ever since teenage-dom i’ve fantasized about backpacking + hostelling around europe. that was a time when the world was a little simpler : when solo travel didn’t have the scare factor that it does now. even so, i finally made it with a backpack to a hostel, but in monterey, california.
and i did it in true backpacker style. i called on the way TO the hostel. they had one bunk left. #thanksuniverse #youretheshit
i pulled in late at night after hitting up the trader joe’s. my hands were full to the brim with all the dried mango. the 60-something, white-haired, extremely quirky, fisherman-meets-lumberjack of a host hands me 3 shower tokens before i teeter totter behind him around the space ending with the otter room for females only.
i stayed up people watching and writing the LA post and reading. i was in a space of sheer gratitude to have seen big sur, to be in monterey, and to feel as i felt in my own skin. sitting in that little living room surrounded by kindred souls was beautiful. and they were nothing as i imagined. all ages + nationalities. i silently listened in on their conversations about life and love – finding the similarities among the differences. completely my speed compared to the rambunctious party-sphere i imagined.
i slept above a large, heavy-snoring russian(?) woman who’s sounded eerily like my Junebug. like, seriously you guys, it was worthy of juniper snore-glory. i somehow woke up after 4 hours of sleep and booked it down to the dock. it was the most gorgeous sunrise i have ever seen. i’ll never forget that pink hue as the water raged and splashed (and downright soaked some fisherman).
this beautiful state i take with me everywhere.