Lis and Tyler in Germany

Some people we meet are traveling for 3 months, 5 months, even a year. Some are single women, traveling alone. Some are using English (often the only common language), maybe their second, third or fourth language, to communicate as they go from country to country. One Seattlite is riding his bike through Europe. All of these hardcore, longterm, serious travelers. And we just finished our fifth week and I’ve hit a wall. I’m tired of living out of my backpack, wearing the same jeans and the same three shirts, putting sheets on new hostel bed after new hostel bed. Things that were once charming, fun and excitingly adventurous like washing socks and underwear in sinks and finding chairbacks, hangers or balconies to dry them on, navigating metro systems, seeking out internet cafes and packing bread, cheese and salami picnics, are now tedious and irritating. Things I never did really love, like slimy, haircovered showers with low water pressure and luke-warm water, are threatening to push me over the edge. My brain is saturated, my patients are low, my feet are tired, my wallet is empty and I’m ready to come home. Am I too old for hostel living? Or am I just not hardcore?

Countdown: one week