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My classmates and I probably should have been more panicked. We were stranded in the mountains of rural India, with no foreseeable way back to the town we had just left, or home. Our professors whispered to each other in Marathi, the frustration and panic only thinly veiled in their voices. Our driver shrugged. There was nothing he could do. Our van had broken down, and it would be awhile before anyone could get to us to look at it. We were stuck, with our only shelter from the heat being a nearby large tent, where two women(one was an elder, the other was relatively young) and a small child watched us. Upon approaching them, we learned that the tent was actually a family-owned makeshift pit stop, and our driver’s decision to pull over here was a good one. They had a kitchen in the back, snacks, and water. Our hope that they would be able to help was crushed when we were told that there wasn’t a bus that came through our area. There was nothing we could do, so we bought some bottled water and ordered what our professors deemed safe. We had piqued the interest of the older woman, who stayed with us as we ate our food, asking one of our professors questions about our group. My professor, Anju, encouraged her to ask herself, offering herself as a translator. Pretty soon, we were all engaged in conversation, effectively distracted from our circumstances. We had learned that their location was strategic, and most of the people who stopped there were locals, who would stop to pick up snacks or water during their routine commutes. We were so engrossed in conversation that we nearly missed the large vehicle heading our way. It was a large truck, with a large semi-open area in the back, half full of women who were commuting to work. We probably should’ve thought twice about the dangers of asking strangers for a ride. Instead, after Anju had flagged the driver down, and a brief exchange of words and funds, we climbed onto the back of the truck. During the ride down the mountain into the next town, I thought about how many gray hairs it would give my mother so know that I was barreling down a mountain, on the back of a stranger’s truck(with no seatbelts) at speeds we all later agreed were too fast considering the sharp turns the driver had to make. I also wondered what she would think if she knew that, instead of worrying about this myself, I spent half the time talking to the other women on the truck(thanks to Anju acting as a translator once again). The other half of the ride was spent wearily keeping an eye on my other professor, who was very visibly suffering from motion sickness and looked like she was moments away from vomiting all over the area where we had stashed our bags. Later, as I contemplated this incident, I realized that the reason I wasn’t anxious was because I landed in India with no expectations. Instead of trying to sculpt my own experience, I allowed myself to go with the flow, and accept whatever happened. This led to a number of “firsts” for me. In India, I stayed in a jungle for the first time. I rode a motorcycle for the first time. I picked up a shell at the beach and, for the first time, something crawled out to greet me. I was jumped on by (multiple) monkeys for the first time. I was followed by cows for the first time. I wouldn’t trade these “firsts” for anything. What I took with me to India, and the trip that followed, was a sense of comfort with immersing myself in the unknown.