For the past 14 months, I have been traveling the world while I work remotely. It’s been one of the most rewarding experiences of my life, but of course, it also comes with major challenges. Solo-backpacking is not the same thing as taking a leisurely vacation. To give you an insight into what the experience is truly like, I’ve listed some pros and cons of my lifestyle as a digital-nomad-backpacker.
Pro: I never get bored.
Someone once asked me, “why do you love to travel?” Well, solo-traveling is the greatest adventure of all time! I love the novelty of constantly being in a new place, being launched outside of my comfort zone into unfamiliar surroundings. The lack of routine. Constantly meeting new people, seeing beautiful places, and experiencing new adventures. I can’t get bored. And if I do eventually get bored of a place — or if I simply don’t like it — I can leave.
Diane Ackerman said, “I don’t want to get to the end of my life and find that I have just lived the length of it. I want to have lived the width of it as well.” This is exactly how I feel about life, and it’s what I get from travel.
Con: I can’t fit an entire kitchen in my backpack (believe it or not).
When I travel, I cook most of my meals in communal kitchens. For the most part, I really don’t really mind sharing a kitchen with strangers. However, I do tend to stay in budget-friendly accommodations, and admittedly, the cleanliness of these kitchens often reflects that. I carry my own sponge, dish soap, and hand towel, so I can handle it when the dishes or cooking-ware that I need are a little grimey. Nevertheless, cooking in a kitchen where I don’t feet at home isn’t ideal, of course.
Also, sometimes these kitchens are extremely basic. They always have the most necessary appliances, such as a stove and refrigerator, and some hostels even have a “free food” shelf with cooking oil, salt, pepper, and — if I’m lucky — fresh garlic. Unfortunately, I’ve had a harder time finding things like blenders, baking sheets, and even a whisk, which was a bit of a bummer for me and my friend Luca when we wanted to make a birthday cake this past August.
The biggest issue I have with cooking in hostels, however, is that it’s hard to cook anything complex. Unless I plan to stay in a specific place for at least a few weeks (which I do plan to do more of in the future), buying any ingredients beyond the staple produce, pasta, rice, and beans that I can whip up in a single meal or two becomes impractical.
Pro: I have very few bills.
I’ve been asked a few times how I can afford to travel… possibly because when most people picture my life, they envision one of AirBnbs and hotel stays, expensive taxi rides or car rentals, full-day tours, and eating out every night. This is not how backpackers live our lives.
Like many of my friends in the States, my biggest expense is accommodation. However, I almost always stay in hostel dorm rooms, which typically range from USD $7–25 per night, depending on where in the world I am. As I write this, I’m sitting in the living room of a hostel on the more expensive side, but I still don’t have to pay for utilities or smaller “adult” things like toilet paper or hand soap or cleaning supplies. I do have to pay to do loads of laundry, but I often hand-wash and hang dry my basics between each full load to prolong these periods as much as possible.
I don’t have to pay for car insurance or gas, because I don’t use a car. And rather than taking taxis or Ubers, I opt to take public transportation whenever I can — even though it’s obviously less time-efficient.
I cook most of my meals in those communal kitchens I just described, so eating costs about the same here in New Zealand as it does back in the States.
Of course, I have paid for many tourist activities here and there — Spanish lessons and zip-lining in San Pedro La Laguna, diving school in Utila, a surfing lesson in Leon — but my days full of paid activities are far outnumbered by the ones where I spend my afternoons exploring the area I’m in for free, or hanging out in a coffee shop or my hostel to work or read or write.
Con: It gets lonely.
Every single one of my relationships is a long-distance relationship. I go months at a time without hugging my friends and family members. It’s easy to make friends while backpacking, and some of the best connections I’ve ever had have been with people I’ve met abroad. But my time with these other travelers is always short-lived, as we eventually go our separate ways. We stay in touch through text, video chat, and sending voice messages back and forth, but I don’t have a consistent community of people surrounding me. Which can get lonely. Especially the part right after I say goodbye, when I realize I have to start over again.
