I'm going to backpack through Japan in two weeks. I'm excited, and terrified. For anyone who hasn't gone backpacking before, while it's a great way to save money and experience a culture differently, it is also stressful beyond belief.
Take Hallstatt, for instance. Hallstatt is a tiny village in Austria, small enough that one could walk from one end to the other in well under thirty minutes. When going there by train, you find yourself dropped off at a small, barren ticket building pinned on the side of the tracks between a nearly sheer, rocky mountain wall on one side, and a deep, blue lake on the other. The lake spreads out on and on until you can't see it anymore as it bends round the base of rocky green mountains that rise out of it like someone's knees from a bathtub. And on the far end of the lake is a crescent shape of black and red roofs curled at the foot of one of these mountains like a sleeping cat. This, is Hallstatt.
So, upon exiting the train, you make your way into the ticket office and huddle with your bags, away from the cold, and watch through the window, waiting for the ferry to make a trip to your stop. Once it comes you pay two euro fifty to take the tiny little boat across the choppy and beautiful waters of the lake.
Here comes the worries from a backpacker's point of view. There is only one Hostel in Hallstatt, and while you can call ahead to ask about a bed for the night, they will tell you that one is waiting, but they will not tell you that this means that it is reserved for you. So upon arriving to my hostel, I find my bed taken, and myself with no where to sleep for the night. Trying to make the best of things, I wander around the town for a bit, admiring the tiny homes and chapels, and the crystal clear glacial rivers from a perch on arched, wooden bridges, all the while with my forty pound bag on my shoulders. Hallstatt also has no ATM's on Saturdays, so after having to pay two more euro to cross the lake again, and take the train to the next town, I only have 18 euro in my pocket. After walking through the rain for several minutes to a hostel at the edge of town, which I don't even know if they'll have a bed, I find myself having to wait outside for four hours while the receptionist is on break. Upon finally get inside, they tell me "yes, there is bed, it is 19.30." My stomach drops. I try to explain my problem to the non-English speaking hostess, she meets my watery eyes with a blank, concerned look. It is only my salvation in the form of a Canadian guest crossing the lobby, with 1.30 in their pocket, that I find rest for the night.
Take Hallstatt, for instance. Hallstatt is a tiny village in Austria, small enough that one could walk from one end to the other in well under thirty minutes. When going there by train, you find yourself dropped off at a small, barren ticket building pinned on the side of the tracks between a nearly sheer, rocky mountain wall on one side, and a deep, blue lake on the other. The lake spreads out on and on until you can't see it anymore as it bends round the base of rocky green mountains that rise out of it like someone's knees from a bathtub. And on the far end of the lake is a crescent shape of black and red roofs curled at the foot of one of these mountains like a sleeping cat. This, is Hallstatt.
So, upon exiting the train, you make your way into the ticket office and huddle with your bags, away from the cold, and watch through the window, waiting for the ferry to make a trip to your stop. Once it comes you pay two euro fifty to take the tiny little boat across the choppy and beautiful waters of the lake.
Here comes the worries from a backpacker's point of view. There is only one Hostel in Hallstatt, and while you can call ahead to ask about a bed for the night, they will tell you that one is waiting, but they will not tell you that this means that it is reserved for you. So upon arriving to my hostel, I find my bed taken, and myself with no where to sleep for the night. Trying to make the best of things, I wander around the town for a bit, admiring the tiny homes and chapels, and the crystal clear glacial rivers from a perch on arched, wooden bridges, all the while with my forty pound bag on my shoulders. Hallstatt also has no ATM's on Saturdays, so after having to pay two more euro to cross the lake again, and take the train to the next town, I only have 18 euro in my pocket. After walking through the rain for several minutes to a hostel at the edge of town, which I don't even know if they'll have a bed, I find myself having to wait outside for four hours while the receptionist is on break. Upon finally get inside, they tell me "yes, there is bed, it is 19.30." My stomach drops. I try to explain my problem to the non-English speaking hostess, she meets my watery eyes with a blank, concerned look. It is only my salvation in the form of a Canadian guest crossing the lobby, with 1.30 in their pocket, that I find rest for the night.
