Remember how it was when you first moved in to your college dorm with your new roommate? And slowly but surely, over the first few weeks, you got a sense of this person’s habits, personality, and maybe even became friends? It’s nothing like that. There is very little slowly-but-surely-get-to-know-one-another happening in hostels. You learn who is cool, normal, and who you’d want to keep in touch with almost immediately, and who the oddballs or a-holes are just as fast.

It was our third night in London and we chose to stay in a Wombat’s City Hostel, where we had a beautiful 6-bed dorm with a shared/attached bathroom. We met 2 of our roommates early on, John and Stacy, who were both from Australia and incredibly friendly and outgoing. We added each other on Facebook and talked about what we had seen so far, our future plans for traveling, you name it. It was easy to talk to them and had it not been as early on in our trip as it was, we probably would have spent more time together (but we were still figuring out our travel ways and adjusting). It’s been almost 9 months since we met John and Stacy and we still like each other’s social media posts and maybe one day will see each other again! These are — the majority of — the types of people you will encounter in hostels.

But our other two roommates were a different story. One- I’ll refer to him as Joe- entered and didn’t give as much as a wave when he came in. Which is FINE. Not everyone wants to meet people when staying in a hostel. However, it may have also been out of embarrassment since Joe spent the majority of his time in London blowing up our common bathroom. His 48 hours in our dorm consisted of shitting, showering, and then snoring in his hostel bed. The other roommate- I’ll refer to as Fred– entered the room later on, and his bizarre (and somewhat concerning) nature was recognized by the group instantly. It did not help that shortly after opening the door, he removed his shoes in the middle of the room to reveal a blood-filled sock and proceeded to walk around in said blood-filled sock while dumping his belongings from his backpack all over the floor. He introduced himself in broken English during this display, gave me his Wombat’s complimentary drink voucher and then disappeared. We thought maybe this was his way of saying “Please don’t think I’m going to kill you in your sleep. I’m just strange and had a long day.” I wanted to believe he was a nice guy – I really did– but still had my doubts. Fred returned around midnight with a grocery bag full of snacks, only to climb into his top bunk, turn on  the reading light (which illuminated the entire room), and eat the crunchiest substance known to man while reading until 2:00 AM. “Joe” and “Fred” are also the type of people you will encounter in hostels– but definitely the minority.

On the second night of Fred crunching and reading until 2:00 AM, the shitter/snorer, Joe, began singing the song of his people (freight trains) as soon as Fred turned his light off. At this point we were in a state of “Are we joking?” and “This can’t be happening.” Ryan, Stacy, John, and myself, all actually turned to one another and laughed uncontrollably. There are certain things you simply cannot NOT laugh about, and this was one of them. “Do you think I can politely ask him to shut the f*ck up?” Stacy said in her perfect Australian accent. “What if I throw my shoe at him?” We urged her not to– “What if he’s crazy?”

John then, sleeping in the bunk above Joe, jolted his body up and down trying to wake him by shaking the bedframe. Nothing worked. It was our final night in London and our train was leaving for Paris in 3 hours. Needless to say, we got no sleep and again, dozed off during a once in a lifetime train ride, this time through the English Channel.

At the end of the day, even with all the Joes and Freds in the world, hostels were the one and only way we were able to make our trip last as long as it did. We booked private rooms wherever we could afford it, but more than half of the places we stayed were shared dorms of 4-8 beds. I sincerely wish hostels were as prevalent in the US as they are in other areas of the world. They are consistent, affordable,  and guarantee you a clean bed to sleep in and unbelievably friendly and helpful staff. (They are also a great way to meet the Johns and Stacys of the world!)

Most of those who work in hostels are fellow travelers; sometimes people who in the middle of traveling,  decided to stay put where they were. Working in a hostel is the best of both worlds for someone who takes this path, providing a place to sleep and income and/or food, in exchange for honest work. Therefore, these workers know what it’s like to be in your shoes and treat you (the hostel goers) as they would like to be treated. They are wonderful.

When Ryan and I first arrived in our Dublin hostel, we were so jet lagged that we fell asleep until 10 PM. The staff understood and let us use the kitchen after hours to heat up our Cup of Noodles, and then offered their office computer so we could book a last-minute bus trip to the Cliffs of Moher (and even use their printer in case the tour operators wouldn’t accept our email confirmation). It was unreal how accommodating and genuinely willing to help they were. In many cases, these hostel workers made our stay, in each and every city, what it was.

