala who would make the experience not just bearable but unforgettable.

I arrived at Barshaini early, fueled by a mix of excitement and a mild panic attack. While I’d imagined solo travel as a calm, introspective journey, the reality was me obsessively checking my gear and triple-checking the route. But as I started walking, my mind quieted. The mountains, cool air, and endless greenery had their own way of soothing first-timer jitters. A few kilometers in, though, I noticed a group behind me laughing and chattering away in rapid Malayalam. Curious, and frankly tired of talking to myself, I slowed down to let them catch up.

After a quick “Hi, where are you from?” and an awkward explanation that I wasn’t lost but solo, I got adopted into their group. They were from Thrissur, and just a few minutes in, I realized they were as friendly as they were lively. This group of strangers instantly felt like that rowdy gang of cousins everyone has—mischievous, bantering, but genuinely kind-hearted.

In what seemed like no time, I was not only trekking with them but actually learning bits of Malayalam. “Shari,” I said, trying to remember the word for “okay.” They burst out laughing every time I messed up the pronunciation, and I couldn’t help but laugh with them. As we climbed higher, the conversations got deeper—about everything from family expectations to Kerala’s food scene and even (inevitably) the state of Indian politics.

One of the guys, Arun, shared his story of how he’d left his corporate job to start a coffee shop in the hills, while Divya, one of the few girls in the group, spoke passionately about her NGO work. With every step, I learned something new, not just about them, but also about myself and how enriching it is to see the world through different lenses.

We reached Kheerganga’s hot springs by late afternoon, exhausted but thrilled. The sensation was like being submerged in a giant cup of chai after a long, chilly trek. If my friends had come, I doubt I’d have been coaxed into half the shenanigans I ended up enjoying.

That night, sitting around a bonfire under a sky heavy with stars, I realised something. For all our regional, cultural, and language differences, we were all here for the same reason: to escape routine, to find a new piece of ourselves, to connect with people we may never meet again but who change us in small, lasting ways.

And that’s the beauty of travelling with strangers. They remind you of how similar we are despite our backgrounds. They teach you to laugh at yourself, to be curious about lives beyond your own bubble, and, most importantly, to let go of your need for control. Would the trip have been as memorable with my friends? Probably. But would it have been the same mix of spontaneity, hilarity, and growth? Absolutely not.

So, to anyone considering waiting for their friends to align their schedules, I say skip it. Head out on your own. Chances are you’ll meet people who add colour and perspective to your journey, strangers who might just end up feeling like old friends. And hey, at the very least, you’ll end up with some entertaining new WhatsApp groups.

Elton Mendonce