On Trust and Gut Instinct

‘Have faith in your intuition and listen to your gut instinct.’ – Ann Cotton.

There have been many moments whilst I’ve been travelling when I’ve needed to put my trust in my gut instinct entirely and hope it’s not leading me wrong. I find that it is one of the hardest things about travel – having faith in complete strangers and hoping for the best! I’ve been lucky so far and not had any trouble, but there can be moments when you wonder what the hell you’ve let yourself in for.

Like the moment when our 4×4, filled to bursting with eight full-grown adults in a cab built for five, was driven into a deep river crossing on our way towards our camp in the middle of Mongolia and I wondered if we were going to make it across in one piece (we did, and through all the knarly sections after the ford as well!). Or the time when my plane was delayed in Beijing for eight hours and I left all of my most important possessions with a girl I’d met just an hour previously whilst I went in hunt of a toilet to freshen up* (she didn’t steal a single penny). Or that instant when, in a busy, overcrowded bus station in the most dangerous part of Manila, three men come out of the throng to tell us that our bus was waiting and we didn’t even know someone was looking out for us and the fact they’d thought of us made me want to cry (I didn’t).

There are countless tiny, almost insignificant moments when you travel that you must decide, in an instant, whether or not you trust the person in front of you. A gut reaction, made in seconds, tells you whether or not they are going to get you somewhere safely, or guard your possessions and not run off with them, or just generally be all-round decent human beings who will help you and not try to fuck you over.

‘I’ve got a screenshot of the hostel address written in Cyrillic,’ I said, pulling out my phone, ‘Let’s go and get a taxi.’

We had just arrived in our second Russian city, Krasnoyarsk, and were hovering with all our bags outside the station entrance, taking a few moments to acclimatise to life off the train after another 24+ hour stint from Irkutsk.

As everything was written in Cyrillic and no-one spoke any English, we had taken to getting taxis from train stations when we arrived in a new city and showing drivers the address of our destination on screenshots we would take before we left the previous city. Now, as we approached the taxi rank, several drivers stirred and a couple of burly men came forward.

‘Hi,’ I said, both smiling and holding out my phone simultaneously, ‘Please can we go here?’

Despite the language barrier, the question was easily deciphered with the address in front of them. Both men nodded, then turned to each other and launched into an animated discussion. At first, I assumed they were deciding between them who would take us, but it soon became clear that although the address was written in their language, neither of them knew where it was.

With much miming and stilted words in broken English, we established that I should try and find a phone number for our destination so that one of the drivers could call them and ask for directions. Thankfully, I managed to find a number listed without too much difficulty and I passed my phone to one of the men who smiled, baring a mouthful of gold teeth at me.

He had a brusque conversation on his mobile, apparently established where he needed to go and ushered us towards his battered taxi. As we had done so many times already on our trip, we put our trust into the hands of a complete stranger and surrendered ourselves to him, knowing that we had little choice in the matter.

To be honest, if P hadn’t been travelling with me, I probably would have found it a lot harder to trust all the strangers that we met on our trip. As it was, we were in it together, we were a team and we had each other’s backs. We made little jokes and laughed when we found ourselves out of our depth. Without P, I wouldn’t have laughed, I would’ve have stressed out. It can be difficult to trust strangers when you can understand each other – it’s even harder when you can’t even communicate properly!

Our driver took us to a rough looking estate on the outskirts of the city. P and I glanced at each other as he pulled the taxi over and gestured for us to stay put whilst he went and found out where our hostel was.

‘Looks a bit dodge,’ P said, as we watched him walk off. Then, ‘Did you see his teeth?!’

‘Yeah, all gold! He doesn’t seem to know where we’re staying.’

We waited for our drivers return in silence. When he came back, we managed to establish that he still wasn’t entirely sure where our hostel was, but that he thought it was in the building opposite us, so we grabbed our bags and followed him towards the entrance – an uninviting heavy grey metal door, with a keypad to gain entry. Our driver called out something to a man smoking nearby, who promptly stubbed out his cigarette and came over. He punched some numbers into the keypad and held the door for us as we filed past.

The hallway was gloomy and smelt dank. We climbed three concrete steps and stood in front of an ancient looking lift, which creaked and groaned in protestation as it descended the floors to reach us. Our driver and the other man were now conversing in rapid Russian, looking over at us every now and again. P and I glanced at one another.

‘Imagine if they were plotting on how best to mug us!’ P said, grinning. I rolled my eyes but smiled despite myself.

The situation was ridiculous – we were in a random city in the middle of Siberia, with our trust placed firmly in the hands of two men that we didn’t know and to cap it all off, our hostel appeared to be located on a dodgy estate. But despite everything, I didn’t feel overly concerned. The two men seemed to be saying to one another ‘who the hell are these randoms and what the hell are they doing here?!‘. They weren’t threatening or strange. I felt like I could trust them to get us where we needed to go safely.

The absurdity of our circumstances was compounded moments later when the lift arrived. With our luggage (two big backpacks, two smaller rucksacks and one plastic bag containing snacks), the weight limit of the lift seemed to be exceeded once all four of us had stepped in. A red light blinked angrily at us and the door refused to slide shut. Laughing, the man who’d been smoking exited the lift and we three remaining ascended ten floors in silence, as the lift lurched and shuddered around us.

The front door to the hostel was located directly to the left of us as we got out of the lift on the tenth floor. We thanked our driver profusely in both Russian and English and despite guessing that he’d already marked up the taxi fare, we paid him extra anyway to show our gratitude. He’d delivered us safely to our destination and our trust in him had paid off.

Now if I see someone trying to decipher the tube map, I tend to ask if they need a hand. A couple of weeks ago, when the last train home was cancelled at 12.30am, a Kiwi woman asked me what was going on. She’d been in the city two days. I told her I’d get her home and was delighted when she put her trust in me, just as I’ve done countless times with others during my travels. I was able to help her get home and I felt as though I was somehow paying it forward – and indirectly repaying all those who have helped me when I was travelling in a brand new country.

So trust your gut instinct. If something feels bad, it probably is. If someone seems fine, they probably are. Listen to how you’re feeling about a situation and do not ignore those feelings. They’re what will keep you safe and ensure you get the most out of your trip!

*Although my trust in my gut instinct was right on this occasion, I wouldn’t normally recommend leaving a bag full of expensive electronics and your passport with a near-complete stranger!!