Many hostels also offer an included breakfast, or sometimes even a free dinner (if you are so inclined to socialize). Many are located in neighborhoods with close proximity to public transportation and/or easy access to things like grocery stores, public spaces with free wifi, and other travel conveniences. Some have washers and dryers and even a hostel dog (best amenity I can think of), and nearly all had bars, restaurants, and facilities that were so extremely convenient it made more sense to stay there — in a hostel — than a hotel or Airbnb of equal cost.

Have any particular questions about hostels? Post it below and I’ll make sure to include it in Part 2!

I want to get back to explaining what it feels like to be a backpacker. Well, at the start anyway. For me at week 1, it was mixture of constant disbelief that what I was living [my life] was real. This made me incredibly happy and fulfilled. However, my state of awareness and alertness was at an all-time high, which left me feeling exhausted. I was strangely irritable, maybe even a little sick, and collectively lost. Mentally, emotionally, and physically: lost.

I realize that this is probably not the case for a true backpacker, but I am a regular person and willing to admit my faults. I’m not someone — gasp– who always goes with the flow. For all the daydreaming I do, in my every day life I am a planner. Not knowing what to expect and feeling unprepared for anything makes my heart race. Letting go of a schedule and accepting that feeling lost is not only inevitable, but normal, was my biggest challenge in the beginning. And now looking back: how could I have expected to not feel a bit out of place when I was in fact, out of place (Hometown, USA)?

All the research and information you can gather will never fully prepare you for actually being there. I learned that the hard way. But getting to this “place” where you are comfortable not knowing exactly where you are or how to get where you’re going will happen for you. It took me one week and the city of London to get there.

One week may seem like a quick turn around, but try to imagine how fast and drastic the change to your life was when you stepped off the plane and put on your backpack. This wasn’t subtle. You essentially plucked yourself from the habitual life you held for several years and landed into this like a character in RollerCoaster Tycoon. Instead of knowing that you’re heading to work and only have to decide between “Am I going to the gym today or laying on my couch to watch Say Yes to the Dress for the rest of the night?,” you now have to make decisions all day which range from the stupidly mundane to those of utmost importance.

What sights do you want to see first? How will we recoup our budget if we splurge on this? Should we take the metro or walk? Can our feet handle that walk? Is it safe? Where will we eat?

The dreaded question: Where will we eat?

If you’re with a travel partner, or worse, your significant other, you have to decide 3 or more times per day where you are eating. You know how difficult this is at home? Where you know all of your options and how to get to each of them? Hah! I doubt I have to explain any further where I’m going with this.

But I digress; some of these decisions may sound simple, but can become extremely stressful when mixing in the dilemma that you are (most likely) only going to be in this place once in your life and –put nicely– don’t want to screw it up. There will be things you miss and mistakes that you made but you can’t let this overwhelm you. I guess what I’m trying to say is that by virtue of the crash course you’ve just put yourself on, you should have a little faith. Making all these choices so quickly and at such a pace, you will become accustomed to it, and basically have to, to survive.

In terms of feeling physically lost: obviously you are in a new place but you are not lost. Do your best to enjoy where you are. Tell yourself- I am in London… at Buckingham Palace! I am in London and that is Big Ben! And the Parliament! How many times have I seen these in movies and now I’m here—seeing it with my own eyes!? Do it over and over if you have to. Take deep breaths when you feel your heart start to race. And let your partner know, too. That way they can keep tabs on how you’re feeling and also do what they can to help. There is no reason to let something take away from the pleasure of traveling and always keep in mind that it will get easier.

The culmination of all this will be a story. Ryan and I were staying in the lovely neighborhood of Soho for our first two nights in London. We chose a nicer restaurant since we were in the mood to have a real dinner and wanted something we couldn’t easily eat at home. After rummaging through “Nearby Restaurants” on Google Maps, Rosa’s Thai Cafe won out. It was packed when we reached the entrance and had to wait in the pocket-sized lobby for 20 or more minutes to be seated. Everyone inside was chatting and cheerful. There was a bar across from us without an open seat or even room to stand. Every time a new customer was coming in to meet friends or ask for a table, we had no choice but to shuffle around so that we could all even fit. The ambiance in the place was exactly what you want in a restaurant. You could feel that the diners were not only enjoying their food but also their lives. All while we were standing there, however, I couldn’t help but think that everyone in Rosa’s knew I didn’t belong. Like I was in the way, and like I had no business being in this lovely local restaurant with real local Londoners; enjoying their Tuesday evening and incredible smelling Thai food.

