What nobody tells you about being a backpacker

THE backpacking lifestyle is not exactly what you’d call a tough gig. But this Aussie reveals there is a lesser known side to it, and it’s pretty disgusting.

THE backpacking lifestyle is not what you’d call a tough gig. You get to leave behind the mundane bits of life, like electricity bills and picking rogue chickpeas out of the sink, and explore the world, doing whatever you want, whenever you want.

But I have to admit I’ve discovered some not-so-great truths about long-term travel; things that backpackers don’t really talk about.

Maybe it’s because they think they’ll seem spoiled or ungrateful. Or they fear everyone in the hostel bar will pick up their beers and move away from the party pooper.

Samantha Thomas, an Australian life coach who supports people through the process of returning home after long-term travel or living overseas, says travellers often hold back from admitting anything is wrong when they’re on a ‘trip of a lifetime’.

“Feeling like we have no right to be upset or struggling because we’re living a privileged existence can be dangerous,” she says.

“It’s important to express how you’re feeling. It doesn’t make you a whinger. If given the chance to talk and be heard, you’re more likely to move on quickly.”

On that note, consider this my backpack confessional; the surprising parts of travelling life I’ve discovered after four months on the road.

The routine can get dull.

1. Hostel conversations can get boring

The transient nature of hostels means you’re always starting from scratch. Where are you from? How long are you travelling for? I’ve been asked these questions (and asked them, too) so many times I want to slap myself for how dull I sound answering them sometimes.

Also, often you find yourself talking to someone you have nothing in common with, but you still have to act like you’re having an amazing time, even if you’ve been cornered by the guy with dilated pupils who can’t stop talking about EDM music.

It’s really left me missing quality catch-ups with my close mates. Sure, there’s always Skype. It’s fine until the connection drops out at the worst possible time. “Sorry, I lost you there. So, you were saying you think you’re having an existential crisis?”

You can miss your friends quite quickly.

2. You become blasé

I used to hate those travellers that just never seemed to be impressed by anything. ‘Sure, this waterfall is fine, but after seeing Iguazu Falls last year …’ But lately I can feel myself becoming a bit like that.

I keep my mouth shut so I don’t spoil the moment for others, but I have to admit I’m finding it harder to be wowed. But I’ve realised it just means it’s time to mix up the sightseeing and beach-bumming with something different.

So I’ve signed up to do volunteer work where I’ll stay in a community for an extended period, helping out and learning a thing or two. Maybe I’ll even hang around long enough to find someone I can have a deep and meaningful with.

Being wowed becomes a challenge.

3. You miss what it feels like to be a local

I never realised how awesome it is to know where the best coffee in town is, pick up a cup, and stride confidently down the street, taking a few shortcuts to make it across the CBD in eight minutes flat.

That is, until I spent four months as an Outsider — constantly disoriented, always craning my neck looking for a street sign to figure out which way the metro station is, pretending to understand what people stopping to help me are saying but only comprehending about 10 per cent with my terrible Spanish.

Feeling lost sucks.

I’m making a pledge that when I’m home I’m going to stop for every lost-looking tourist I see, no matter how late I am for Yogalates and help them. And I won’t even be mad at them for their terrible English.

People can be so gross.

4. It can be downright disgusting

I knew hostel living wouldn’t be luxurious. But I’ve seen more hairs, nail clippings and, erm, ‘presents’ left in toilets from strangers than I care to recall. The most recent experience that pushed me over the edge (I forked out for a room with a private bathroom that very day) was someone having trimmed their pubic hair in the bathroom sink.

AND THEY JUST LEFT IT THERE.

There is a positive to all this gag reflex-inducing grossness, though. You’re much easier to please when you have lower standards of hygiene. Before I would have shuddered to find a rogue hair in the sheets at a hotel. Now, I don’t even check.

As long as I don’t get bed bugs, I don’t care. And I’m happy to say I haven’t felt them bite yet.

No bed bugs, no worries.