The life of a backpacker

It seems like no matter where you go, you will always find a list of things such as: “you know you’re a student when cheese toasties rock your world,” and so on. Now, with me, I rarely find anything that I assosciate with, especially when they are part of countries I’ve lived in or organisations I’ve belonged to or jobs (hehe) that I’ve had. But, for the first time . . . ever . . . I found that a list of 40 things backpackers do or have experienced was 100% true in my experience. And I found that odd, because I haven’t backpacked all that much (more than most people, but less than most backpackers). So, looking back:

Discounting all the places I stayed at while on school camps (where I was almost caught twice for being in the girls dorms – I thought that I’d just throw that in), my first real experience backpacking was Japan, and I’ve hosteled in Beijing, Frankfurt, Prague, Berlin, Amsterdam, Paris, Barcelona (two hostels there), Valencia and Oslo. The other places were more like budget hotels.

I had the most fun in Berlin, the least amount of fun in Amsterdam (I know, weird huh), but Barcelona (in the 2nd hostel) was a blast for my first night and was kinda sad when people started leaving. Valencia was surprising because we had unisex showers and bathrooms and there was a lot of nakedness all around. I got the most drunk in Oslo, and I spent money the most in Prague. I talked the most in Berlin and I was scared the most in Frankfurt. Nothing much happened at the Paris hostel because everyone was out sightseeing.

So here was what the experiences of being a backpacker were like:

The first question is where you’re from. The next is usually where have you been, followed by where are you going. It is not unusual to talk to someone for a few hours before asking what their name was.

Free breakfast is a god-send. You can stock up on lots of bread rolls.

Jeans are brilliant. You never need to wash them.

Everyone has something to say about Americans.

There is always an Australian in every hostel (not including me). And every Australian that you meet has met another Australian in every hostel they’ve been to too.

Mexicans are the nicest and friendliest people on earth, except for the morning after, and then they’re like everyone else. But they soon go back to being their normal way.

Having a girl in your room breaks up the monotony.

Everyone under 20 who looks like they’re under 20, acts like they’re under 20 and will never cease to amaze you how stupid they are. Anyone who is under 20 but looks older, will act much older than you think they are. This is surprisingly funny when young people start flirting with older people and then realise that there is at least a 10 year age gap. The older people don’t care.

Churches and castles are pretty, but I’ve seen enough.

Telling people that Australians eat kangaroos gets the same reaction, and never ceases to be boring. Telling them that we also eat koalas is just plain funny.

You’re in a dilemma when you try to convert from one currency and aren’t sure which currency you should convert to. Thanks to the Aussie dollar going south. Real help there.

Meeting someone new every day is cool. Not meeting someone new feaks you out.

Paying for an expensive internet café and finding out that you have no emails, nothing interesting in the world has happened, and sweet fuck all is going on – absolutely sucks.

You’re a pro when you’ve arrived at your 3rd hostel. Still, I did meet a guy who had been backpacking for 3 months and had another 3 to go, so he’s the champ, I guess.

No one knows where Brisbane is.

You start considering what clothes you can leave behind just so that your pack is lighter.

Having no itinerary is best, otherwise you’re stressed and eitherway you won’t get to do everything.

There is nothing wrong with waking up at 8am to be the first at breakfast and then going right back to bed.

The crazier the next destination sounds, the more appealing it is (explains why I want to go to Iceland, Greenland, and the North Pole).

Travelling is a facebook whore’s dream.

You never remember what day it is, and it only becomes important to remember when you have to leave.

You realise that you can’t remember all of your passwords and pin numbers.

You wonder how many more hostels you can go through before needing to wash your clothes.

Prague is not Eastern Europe. Mexico is not South America. Forgetting these important details illicits wrath and scorn.

Confusing friends by saying that I’m from Australia but then saying that I’m English to get the European discount into museums is always priceless. And that’s why I started the facebook group: “whenever someone asks me where I’m from, I have to tell them my life story.”

1 cent flights are awesome, but airports suck. I will never stop being surprised at what kind of shit I have to go through just to get past airport security.

And this is my criteria for choosing a hostel: I go to hostelworld.com and my price limit is usually €25. My rating limit is 70%. Anything under that is with a lot of risk. A hostel must have free breakfast and / or kitchen facilities. I then read the reviews and take note on what everyone says, if there are no lockers, consider how dirty the place might be, if it smells, etc, and finally check the location. If I have a tie, I go with the cheapest or the best rated.