What was wrong with me? After what seemed like an eternity, we were seated, and treated just like anyone else was in the restaurant- with respect and hospitality. We ordered a Coke to share and water (backpackers’ delight) and our dinners. Shortly thereafter, we became the cheerful and chatty people in Rosa’s. I stopped looking around at others to see what they must have thought of us and realized they were simply enjoying this and we should be, too. It was a turning point for me in our trip. I no longer felt like a foreign person in a foreign place. I was no longer lost. I felt present and happy in the company of my travel partner and knowing I didn’t have the answer to all of my anxiety-provoking questions. The worry had simply melted away, and I belonged. Somehow, one simple meal was all it took. Ryan and I had become real local Londoners; enjoying our Tuesday evening and incredible smelling Thai food.

I still have the receipt to prove it.

We knew Dublin was the place we wanted to start since it is one of the cheapest cities to fly into from the East coast, and Ireland (in general) is known to have a friendly and easy-going nature. I’m sure we would have made it out alive if we chose a different route instead, but easing ourselves into a stretch of foreign places and then easing back out to those that were more familiar did help with foregoing culture shock. I would highly recommend doing the same if possible.

After Dublin, our next stop was London. The easiest way to get from one to another is by plane, but there is also an option known as the “Sail and Rail.” As you can probably deduce, the Sail and Rail is a mixture of ferry and train rides. In this case, we took a ferry from Dublin to Holyhead (on the West coast of Wales) and then a train across the UK countryside to London.

Let me begin by saying that the train ride from Holyhead to London was stunning and — I will admit– made the entire Sail and Rail worth it. You will understand how crazy beautiful this must mean it was once you get to the end of this story. I distinctly remember gazing out the window wanting to cry (due to a mixture of awe, exhaustion and sheer relief). The countryside in Wales and England were alluring and comforting; filled with sheep, cows, and so much green. I wish I had photos to prove it, but I had nothing left in me to even take my phone out.

Before deciding on the Sail and Rail, we found mixed reviews online but still figured it was worth a shot. If you still want to give it a go after reading this, information can be found on their website here.

The saga begins:

We arrived just in time thanks to our taxi. It was not recommended to us to walk to and/or through the Dublin Ferries Port– we would have never found our line area anyway had we been walking. Once aboard, we were surprised by the smell of delicious breakfast food. And since we woke up too early for our included hostel breakfast in order to make our departure time, we were hungry.

Ryan convinced me to go for the full English breakfast and I think deep down we both knew we’d regret it. Either way, we filled up our trays and found a nice window spot in the middle of the starboard side to call home. At 08:45, right on time, we were on our way to Holyhead.

Taking in our surroundings, we found that our neighboring tables were filled with what seemed to be “regulars” that had also gotten a full English breakfast. Once they were finished, they then put their feet up, hats over their eyes, and were off to sleep. In addition to these groups, the children’s area was just next to us in the dead center of the ship. It was set up like a movie theatre with a small TV and the original 101 Dalmations playing. I could faintly hear the opening song and laughed to myself; thinking about how old the original 101 Dalmatians must be.

About 30 minutes in, Ryan was not looking so hot. Even the “regulars” were now shuffling in their seats, switching positions to bury their heads into their crossed arms on the table in front of them. The swaying seemed pretty intense but Ryan nor I ever get sea sick- we were giving ourselves internal pep talks that this was nothing we couldn’t handle. I had also taken Dramamine earlier that morning as a precaution and felt fairly confident in its abilities. “Do you want one? I have more in my bag.” I could tell he didn’t want to give in but we both knew it was probably a good idea. That English breakfast…

As time went on, the ship was literally rocking from side to side so much that you could not stand. There were older people getting up to use the bathroom or move seats, and I watched them make their every move, genuinely concerned that the stationary furniture of which they were about to bash their head into, would be the last thing they ever saw. It was like a car crash. I could not look away. 101 Dalmatians was still on. I thought about moving over to the children’s section to watch it.

Our hopes of this subsiding came to a screeching halt once the captain came upon the loudspeaker.

“We are experiencing extreme swells…going to continue…”

That was all my brain processed. A confirmation that we weren’t overreacting and that unfortunately, this torture was not going to end. Audible groans and heavy sighs throughout the cabin ensued.

I now had to pee and had no idea how much longer this hell would last. I could not hold it if I was to focus on staying un-nauseated. The women’s restroom was to the far port side and all the way in the front of the ship. I mentally prepared my reflex muscles and extended my arms out, trying my best to take the sways of the ship in stride. Thankfully I made it back and forth without injury and sat back into my seat. However, this only escalated the motion sickness I was experiencing, and I had officially lost my battle with the Irish Sea.

