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Valentine’s Day, 2024. SafetyWing, an innovative company that offers nomad insurance for those of us who live our lives in more than one place, is having a contest. It’s called the WanderLove Challenge and contestants need to write a blog post about their most touching stories of love encountered on their travels:
Adopting a stray dog, taking your grandma to her dream city, meeting an incredible friend, or finding the love of your life on the road – we want to hear about those special connections that have made your journey extra meaningful.
I’m almost 40, never married, and perpetually single on Valentine’s Day. I’m an expert when it comes to travel, but what do I have to write about when it comes to love?
But then I remembered the Australian guy I met on a trip to Britain over 20 years ago! He was technically my first real kiss (insert joke about how I had to leave the country to find someone ;)). But while this short-lived teenage romance was cute, it wasn’t love.
I’ve been in love a few times since that first kiss, and I’m old enough now to understand and appreciate that love comes in many forms, not just in the form of red roses and romance. And so, instead of writing about a first kiss, here’s a story about a time when I unexpectedly observed love.
I had always liked traveling to unique enclaves that were a mix of many cultures, but the city of Melaka (Malacca) was just too much. It was a place where, in the span of one block, you could sample colonial-era Portuguese custard tarts, visit a quaint Chinese tea house with hula hoop acrobats, nibble Malaysian satay from a smoky street grill and, of course, hear the latest rock band at the Hard Rock Cafe. This juxtaposition of various cultures and time periods made Melaka a disorienting place.
Adding to this chaos were the trishaw bicycles whizzing by, covered in tacky plastic flowers and decorated to correspond to the latest Disney hit, hoping to catch the eye of a demanding child or a tourist looking for the perfect selfie opportunity. At night the bikes’ strings of neon lights came to life, adding to the hustle and bustle of the centuries-old port.
The historical center of Melaka was a Protestant church, built by the Dutch in 1753 after taking over the city from the Portuguese. A reminder both sad and proud of colonialism in Asia, its reddish exterior and very European architecture overlooking a cheery square with an English garden was about as un-Asian as it could be. Yet, I was immediately drawn to this church for its history. It still had a practicing congregation and Sunday services in English, Malay, and Mandarin so, having nothing else to do, I decided to attend the next morning.
I hadn’t been to church in a long time. Growing up in the midwestern United States, my Lutheran upbringing was very much a part of my childhood, but as an adult, it clashed with my liberal beliefs. Perhaps traveling and seeing so many different religions made me more of a religious cynic. Either way, church was one of those places that you have good memories of but you don’t want to go back to because you know it won’t be the same now.
Despite this discomfort, the next morning, for the first time in a long time I made my way apprehensively to the church. Feeling, as I had the whole weekend, very out of place, I hoped that it was indeed the service in English that was happening at 9:00. I was in luck, and as I sat down on a faded wooden bench I took in the simple white interior of the historic church. While I had come for the history of a building, what struck me most was the beauty of the diversity of the people gathered. The pastor was of Indian heritage, the couple next to me also visiting from Singapore, the greeter from Kenya.
Five minutes into the service an older woman in a wheelchair was pushed down the aisle by a younger woman who was presumably her Filipino helper. Living in Singapore I had heard lots of horror stories about how Filipino helpers working in wealthier Asian countries were treated, and I felt sympathy for this woman who had the heavy burden of caring for another in a country that wasn’t her own.
In a process that had clearly been done many times, as if on cue, a church member from the second row stood up to hold the older woman’s wheelchair and this small Filipino woman courageously faced her charge.
In a feat of herculean strength, she reached down and pulled up the older woman to stand face to face on her feet, her limp body towering over her. Carefully, and with the practiced grace of a waltz, she sidestepped with her into the pew and placed her lovingly on the wooden seat.
Throughout the service, she sat with one arm around the woman’s shoulders with a devotion and enthusiasm for service and faith that I had never seen.
If I were religious, I would claim that I saw God in that moment.
At the very least, I saw love.
In this Dutch-British church in a predominantly Muslim country in Asia, this tiny woman ironically showed me that you don’t need a common language, culture or organized religion to understand love and devotion. Suddenly, in Melaka’s overwhelming mix of contradictions, something made sense.
If you are somewhere in the world feeling alone this Valentine’s Day, I hope that you know you are loved, even if you aren’t in love.
And if you are traveling and need travel medical insurance, check out SafetyWing. They are changing the way that long-term travelers are getting insurance by attempting to build a “global safety net”. As an American with very expensive health insurance, this is a project that is near and dear to my heart.
