A Backpackers Diary

A BACKPACKERS DIARY
TEARS AND FEARS
IN HER MAJESTIES LAND
The big O.E. (Overseas experience). Each and every backpacker has a journey and a life tale of their own to tell. The excitement begins from the second they make that decision to leave their homeland. Mine, New Zealand. A backpack and a four year ancestry work visa, thanks to my Scottish grandfather. I packed up my home, rented it out and left behind all my securities, family, and friends.
Arriving in London was probably as nerve racking as my first day at school. Arriving in a hostel, full of young people was equally as chilling, for I was the tender young age of 37. Each and every person, was there for their own different reason. Most of them were just bored of their homeland or looking for excitement and just maybe, to make their fortune. How you could possibly make your wealth in a country that flourished in the cheap labour of a backpacker, I don’t know. But the BACKPACKER, is eager to work, to take any employment they can find. Bar work, telephone sales, leaflet distribution, or promotion as they called it, or simply waiting tables. Not that there is anything wrong with any of these chosen professions. The rate of pay is extremely low and most backpackers arrive in a foreign country with little funds. Then of course there are the hostels, definitely the best place to begin your journey and also to dry up every bit of your meagre wage. What is left over each week is swiftly donated to the local pubs and clubs. Pint after pint of liquid gold. This is the thriving heart of a backpacker’s life. Living from week to week, right down to that last penny. Choosing to live on two minute noodles just so you can buy that one last beer.
The mix of nationalities adds to the excitement of the journey. The non stop parties that happen every night, the creeping of shoes to different dormitories, Each and every person growing within themselves, taking on a much different personality to what they were at home.
The busy bustle of the average Londoner is barley noticeable by the backpacker. We clog their cities and cause havoc in their quiet local pubs. Noisy youngsters who have little respect because they know they won't be hanging around. It is a vast concrete jungle, overflowing with people from all over the world. I have met so many Australians, New Zealanders and South Africans here, that I actually started to wonder who was still living back in own counties. I take my hat off to the wonderful people of the U.K. for having the patience and courtesy to put up with us.
There is also a vast array of facilities, here for the taking. Airlines that offer free trips throughout Europe, just so they can fill their seats. It is considered nothing to take a trip to Sweden or Denmark for the weekend. To take a coffee in Paris, a beer in Amsterdam or simply to check out the night life in Scotland. Ridiculous as it seems, it is a fantastic way to see the world.
These countries have so much more history than anything we have, an entire nation of outdoor museums. The architecture brings a realisation to me that we are such a new country. But we are also so much more secure. We don’t see the homeless every few steps, begging for a penny to buy a meal and the drugs that choke up the nightclubs. You can simply walk around a club and be offered anything from cocaine to ecstasy every few steps. You can take a walk in the local markets and choose your container of magic mushrooms. And this is part of the normal life for a lot of people.
Even the public transport is a major part of the life here. Thousand and thousands of people jam packed like sardines, underneath the city. A sea of rivers that flow in every direction. This is the tube! Every day that you take to the underground, you end up feeling gritty and dirty. The fumes, the dust, the closeness of other people being wedged together in the train carriages. Each year a tonne of human hair is cleaned from the filters. But it’s all part of the journey that backpackers thrive on. Living from month to month in cramped conditions, in and out of hostels, job after job in a new country, friends to say goodbye to each time. And how easily we do it.
There are so many emotions that a backpacker goes through. I have seen the tears of frustration because they are broke, lonely, happy or drunk. The unsettled living and the sudden change of not having your own space. Sharing a bathroom with 300 people, sleeping with up to 9 other people in your room. Hostels are usually dirty, noisey and old. Ive spent nights in hostels where the toilet on the floor above overflowed and leaked down my walls, buckets lined along the hallways to catch the drips from the roof, wooden garden furniture was suppose to be the comfortable lounge couches, one stovetop for 300 people and in one night I trapped three mice that were crawling around me while I tried to sleep. The beds quite often had bed bugs, REAL bed bugs. The ones you can actually see and they bite and suck your blood through the night leaving you covered in marks. You move from hotel to hotel or hostel to hostel and never being able to never fully unpack makes that dam backpack hated. Its heavy and cumbersome. You must roll your clothes, shoes just don’t fit and your shoulders ache. I discarded with mine after only 6 months and opted for a large suitcase on wheels. Much easier for a lady. I wasn’t intending on tramping so I didn’t see the need to carry something on your back rather than easily pull something on wheels. I couldn’t tell you what an iron looks like anymore, or what it is like have the comforts of your home and at times, what a vegetable tastes like. Gathering up your toilet bag and towel each day to wander down the hallways to the nearest bathroom, only to get there and realise that you have forgotten something or there is a cue. It is truly a world of ups and downs.
The first 3 months are known as the hardest that everyone faces. For some, they are back home again in 6. But still, what an amazing experience to have done. Why London is such a popular destination I don’t know, but it is full of backpackers. Perhaps, because like I have found, it is an easy place to base, an easy place to travel in and out of. Although I have found it to be one of the most expensive places to live.
The winter can be a very depressing time. Dark by 4pm, cold and raining every day. Winds that chill you to the bone. Everywhere you go you find yourself wrapped in layers and layers of clothes. Only to find that when you get to your destination the radiators are turned up so high you have to peel yourself like an orange. Perhaps this is the reason that backpackers always find themselves sick. The mixture of cold and hot temperatures, never eating a decent meal and of course the copious amounts of alcohol and sleep deprivation.
I have talked with many people throughout my journeys, heard their experiences, comforted them, partied with them, and travelled with them. My eyes have seen such incredible things that so recently was only a dream. Things that people here take for granted just as I have done in my own country. Big Ben, Buckingham Palace, Princess Dianna’s home. Even wandering through Trafalgar Square was uncanny. For we have only ever known it upon our Monopoly Boards.
And so, I have learnt of new cultures that I probably would have never read about. I have met people from all over the world and now have many contacts for when I travel to their countries. What an exciting and wonderful way to live.
Next week, Italy.

