Don't Talk to Strangers (Said No Traveler Ever)

On $2 chicken rice, a stranger’s note, and the kind of moments you never plan for

Quick Housekeeping: I recorded myself reading this essay, embedded above. This is the very first time I’ve done this. Whether you read or listen (or both), I hope you enjoy!

Michelin-rated street food stall in George Town, Malaysia - not the one you hear about below. George Town, on the island of Penang, has some of the best food in the world (seriously).

I only stopped for some $2 street food and a little bit of time to myself.

Instead, I got a life story, an invitation to a stranger’s home thousands of miles away, and another reminder that the best parts of travel (and maybe life) never show up on the itinerary or plan.

~ ~ ~

It was January in George Town, Malaysia, and I had just wandered into a crowded chicken and rice food stall.

I really wasn’t in the mood for conversation. After spending the past few days meeting countless strangers-turned-friends at my hostel (and having a blast), I felt totally drained. My social battery was damn near empty, and I wanted some quiet.

But this lady — maybe in her late sixties, with cropped silver hair, a noticeable limp in her stride, lively eyes, and this unhurried calm — walked right up, sat in the chair at my table, and started talking to me. I still had AirPods jammed in, a podcast murmuring something forgettable.

“How’d you find this place?” she asked.

Her English was precise but lightly accented, and she looked surprised to see me here.

“I was walking to a dim sum place I found on Google Maps,” I said, “but saw the line of locals here and figured this place is probably good.”

She nodded and smiled in agreement.

The menu had exactly two options: roasted or boiled chicken. I chose roasted. A minute later, they handed me a tray: slick soy-glazed chicken, a steaming bowl of clear broth, and a mound of rice. Simple and perfect.

I hit play on my podcast and dug in.

A moment later, she continued talking with me. “So where are you from?”

Her voice just barely cut through my headphones.

I paused. “The U.S. From Memphis, Tennessee in the South. And you?”

“I grew up here. The island of Penang. But I’ve lived in Japan for 25 years. Before that, I lived in Canada for 15 years. I’m happy to be back.”

I could tell that she was genuine, just looking for someone new to talk to. She had this warmth, like an aunt you never knew you had. A local returning to her motherland. Still, I wasn’t really in the mood to keep talking.

She smiled, noticing my hesitation. “You don’t have to talk. Please, go on and enjoy your lunch.”

I shook my head and laughed. “It’s okay. I’d rather talk with you. This podcast is boring anyways.” I tucked my AirPods away, back into their case.

George Town is also famous for its street art, scattered throughout this UNESCO World Heritage town.

Quickly, I learned her life story. Her name was Christina. She was back for Chinese New Year, visiting her sister — her first time home for the New Year in decades. She asked what I was doing in Penang (just traveling, working, living), how long I’d been traveling (four months in Asia at this point), if I liked the food here in Penang (I really, really did — the fusion of Chinese, Indian, and Malay is magic).

I asked what had changed since she left. “Too many skyscrapers now,” she said. “It’s all built up. But the food’s still good. And the people too.” She was right.

The conversation flowed like water. Before I could finish eating, she offered me a place to stay if I was ever in Tokyo.

“You’re welcome anytime,” she said, asking me to pull out my phone and write down her email. “You would love it in the Spring. Just email me first.”

I stared at her, surprised at this insanely generous offer. A total stranger offering her home minutes after meeting me. Not out of pity or politeness or obligation, but genuine kindness. It caught me off guard.

“Thanks Christina. I’d really love to take you up on that one day.”

It’s not everyday you meet someone so warm and inviting. Christina realized something too many of us forget: we’re all striving for connection, a sense of belonging — especially when you’re thousands of miles from home. Sometimes, it’s just about striking up a conversation with that stranger. You never know how much you’ll improve someone’s day.

Before I could leave, Christina insisted on paying for lunch. I tried to refuse. It felt wrong letting a stranger buy me food. But she pressed a few wrinkled notes into the vendor’s hand and smiled.

“Be careful,” she said, with the look of a worried mother. “There’s a lot of bad people out there.”

I couldn’t help but hear my mom in that moment: “Jonah, remember: don’t talk to strangers.”

She used to say it to me all the time growing up — as I’m sure many of your moms did too — even though, ironically, my mom talks to strangers all the time. And she still says it to me, half-jokingly, knowing I’ll do the opposite.

I told Christina that if I’d followed that advice, I would never have met most of the friends I’d made on this trip — or her. An impossible rule for a backpacker. She laughed nervously but still insisted I be careful.

We bid our farewells, and she headed off down the street with that gentle limp.

~ ~ ~

After lunch, I found a nearby cafe, a highly-rated spot that promised incredible specialty coffee and cozy vibes. Both turned out to be accurate. The WiFi, however, was nonexistent, so I couldn’t get any client work done. I decided to stay for a bit.

I picked up a copy of a Penang Monthly magazine sitting on the counter. Flipping through the pages, I landed on a piece about the island’s street food. I was still on a high from the interaction with Christina at the street food stall. And there it was: a quote from Anthony Bourdain that seemed planted there for me to read:

“This is the way so many of the great meals of my life have been enjoyed. Sitting in the street, eating something out of a bowl that I'm not exactly sure what it is. And scooters going by... Fellow travelers, this is what you want. This is what you need. This is the path to true happiness and wisdom.”

