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Losing the fear of being a woman: 8 tips for solo women travelers in India

This post is dedicated to my July-25^th-2013-me and to all the women who forgot to put inside their backpack their fears, so they could travel lighter, far away, as far as they wanted to go.

“Boluda, you don’t know how it is! It drives you crazy ...It's a mess, it’s a mess! Good we didn’t go there as backpackers, because I swear we would be dead. I tell you one thing: the woman who makes India on a backpack deserves my whole admiration.”

A cloud, like those ones that appear in cartoons, is framing my best friend, who shares her experience about her honeymoon in India. Meanwhile, I lay further down,terrified in bed in a fucking hostel in Delhi, victim of the first panic attackin my life, and ready to return home with borrowed money just 12 hours after I’ve arrived. What the HELL did I have inside my head when I decided to come to India alone?

Transit in Delhi.

I can’t explain precisely why, since forever, I was infatuated with going to India, to the extent that it was on the second place of my top 3 countries to visit. Especially if we consider that, when I arrived to Delhi, I realized that besides from the cliche Taj Mahal, I had NO fucking idea what to do there. In my mind, characterized by certain chronic adolescent traits, I think that, besides an utopia as big as The Arabian Nights, I had in mind that in no country I would see so many human extremes as in this one. I was right: India is a land of hyperbole and I think it is ESSENTIAL that appears in the curriculum of every traveler who claims to be one.

The problem was precisely the fear. That fear of, simply, being a woman.

I arrived to India a few months after the brutal attack to Amanat (a student from Delhi named like that by the media), who died a few days after six men put an iron bar inside her vagina during a group rape, while traveling in a moving bus, from which they threw her away. I arrived to India just a few weeks after an U.S. student was diagnosed with post-traumatic stress after a holiday in India. Anyway, I arrived at a time when all the backpacker horror legends about India have risen more strongly than ever from the newspapers pages.

But there I was. And I wouldn’t go back.

Today, I wish I could travel back in time and give my July-25^th-2013-me a very big hug. This post, in fact, I think is dedicated to that Andrea who the next morning, when she woke up, said: “I don’t have a husband who takes me to India for our honeymoon. I don’t have anyone else who makes my dreams come true, except myself. I don’t want to write the story of how I remained in Asia just for two days. I want to write the story of how I decided not to think about all the stories I could have told. "

Really. I want to go and hug that Andrea, and tell her I will be grateful UNTIL THE VERY LAST DAY OF MY LIFE for believing in herself, for swallowing her fear with a cup of coffee the next morning and for staying four months to live the most impressive country in which I have been so far.

Golden Temple. Amritsar.

So this post is dedicated to her and to all the women who have traveled alone to India, and especially to all those women who now are packing to go there, and have left on purpose, in their closets, what others may think, the tabloids, and the fear of, simply, being a woman.

Tip # 1. In Rome do as the Romans do

This is the first of my backpacker commandments, and since I'm writing these tips based on my personal experience, I honestly couldn’t start otherwise.

I am interested as well in improving the women’s situation in India, as any human being would be if he can feel at least some empathy for a country where even the simple fact of finishing being gestated is a challenge, given the high number of sex-selective abortions, calculated in 12 millions.

However, although I don’t believe in borders, much less in a passport, I personally don’t consider myself as one of the rights ones to make radical changes in the Indian mindset, imposing my Western habits all the time, something that even sounds neocolonial. So, if that means following sexist rules (from which in my country I would have rend my garments and I would have cheerfully begun neutering its precursors), either way, I will follow those rules in India.

First of all, I wield selfish and personal reasons. As a solo traveler woman in an unknown country, I don’t place my ideals over my basic personal safety. If this means to cover myself with clothes until my wrists and ankles, even when I am melting because of the heat, I will do it. If this means avoid smoking on the street, even when for me that doesn’t indicate that I am a prostitute, I will quit smoking. If this means staying locked at night alone without going out, I will stay.

Second, India is one of the most complex countries on the face of the earth (probably the most complex one), so pretend to understand its culture in a short time is naively utopian, to say the least (if not stupid). So I think us, foreigners, we are not the right ones to question and disobey certain practices in India. For me, that is the same as going to somebody else's house and start changing his bedroom’s furniture so feng shui energy can flow better, without even asking if this person believes in feng shui or not... At least, if you do that in my house, you would be in serious problems. So, don’t do it.

Therefore, if you go to India, even if it hurts you deep in your rational humanity, follow the crowd. There will be opportunities to share your opinion with other people and help to make a change in smarter ways than swimming against a current of 1.2 billion people.