A Backpackers Diary 2

A BACKPACKERS JOURNAL
ROUGHING IT

How I love that feeling of packing your backpack. Each time knowing it is because I am off to a wonderous new country. This time, a tour through Italy. On a bus for 12 days with 53 people. I didn’t know what to expect. I would probably be the eldest as it was a 18-35 age limit. But thanks to a very helpful travel agent and a few phonecalls, I was able to make the trip. Arriving in Italy with a friend (on our cheap flight) was a day of excitement. Meeting the rest of the tour group, was equally as pleasant. Especially when the age was such a varied mixed and I wasn’t the oldest.
The weather was cold and at times we had snow. Somehow hopping off the bus to take the usual snap of my friend holding up the Leaning Tower of Pisa wasn’t quite what I had expected. We were hung over and sleep deprived, and it was bloody snowing!!! It probably didn’t help that the night before we had been checking out the local nightlife and hadn’t been to bed. Leaving the clubs just in time to get back to our motel, pack our bags and hop on the bus. 12 days of very early mornings, long hours on the bus and lots of late nights. Exhaustion was just part of life. This country was far to stimulating to miss a thing. This passion for exploring is growing day by day. The travel bug, as it is so often referred to. I am very lucky to have my 4 year ancestory work visa for the U.K. I can take my time and breath. If I didn’t have this I wouldn’t have been able to travel as there is an age discrimination on normal work visas and I was way over the limit. The beauty on this side of the world can stir anyones soul.
Italy is a country of beautiful sites and amazing experiences. The food is glorious. Before I left New Zealand I was probably one of the fussiest eaters you could have possibly met. I could never go out for a meal and not rearrange the menu when ordering. Now, I eat more types of food than ever before. I think because you live on such a basic diet while travelling, that when you do finally eat, you are tired and ready to consume anything that is put before you. Each evening meal consisted of five course. The Italians believe meal times should be slow and relaxing. Taking at least three hours to receive your courses. As much wine as we could drink, accompanying our meals for free. We visited vineyards and tasted some of the worlds best wines and olive oils. What more could you ask for.
People in other country’s seem to be more vocal than the laid back Kiwi. Perhaps because in a foreign country like Italy, english is not their native language so expressing themselves to us in english proves quite difficult. The woman, not afraid to let you know if you irritate them and the men, well, I don’t quit know what to say except they are extremely forward. At times quite nerve wracking. But all the same, I had to remember I was an intruder in their country. Always polite and courteous. Especially when needing there help.
We travelled from one end of Italy to the other and then back again on the other side. Taking in every tour that was available in each city. The Vatican city, the most amazing churches and buildings. The collesuem , a crumbling monument of history right in the city centre. It was hard to imagine the gruelling games they played there in a time gone by. I could'nt help think of the movie Gladiator. Pompeii , acres of ruins to wonder through at our own leisure. I saw fossilised people and animals from the eruption of Mt Vesuveous. I touched the statue of Juliet and watched people pay to go and stand on the balcony where Romeo called to her. They say that if you rubbed the breast of Juliet you will find your true love. This dull bronze statue was a sight to see. Lines of people waiting to rub her breast. The giggles from each and every one as they cupped the one shiny golden breast (from so many hands) in their hand and posed for their photo. We floated down the canals of Venice. Even in the winter it smelled terrible. The murky green waters. I hate to think what they smelt like in the heat of the summer. Our gondola captain was dressed in his traditional attire, complete with panama hat. Singing at the top of his voice. Even though it was cold and smelly it was still captivating at the same time. What broke the spell was his mobile phone ringing.