The cafe and magazine in question. Am I artsy yet?

I remembered all the incredible meals I’d shared with “strangers” throughout my travels — the Argentinian man on a long layover in Italy, the meal my neighbor cooked me in Lisbon, dinners with mi familia at my local homestay in Guatemala. I realized it’s never really about the food (though it definitely helps). It’s the company. It feels like it’s all unfolding as if by accident. But is it really by accident?

Rolf Potts wrote in Vagabonding on long-term travel: “The simple willingness to improvise is more vital, in the long run, than research.”

Inspired and freshly caffeinated, I opened my laptop and started writing the first draft of this essay in a .txt file.

~ ~ ~

So why am I still thinking about that lunch six months later?

Because I believe talking to strangers is a cheat code to the simple joys in life. This is coming from someone who tends to keep to myself most of the time. I prefer to spend time on my own — it’s where I get my energy (and how I do my best work). But I think this comes at a cost.

Growing up, I watched my grandfather, Peepa, may he rest in peace, talk to every stranger he could. Anywhere and everywhere. I saw it… how it lifted him and gave him a spark of energy and life. I saw his love of telling stories. How, even in his later years, often depressed from his various ailments, Peeps would brighten up the second he had someone new to talk to, someone he could tell his life story to. The spark would come back.

And the science supports this claim too.

Psychologists at the University of Chicago have shown that most people underestimate how much strangers will enjoy talking to them. This phenomenon, called the “liking gap,” leads us to avoid conversations we’d likely benefit from. In study after study, strangers who chatted on subways, buses, and park benches reported feeling happier and more connected than those who kept to themselves — even when they thought the conversation would be awkward.

I think we all understand this — the benefits of small talk and small gestures — to some level. But none of this is new information to travelers.

When I’m traveling, it seems like no stranger is off limits. But for some reason when I’m back home, I get into a single-track mind and tend to stay in my box, my little group of friends and family. Potts wrote in Vagabonding: “People travel to faraway places to watch, in fascination, the kind of people they ignore at home.”

~ ~ ~

The chaotic streets of Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam, District 4.

Some strangers change your day with a conversation. Others do it with a note in a book you didn’t know you needed.

A few weeks after George Town, I landed in Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam, and checked into a hostel that was $5 a night, comfy beds, and breakfast included (a big, hearty, Vietnamese breakfast).

In the common room, there was one of those “take a book, leave a book” shelves tucked away in the corner. And I desperately needed a new book.

My Kindle had vanished a couple months earlier — forgotten under my pillow in my Airbnb in Chiang Mai. Since then, I’d already burned through the two paperbacks I picked up: Man’s Search for Meaning and When Breath Becomes Air (the former I was re-reading, one of my all-time favorite books, and the latter tore me apart in the best way possible — raw, beautiful, unforgettable).

I started perusing the shelf, not expecting to find anything. Most of the titles were dog-eared travel guides or random novels in German or French. But one stood out: a thick, red hardcover of Crime and Punishment.

I’d been meaning to read a Dostoevsky novel for a while. I pulled it out, opened the front cover, and found this handwritten note:

“My old lady bought me this book in a charity shop in Bristol before I came away. She read it while traveling India in the 80s. I read it between Chiang Mai & Hanoi. I’ll leave it in my hostel in Saigon. I hope it see many more faces.” — Richie. 26. UK.

I will never meet Richie. But that note felt absolutely perfect, romanticizing books in this way. And it left behind another important lesson: sometimes a stranger doesn’t have to say a word to leave a mark on you. How might we all be kinder without getting anything back in return, like Christina and Richie?

Somewhere in the middle of the book, I stopped at a Dostoevsky line: “Taking a new step, uttering a new word, is what people fear most.”

Maybe that’s why we often avoid these conversations. We don’t want to look foolish or misleading. But what if this new word is exactly what someone else needed to hear?

When I finally finished Crime and Punishment, carrying it around for months, I left this behemoth of a book behind in my last hostel in the Philippines — in fact, it was the final night of my 6-month journey across Asia.

I slipped a note inside the front cover, just beneath Richie’s first note:

I saw this book sitting in my hostel in Saigon, as I was craving my first Dostoevsky novel for the last year or so. I needed a new book, and it appeared at the perfect time. I left behind Man’s Search For Meaning and a short note there.
I read it between Saigon to Hanoi and finished in Siquijor, Philippines. I’ll leave it here in my hostel in Manila, marking the end of my 6 months in Asia. I hope it continues to make its way around the world, as Richie wanted — Jonah. 28. USA.

P.S. Reach out if you read this after!

I have no idea who picked it up next, if anyone. Maybe it’s still there, tucked behind a board game. Maybe someone took it home and never opened it. Or maybe it’s halfway to Cambodia in someone’s backpack right now. I’ll probably never know (unless some troubled soul emails me).

And maybe, just maybe, it’s that not-knowing I seek the most.

~ ~ ~

Thanks so much for reading, my friends!

That’s all for today. If this piece hit home for you, please write me here, reply to this email, or toss it a like, so others can find it too.

Until next time,

Jonah

~ ~ ~

P.S. Feel free to check out more of what I’m up to professionally and personally in my recently-updated website here.

And if you liked what you read here, you might like reading more travel essays from me:

• On traveling for the people you meet

• On digital nomadism & leaving home (again)

• One-Way Flights and Wedding Invites

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