Pro: I’m constantly learning and growing.
My daily life consists of meeting new people from all over the world, and familiarizing myself with new surroundings — of course it’s a growing opportunity! For each place I visit, I teach myself how to navigate various local transportation systems, and use mental math to determine how much C$100 for a bus ride in Nicaragua or L105 for a panini in Honduras would be (in USD). Is tap water safe to drink in this city? What about walking alone (at night)? Are credit cards generally accepted, or do I need cash? Is it customary to tip? What about haggling? Crap, I have to remember to first look right, then left before crossing the street. By the way, how much trouble could I get in for jaywalking? Or biking without a helmet?
The list goes on. Writing all this out, it sounds exhausting… and it can be. But anyone who knows me knows that I love to learn, and I love a challenge.
Pro: I have the best stories.
From crashing on the couches of strangers, to hitching a ride back from a party in the car of two musicians who just played a wedding at the hostel next door, to camping in a national park with a girl I met through Facebook on the front lawn of another woman she found on Facebook, I have so many unforgettable stories.
As I first drafted this paragraph, I was sitting on a couch facing a fireplace large enough for me to stand in at the bougiest hotel in Yosemite Valley, while I waited for my friend who works at the front desk to get off her shift (no, I was not a guest there). A few weeks later, I’m sitting on a different sofa on the other side of the world, where my view of a crackling autumn fire has been replaced with a large window, through which I can see bear’s breeches flowers swaying in the light spring rain, and black sand beaches of the Tawatahi River lie just beyond the yard.
Last year, when I was backpacking in Europe, a friend asked me what my favorite story was so far during that trip. Realizing I wasn’t quite living as wildly as I could’ve been for someone who was solo-traveling in Italy, I headed over to a tattoo shop two days later and got the words “per la storia” inked into my skin… per la storia, and per a reminder to remain open to new possibilities. I’m thrilled to report that in recent months, I’ve attracted some of the best stories of all time.
Con: I don’t have a home base.
Coming hand-in-hand with getting lonely, this aspect of solo-travel is something I’ve struggled with over the past year. As I mentioned in a previous post, not having a space to call “home” can be a real downer. It can be difficult to feel grounded, and to feel comfortable. There’s nothing like going “home” to your own bed, in a space where everything you own has its own special place where it belongs… where you feel safe, and where you can let loose and be completely comfortable.
Not having a home base can also cause challenges for more trivial matters of convenience, such as not having a local address to receive packages, or a place to temporarily store my winter coat or sleeping bag when I fly straight from from Japan’s crisp winter to Thailand’s sweltering summer (I haven’t done this yet, but it’s in the cards for my next few months!). At the moment, I have a few clothing items sprinkled across the States in various family members’ homes, with most of my belongings waiting for me in my childhood bedroom, which remains my legal permanent address. Eventually, I plan to return to all of these belongings, but for the time being, they might as well not exist.
Pro: I don’t have a home base.
On the other hand, not being tied — or chained…? — to any one place is the whole point of this lifestyle. It’s the reason I never get bored. Almost every Monday (or Tuesday, now that I’m a day ahead of almost everyone I know), I can count on one of my coworkers to ask, “Carmen, where are you?” in our weekly Zoom meeting, commenting on my background and the relative amount of light or darkness streaming into my video. I love seeing the reactions of my coworkers after giving a different answer almost every time they ask. Some of my favorite answers I’ve given have been:
- “I’m in my hostel bunk bed in [insert city here].” The most common response. Usually a different city.
- “Yes, I am in the jungle. I’m volunteering at an eco-hotel.”
- “Yes, I am in a classroom. I’m at a diving school.”
Not having a home base means I have everything I’ll need for the next 6 months (that I can’t thrift or buy locally) either on the couch next to me, or in my larger backpack 20 feet away. As long as I keep that backpack close by, I get to go anywhere I want. I get to be my own home.
