Backpacking is a paradox. Although debatably a more exciting alternative to a crowded group tour or a retreat to an island resort, it can contradict the expected comfort and relaxation that is assumed synonymous with a ‘holiday.’ Aside from anticipated annoyances, such as a relentless feeling of uncleanliness regardless of whether you bathe twice or even thrice a day and the unyielding heave of the fifteen kilos strapped to your back, the greatest improbability to the solitary traveler is the company kept on the journey. Those met along the way can either entice true friendship, or a friendship instigated out of desperation for companionship, even though in differing circumstances you would find that person morally repugnant.
Over the Uni break I found myself travelling through North to Central Vietnam with one particularly trying backpacker. Her two month stay in Vietnam was an exploration of each hostel we stayed in, a fair test run of each bar and bia hoi in town and an appraisal of many a travelling man. She had perfected a routine. Her day would begin at dinner, with drinks of course, getting her just tipsy enough to want to continue the evening at whichever establishment the backpackers seemed to congregate towards. This followed up by a drink at the bar for optimal scoping of the ‘talent’, never taking her more than ten minutes to make her pick from a sea of tanned male faces. Come ten o’clock she’d typically be on to her second bucket of vodka and Redbull, and after that there really was no turning back. I was quite ready to stumble back to our hostel by two or three in the morning, with tentative plans to wake before midday. However, she would continue on until she was well and truly inebriated, blundering back to our hostel at the break of dawn with Billy or Bobby from Ukraine in tow. Due to budgetary setbacks (having to sharing a double bed on more than one occasion), I found I was sleeping with everyone she was too. Nice and cozy! And her solution to a hangover: carry on drinking. This would be all well and good were it not for the repercussions of her lifestyle. We dealt with a stolen wallet (numerous times), a lost passport, pickpocketed cash (leaving me to sort the bill) and her breaking my iPod, bag and misplacing a bunch of borrowed books. She also got into an uncanny number of bar fights, leaving a trail of staff members cranky and violated. Worst of all however, was her disagreeable demeanor. Her open disdain for the local culture, customs and people was at points embarrassing, though impartial to her behavior. Communication with her was just simply not possible unless it was after six in the evening and there was a big bottle of Tiger beer in her right hand and a cigarette in the other. However, therein lays the beauty in that paradox: you’re under no obligation to those you meet along the way, nor is parting ways personal. Two weeks of her bad temperament was enough for me to leave her lost in Hanoi with just enough lent Dong to get her a bowl of Phở.
