The Reluctant Backpacker

Portugal

                 

My journey from Madrid to Lisbon required me to forgo an easy $50 one hour flight in favour of the 12-hour night train. It helped me to keep my sense of adventure alive.

I wanted to go to Lisbon for three years. I didn't have a particular reason. I think I saw a flight deal at some point, which must have sparked my interest and planted the seed. For three years every time I thought I could take a week off, or every time I dreamt of jetting away, I searched for Lisbon flight deals. I never managed to get away.

Booking my flight to Madrid gave me the chance to finally experience Lisbon. After logging over 100 hours on overnight buses through South America I felt I had become an expert at night time travel; it seemed appropriate that I would take the night train from Madrid. I arrived early in the morning when the metro was still empty and the only ones on the street were stragglers from the night before.

For four days in Lisbon I did absolutely nothing. I walked through the steep streets, got lost, shopped, walked more and watched.

Every street in Lisbon could be a painting. The outside of many buildings are decorated with blue and yellow tiles. Even those that are falling apart remain works of art. While a modern sector lines the outskirts, the heart of Lisbon is in the old town.

Even the one protest that I witnessed was pleasant, as much as a protest can be pleasant. There were instruments and properly timed chants accompanying the music. Signs with exclamation points were the only indication that social unrest fuelled the demonstration. 

Lisbon is quaint. Those who advised me that I would need no more than three days were right. This picturesque city takes hold of the visitor in a way that a larger city cannot. Walking through side streets along the water, up and down the steep streets, feels like time traveling.

I had been dreaming about Lisbon for three years. It did not disappoint.

Two years later I returned, this time to the south. I vowed not to make repeat visits. For some it is Paris, for me it's always been London. I'll never stop returning. Eventually, though, I found my way back to Portugal on a new trip with a new plan. When I went to Lagos, via Faro it was the first time in two years I wanted to be a backpacker again. Backpackers don't refuse food. They don't calorie count. They move to the next place because someone told them there was a clean bed. They don't worry about the day of week. They don't check the weather. By this point hadn't been a backpacker for over a year, but as I approached what I could feel to be my inevitable return to the life I fled two years earlier, I retreated knowing that if I wanted this opportunity again soon I'd have to blow up my life all over again.

I thought if I forgot for long enough that I belonged someplace else I could fit wherever I found myself. I never lost the image I had of myself sitting alone in cafes anywhere but in Canada, working when inspired or when I needed the money. Sometimes it worked, sometimes I just walked without a plan. I was never the ideal backpacker, but I surprised myself. And that's why I kept going, long after I had stopped for real. Even when I thought I was finished I found myself wanting to log more countries, and to continue surprising myself.

Strangers on the Street

Everywhere I went, from South America to Europe, people stopped me and asked me for directions. Every where I went people told me that I looked like a local and were visibly surprised when it became obvious that I didn't speak their language.

When I was younger I obnoxiously boasted that I had a 'non-regional diction,' inherited from years of moving and a conscious effort to never be a product of any place. When I wanted to, when I was feeling homesick, I would put on a slight accent or use regionally specific phrases. When I wanted others to know something about me, when I was feeling alone and I wanted to be exposed, I would play up who I could have been, through my knowledge of localities.

As I came to learn, I was a product of simply nothing. Even my appearance couldn't be discerned. I suppose it's better to be claimed by many countries that to be disavowed by all. I can trace my lineage back with a very clear line. I am exactly 50% Dutch and 50% Macedonian. I am a visible meshing of those two, although admittedly more Mediterranean than Western. I look like everyone, I could be from anywhere.

                 

I never stopped being thrilled when strangers asked me for directions. Like the travel snob I was I never stopped being thrilled when people didn't speak English to me at first brush. I don't know why my desire to assimilate was so strong; except that it made me think I could disappear for real and run alway for good.

Lisbon felt like a scene in a painting that existed only because I was there as the subject. Back in the real world there was a presidential race in swing, something that would have taken all of my attention in a different place. On my final night in Lisbon I watched a Barack Obama mini-documentary that made me feel far away, without any desire to get back.

                 

Money

Beyond all my existential discovery was the very real question of money. At what point would my wandering become irresponsible. I learned very quickly that all I needed was enough money to keep going. What I had saved in my bank account back home I would try to reserve for school. As I traveled, I needed only to make enough money to last me through another day.

When the opportunity was available I would pick up spare writing or editing jobs that I could complete remotely. I was constantly keeping a score card in my mind. Adding and subtracting as I spent or saved money. I would rent an apartment for a week, but stay in a hostel for the following days, in my mind equalizing the payments. I would walk rather than take public transit, serving the joint goal of both saving money and faintly exercising. I'd stay with friends when possible and take food from the free breakfasts that could last me for the whole day. I was frugal with purpose, and with glee because frugality was a hugely entertaining game.