Me at India's biggest mosque, with my head covered, following the rules.

Tip # 2. Before going to India, get married!

“Wuich contri, madam , wuich contri?” One of the typical questions from the Indian-street-tout repertoire. “Costa Rica and my husband is from Germany,” PLOP!  Just like that, direct and nonstop.

“Are you married?” One of the typical questions from the Indian-restaurant-Casanova’s repertoire. “Yes, I have been married for six years”. PLOP! Just like that, direct and non-stop, even when you have been married only for six seconds on your mind since the guy made the question.

“How are you today, madame?” One of the typical questions from the Indian-well-educated-guy’s repertoire. “Good, I am married.” PLOP! Just like that, direct and nonstop. “Do you want some coffee?” “Yes, I am married.” PLOP! “First time in India?” “No, I am married.”PLOP! (do not forget to ALWAYS say that IT IS NOT your first time in India) “What time is it?” “I am married.” PLOP! “Excuse madame, could you please ...” “No, I am married.” ALWAYS, ALWAYS, FOREVER AND EVER: “I am married!!!”

Before going to India, get married. Do not stick to a simple boyfriend. That's not enough: GET MARRIED. Many Indian men seem to have no respect for women, but they seem to have respect for marriage. I understand that many Indian guys may think that foreign women come by default with vaginas that don’t discriminate anybody, and they will try to hook up with you at all cost, but only with the verbal hologram of an imaginary husband is enough to keep them away most of the times.

I have to admit that, with this, my retro-romantic-literary side had a lot of fun. My husband during 4 months was a handsome German doctor (I gave him the passport of a more impressive and recognized world power than my humble Costa Rica, not to mention that I've always had a thing for learning German), who was in Nepal doing some volunteer work while I was taking a few days of holidays. He loved Russian literature and playing the piano in his spare time.

Unfortunately, as soon as I left India, we got divorced.

Tip # 3. Never go out alone at night

This tip was given by Pryanka, a very nice Indian girl whom I met in Berlin. I have to say that she was one of my biggest motivations to visit India just a couple of months after meeting her (although we could not meet each other at the end), because she said that, with all the bad things people talk about her country, she still wants to raise her future children in India. That made me feel curious and I wanted to know, by myself, why she said that.

If someone who has the better opinion of her country gives me this advice, then I will follow it as I follow the law of gravity. Therefore, after 7 pm, I didn’t go out alone, as if I couldn’t detach myself from my hotel room’s floor, attracted by the force of caution. It was not always easy: many times I was hungry at 10 pm and I had to take a sleeping pill because I could not go out to have dinner. It was very frustrating to feel that I had lost my freedom, but at least I knew it was temporary, just until next morning. Thank God, every day the sun rises.

India-Pakistan closing border ceremony. 

If I was able to take this picture at sunset is only because

I was with someone else. :p

Tip # 4. Travel at least in 3^rd class

Soon, there will be an English translation of a travel mini guide about India. There I explain how to book trains in India. For now is only available in Spanish.

Overall, India is very, very cheap, so it really worth paying a little bit more and travel in 3AC or 2AC in case of the trains, where families often travel with you and you will feel safer (some of them will even share their food with you). Much better than being with a bunch of single men in other classes like the Sleeper, where I even ran into a wagon full of soldiers, who were very willing to look at me throughout the 7 hours of the journey.

For buses, the same thing applies. If you have a long journey, avoid using local buses. Pay for what they call “Volvo” (please note that the “deluxe” buses were only deluxe in the 80s, when they bought them). Many bus lines even offer booking exclusive seats for women, as well as in Delhi and Mumbai’s subways there are carriages only for women.

Metro stop only for women. Delhi.

Linked to the previous point, avoid as much as you can arriving or leaving a city at night time. You don’t want to be in the same situation I was, when I was by myself at 4 am at a bus station, with a dozen men looking at me and a taxi driver who kept following me with the typical question “du yu nid rickshaw, madam?”

Tip # 5. Yeah, take a taxi or a rickshaw, but...

Who said you can’t take a rickshaw or a taxi by yourself? Only the fear. Of course you can! Just take into account that:

1.The safest way is to catch one of the police prepaid taxis or rickshaws (yes, they are managed by the police, because those who work with them must pass a test before starting), which are available in booths outside major airports and main train stations. In addition, you have guaranteed a fair rate.

2. Another safe way is to ask the people at the hotel to pick you up at the train station, especially if you are arriving at night. Many hotels even offer a free service. However, it happened several times to me that they didn’t show up at all (in India you need a lot of patience), but anyway, at least give it a try. Once at the hotel, you can ask for a recommended taxi or rickshaw driver. Some of them even have a system: they may show you a notebook in which their customers have recommended them in their native languages.

