Is that urine?

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Backpacking, you either love it or hate it. Myself, I tend to switch sides depending on the variables. Lugging the heaving bag behind me, sweat sticking my shirt to my back, dust in my eyes, wanting the sweet relief of clean sheets and a hot shower… but instead arriving in a room shared with 5 other strangers and the shower clogged with hair.

The bed sags in the middle and the bunk above has cigarette burns in the slats. Consistently throughout the night the lights flick on and off as roommates come and go, and not always on their own. Each morning you wake with the pungent smell of stale bodies which are strewn across their respective beds, usually an arm or leg hanging over and often a rouge testical or the beginning of a crack on display.

Breakfast (if you can stomach it after the morning peep show) usually consist of stale cornflakes and tepid milk. The utensils are never quite clean and the crockery is always chipped. The internet station boast numerous computers but only one will ever work, and a line or tired looking travellers sit waiting while some twat updates his facebook status.

For all these short comings there are perks. The unspoken comradeship that spreads across the backpacking culture, no matter where you are in the world and where the guests are from, people tend to be more friendly, relaxed and, tolerant.

Then Turkish students, English Psychiatrist, Canadian Historians are all instantly your friends, sharing in the new cultures of the country and each other, laughing over beers and getting completely lost while navigating maps. These single serving friends have a strong purpose throughout the journey; they share and build into your experience of travelling. Where else can you achieve such a diverse view of the world other than the multi-cultural backpackers?

So although I long for turn down service, smiling front office staff and a concierge: backpacking is truly unique, bringing people together, forming friendships throughout the world.

I can’t help but smile as I repack my bags, preparing for yet another train/bus journey and a new hostel, always hoping that ‘it’s a nice one’, the uncertainty is certainly part of the adventure. I push my dry feet into my well-worn sandals and hoist my bag as I rip my sheets off my bed.

One last scope of the room and you can’t help but noticed the stained mattress that the sheets were covering a mere moment ago… wait, what is that?!

I fucking hate hostels.

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