The Wasted Dollar

I’m rifling through a drawer in my bathroom. Amongst the bits and pieces I find a ratty jar, the lid rusted and the label getting close to illegible. Memories come flooding back.

I’m in Nepal and the streets of Kathmandu are bustling with people.

Locals push their way into throngs of trekker tourists decked out in their brand new North Face jackets.

They’re offering souvenirs, foodstuffs, “high altitude medicine”… you name it, and it’s being hawked here.

The Thamel district is a stop-off point for most tourists before heading into the high mountains of the Himalayas. It’s the last chance for weeks for a “western” meal, extra supplies and a good hot shower. The colours, heat and smells are intense (partly because of those tourists freshly returned from their treks…)

As I wander the streets, cows meander amongst the cars and tuk tuks.

Two soccer teams chase the ball across a dust-bowl field and raw pork, freshly butchered, sits out on a table waiting for customers. It’s covered in flies.

I quietly decide that I might eat vegetarian tonight.

After a year travelling around the world I’m pretty broke so I’m heading out to the Langtang region tomorrow for a 3-week trek up to 5000m of altitude. It’s the cheapest hike I could find that’s close to Kathmandu.

Well, close is a relative term in Nepal.

It might only be a few hundred kilometres away but will take 13 hours to get there by bus. And that’s if all goes well!

Coming around a corner, I run straight into a small group of handsome local boys. The tallest one holds up a small jar of Tiger Balm ointment.

“Trekking?” he grins, “This good for aches and pains.”

I’ve heard of Tiger Balm. It’s made with strong essential oils and heats your skin and muscles when you rub it in.

But I’ve never owned any.

However it occurs to me that having ridden 5,500km across Europe in the past 2 months, and being on the verge of an epic bus ride, maybe some heat cream for my muscles wouldn’t be a bad thing?

“How much?” I ask.

“100 rupees” the kid replies. It’s the equivalent of about an Australian dollar. Even I know it’s a fraction of the cost of Tiger Balm in Australia.

“No. 80 rupees” I say, offering up the cash.

The bills disappear from my hand and immediately the kid pulls another three jars from his pocket.

“3 more? 200 rupees?” he offers as his friends clamber around, their eyes goggling.

I hesitate.

It’s super cheap but… no, no. Let’s start with one jar.

I leave the little group behind and continue down the street. Glancing back, the younger children are hugging and laughing with the tall kid, celebrating the sale.

I’m secretly, simultaneously pleased with my expert negotiating skills and my self-restraint: I definitely got the best out of that deal!

Squeezing through the hoards, I head to the supermarket for a few last supplies.

I find the shelf with headache tablets and plasters in case I get blisters.

And that’s when reality hits me.

There on the shelf is a tidy row of Tiger Balm jars. And just underneath, a neat little handwritten ticket announces: 

“Tiger Balm – 40 rupees”.

My heart skips a beat.

In slow motion, in my mind’s eye, all I can see is the younger kids slapping the back of their tall pall.

I’m livid – ripped off by a bunch of kids! Argh!

The thought of tracking them down through the narrow streets occurs to me.

But I abandon the idea as quickly as their success has dented my pride.

Dammit!

Back at my hotel, I toss the jar of Tiger Balm into my pack. I stare at it, feeling a twinge of resentment at the little container.

I console myself with the thought that at least it was much cheaper than back home.

I pack my things.

Over the coming weeks I trek to high in the mountains.

I sit staring up at the light from the setting sun cutting an arc across the ancient, mighty mountains and I’m grateful to have some of the soothing ointment for the little aches that have sprung up during the day

Little do I know, but this trek is the beginning of a beautiful relationship: not only with the mountains of Nepal (which steal my heart), but with that little jar of Tiger Balm.

And as it turns out, over the years that follow, that little jar of Tiger Balm has accompanied me most places I’ve travelled.

Standing in my bathroom, almost two decades later, I marvel at how long it’s lasted: TWENTY years… and there’s still some left!

I’ve come to appreciate that sometimes simple remedies are the best. A little dab of Tiger Balm produces heat, which stimulates blood flow. The body is good at healing itself – that blood flow is a real magic trick, sneakily pointing out to the body what part needs attention.

It’s loosened sore backs and a dab on the temples saved young Rob from the occasional hangover. The balm has fought infections and sore throats, and cleared countless blocked noses.

Now, the label is worn and the metal lid is dotted with rust. But I wonder how much I would have spent If I’d bought convention medicines for all the ailments that this little jar has cured.

$100? $1000?

Probably more, if I’m honest.

And it’s clear that my attitude to this little object has completed changed with time.

In the end, I’m stoked that those boys in Kathmandu were entrepreneurial and hawked me the jar.

We’ve both won.

They made their money and I gained a simple solution that will serve me throughout my entire life.

Turns out that my wasted dollar ended up being quite literally the best dollar that I ever spent.

Rob has just spent 702 travelling the world with family. Now he's back in Australia and working on projects to support young people with their futures. 

More at www.robmalicki.com/stories