This remarkable city, a close knit of over 200 islands, all joined by small walk bridges. There are no vehicles. The roads only wide enough for foot traffic. The islands are believed to be sinking. There are wooden walkways, just wide enough for two people, about one metre off the ground, everywhere. The rising tides flooding the city at times. It was so easy to lose your way through the maize of paths. It was a thriving city and we were chilled to the bone. But there was just to much to see.
Once again the architecture unbelievable. We entered one of the most amazing churches I have ever seen, hundreds of years old. No photos were allowed, the flashes from our cameras can deteriorate the colour out of the most incredible mosaics I have ever seen. How they ever managed to build them I don’t know. There were giant statues that towered all the buildings, angels, roman figures, animals. Far from anything I have ever experienced or seen. Thank god for digital cameras.
The weather was extremely cold but it made no difference to us. We explored, slept on the bus, partied at night and moved onto the next city to start again. The tour guides were amazing. There are some people that constantly need care and attention and our tour-guide was only to happy to accommodate them and solve any problem quickly and efficiently. It was a fantastic time and highly recommended to anyone. There is nothing left unorganised and your days are filled with fun. Even our bathroom breaks were in the programme.
Oh yes the backpackers life. Taking time for travel and then having to find somewhere to settle for another few months and earn some money so we can do it all over again. Sometimes feeling so lonely even though you are surrounded by many, and then sometimes wandering how you could possibly have such an exceptional life. Making new friends, one moment rich, then broke, happy, unhappy. A roller coaster of emotion. We love this life and yet at times we hate it. We long to come home. But deep down we know that if we come home we probably won't get the chance to do this again. We stay in beautiful hotels one day and then dark and dirty hostels the next. I have endured living with mice running over my pillow while I sleep, (actually trapping three in one night, as they were munching one of my cup of soup sachets until it drove me insane in the quiet of the night,) cockroaches crawling through your clothes, mould running down the walls of your room, buckets in the hallways to catch the falling rain and even a toilet above a room over flowing into someone elses. But I have also had glorious rooms overlooking tropical island seas, lazing beside the swimming pool each day and room service to stunning rooms.
Still, I love the atmosphere in a hostel. The lounge room a place of recreational heaven. 20-30 people from all over the world gathering to meet, drink or simply snuggle together on the small couches to watch a movie. At any time you can walk into the lounge and there will always be someone who would like to join you for a coffee or a beer. Like a huge family outing for the day, we would contemplate what to do and then set off for the park to play football or head down to the pub in a mass group. Oh, how the pub owners love backpackers. The kebab shops that stay open all night just to feed the hordes of drunken groups that will overflow through their shops at 3 in the morning. We can live like kings or paupers from one moment to the next and we never no when that moment is going to be….

Next week - France