When I was doing my 104 day hitchhiking adventure throughout Europe, I tried to blog as much as I could.

I wanted to look back and remember the times when I roughed it, and really feel proud of myself. I filled those blog pages with pages and pages of complaints. Lots of disordered eating complaints.

Now, I’m 25 and doing perhaps one last travel hurrah in Sydney. Social hostel, two concert tickets, finding someone to go with, maybe hitchhiking, finding ways to fill my time memorably (or not), inviting strangers to watch a terrible cut of Holding on to Water.

The first time I had stayed in a hostel, as a fresh 19 year old, if I had met someone who was 25, which I think I did, (Monika from Lithuania), I would’ve thought they were so OLD! In a way, they are. In a way, I am.

This hostel life won’t last forever (or will it?!), and I’m excited for one last one. Here’s the "calm before the storm", or the, "man I have no idea what the heck will happen in these next five days."

I look fondly back on literally all of the times I’ve stayed in a hostel.
When I was the odd one out in a room full of Brazillians, who smelled like straight dog shit.
When I went to Park Retiro with probably the most interesting man I’ve ever met, from Norway.
When I met Libby and Matteo in Cats Hostel and became bonded for life.
When I had my first confrontational chat with Sam at the Generator in Barcelona.
When, years later, I remembered the layout, I snuck in and slept in a hallway.
When I walked around Taichung with that man who could barely walk, he told me to hurry up, so I bought him ice cream.
When in the same hostel, I was trying to convince a British cop to hitchhike back to Taipei with me, when I was actually trying to convince myself.
When I went to Seoul, I thought I had so much experience talking to strangers after Europe, but didn’t talk to a single person.
When I told the receptionist in Lisbon that she is really pretty, which was a big deal for me at 22.
When I lay awake in Thessaloniki after one of the best weeks of my life and felt lonely because some german was getting clapped upstairs.
When I was putting my new snow bib on for snowboarding with a group of six friends in Tokyo; waking up and having matcha donuts together.
When we were the only people in probably the only hostel around in Jerash, Jordan, and speaking funny french with Arthur and Victor.
When Matteo and I tried talking to some boring ass strangers in Berlin, so we said, eff it, let’s have a hitchhiking competition to Prague.
When we got to Prague, and I blacked out for the first time, and Matteo made sure I was okay, when I somehow teleported back to the hostel bed.
When I said goodbye to Matteo in Krakow to go on a 10 day silent meditation trip, and wanting to cry afterwards when we hugged.
When I stayed in one purely for a bed and to save money, when I was out schmoozing famous people at Sundance Taiwan.

When the hostel was closed for winter in Perpignan, so I had to knock on Bernard’s door, and he let me in.

Hostels have been so good to me. I love hostels. I’m grateful. So grateful.

Here’s to one more.