My only coping mechanism was to avert 100% of my attention on 101 Dalmatians. My hands were cupped around my eyes (as if I were a horse with blinders) and I kept my reflex muscles moving, tapping and bouncing my knees to confuse my body of the movements beyond my control. Ryan continued to stare directly out at the horizon; saying that helped him. To this day, I have no idea how he did this.

For the remainder of the ride, we did not speak. I didn’t dare to even open my mouth in fear that the English breakfast would voluntarily spew out. It took everything we had to hold it together for the remaining hour or more. They must have started 101 Dalmatians over while I was in the restroom. I counted my blessings.

Eventually, we felt the swells decrease and saw the port in the very far off distance. Ryan and I both pointed and acknowledged the end, eyes wide. “LAND,” was all we could verbalize before we went back to our mute existence. I closed my eyes and covered my face with my hands in relief. The end was in sight.

Disembarking and finding our train was a blur. There was a shuttle that took us from one to the other, but it could have been a unicorn for all I know. We were simply so happy to be off the ferry and slowly but surely regaining our equilibrium.

“Wait. So you’re telling me that you are leaving the country with only the clothes on your back and a one-way ticket? Don’t you think security will find that a bit suspicious?” – Moms are looking out for their kids, always.

I hadn’t thought about it looking suspicious but I did expect people to think we were crazy.

And as crazy as it was, we decided to only bring a personal bag filled with necessities when we left home, and opted to purchase our larger backpacks and much of our clothing in the UK upon arrival. This not only saved us on our initial baggage fees but also helped with conserving energy (by only carrying what we needed), and blending in (the clothes we wore were purchased in the countries we visited). To see my full packing list, click here.

It is imperative to know the measurements for “carry-on” sizing on all the flights or transportation you’ll be taking. Over the course of your trip this will save you time, money and frustration. Also, keep in mind that international budget airlines do NOT have the same restrictions as our domestic flights we’re used to. Example: Ryan Air’s included baggage allowance is: 55cm x 40cm x 20cm and under 10k . This roughly equates to 21.65 in x 15.74 in x 7.87 in and 22 lbs.

If you opt for the “crazy” route, make sure to do your research on reputable camp supply/backpacking stores so you know what to expect before you start your search in a completely unfamiliar city. Dublin had several options and we landed on some relatively cheap backpacks on our first day (post Guinness).

After we made ourselves official backpackers, we then hit the local H&M, Penneys, and drug store for everything else and passed out in our hostel– jet lag is REAL.

Even though I preach minimalism, there are a few things I would recommend bringing with you that may not seem necessary but absolutely are, including:

1. Waterproof day-pack: While looking for a collapsible “personal bag,” I came across this and the Mountain Warehouse employee convinced me that I shouldn’t go without it. That man deserves a promotion because it ended up being the most important and necessary thing we brought. I cannot express how much easier to navigate a foreign city it is with your hands free (of an umbrella) and the peace of mind it brings knowing that your belongings aren’t getting soaked and/or ruined is a major plus.
2. Microfiber towel: Not all hostels include towels and will charge you $1-3 per person to borrow one of theirs. This is not a lot of money, but in backpacking terms that is the difference between a beer or snack, souvenir, or better meal in general that day. It will take a little bit getting used to the feeling of it versus a regular towel, but your shower ritual in most hostels will not be luxurious anyway and you’ll thank yourself for bringing it when you can splurge on gelato, instead!
3. Selfie stick: One of my best friends sent me a selfie stick for my birthday and I told myself I’d never be the person to use it in public. Holy shit was I wrong. This thing managed to help us capture lovely photos and videos all around the globe. You can also forget about looking like an idiot with it, because in most of the tourist areas you will be surrounded by other people using their beloved selfie sticks with no shame whatsoever.
4. Tampons: Ladies- unless you are super lucky and can skip your period for 3-4 months, you’re going to have to deal with this while abroad. I read that tampons could be purchased pretty much anywhere around the world, and this may be true. But if you are at all picky about what brand/type/size you’re buying, I would recommend bringing what you’re used to from home. I brought enough for about 2 months and had to purchase some not so ideal ones in Australia (which made for uncomfortable travel and a very unhappy backpacker). Better safe than sorry!

Always fall back on the fact that if there is something you didn’t bring and need, you will be able to buy it or something close to it. And you will never see many of the people you are bumping shoulders with during your travels every again, so do not stress on the outfits, your hair being frizzy, etc. Worrying less about what you look like and only having to carry what you need will help you to focus on what really matters most; your experience.