3. If you have no choice but to get on a taxi or rickshaw on the street, look for the license number (usually, it is written with white paint inside the vehicle), take your cell phone and  make a very loud ghost phone call. Remember to scream to your husband (yes, to your husband) that you are already on your way and you're in the taxi number XXXXX. At least, I always let it know to my husband, in a very basic English (although both of us could have spoken German :p ). Actually, my husband was never there to meet me. That was one of the reasons why we got divorced.

4. NEVER, NEVER EVER allow the driver to be with someone else in the taxi or in the rickshaw at the same time as you are there. IT DOESN’T matter if he says he is only his brother who is going just around the corner, if he says it’s only for your own safety, if he says it will be cheaper for you ... NO WAY. Get this motherfucker out of the vehicle now because while I'm in it, I pay and I call the shots. Period.

Line of rickshaws. Jaisalmer.

Tip # 6. Never look them in the eyes

In Costa Rica, we use a verb we call “enjachar”, which means staring at someone with an expression like bastard- I-am- going- to-smash- your-head-in-segments- as-if-it-was-a- tangerine, more or less. This, in India, doesn’t work at all. Men interpret that if you are looking at them you are inviting them, almost like if you were opening your legs. Avoid to stare at them the same way they stare at you.

For me, there is nothing worse than the look of many men in India. In Latin America, while it’s true that women are victims of a lot of sexual harassment on the streets, at least here men talk to you. Even when they may say something like: “Come one, baby, let me suck your tits”, at least we know what we are dealing with and we can react. In India men don’t say anything at all: they just stare at you. But that’s even worse, because you don’t know what this man may be thinking: you don’t know if he likes you, if he is undressing you with his eyes, if he is just curious about you, if he dislikes you, if he wants to jump over you... Once at a train station, I counted how long a guy stared at me. He was staring at me for 13 minutes. Thirteen minutes, with all its eternal seconds, nonstop, not even for a single moment.

If you stare back at them, for many of them it can mean: “Yes.” So they will approach. In Delhi, once I decided to “enjachar” a guy with my a-thousand-knives –coming-out -from-my- eyes kind of look. After a few seconds, he just approached me to see if I wanted to take a picture with him. PLOP!

Tip # 7. Defend yourself

Unfortunately, I learned this after two months, when after having gone to Nepal (in what some backpackers call “take a vacation from India”) , I returned to India so overwhelmed, that I was about to do some tolerant activities such as set fire to a rickshaw.

The truth is that I was really sick of guys staring at me and of being photographed all the time (I have the theory that the term paparazzi wasn’t coined in Italy, but in India, where many people take pictures of random foreigners walking down the street as a hobby). Actually, I have a rather strong character and when I have enough, I start to see everything in red due to the rage that clouds my bloodshot eyes. So one day, while walking in Calcutta, I realized that a kid of about 18 years old was taking pictures of me from the front sidewalk. Enraged, skipping Calcutta’s traffic (I don’t know how Mother Teresa didn’t die before, hit by car), I crossed the street and I stand in front of him: “Give me the camera!” Stunned silence. People staring. “GIVE ME THE CAMERA!!!” The guy, completely puzzled, gives me his camera. Delete.Delete.Delete. Every time I pressed the “delete” button, I felt more and more liberated.

In fact, as long as you are in a public place with enough people around you (which is not unlikely to happen in the second most populous country worldwide), just verbally defend yourself if you don’t like something. In India, what people may think of you is super important, it’s a society strongly based on the family and on the opinion of others, so if a man does something that bothers you, just say it very load. He knows he is doing wrong and he may even LITERALLY run away from you.

I felt infinitely powerful when I discovered how easy it was just to defend myself using my own word in public. It was like being human again, after being an object. Neither Pinocchio becoming a real child felt so good. And I assure you that you will count with the support of the people around you. In that wagon full of soldiers, in which I had to travel, after two hours of dealing with twenty pairs of eyes looking at me, I just said very load: “It's so annoying to have all these soldiers looking at me ... we still have five more hours to go. There is nothing interesting to look through the window?” Immediately, every single soldier started to look other way and a guy, a young Indian man, approached me and offered me change places with him, so they could no longer stare at me anymore.

That's right: do not generalize. Not all Indians are annoying. There are many gentlemen, Ghandi’s compatriots, walking around.

There are many kinds of men in India, as anywhere else in the world.

Tip # 8. Lose the fear

Thousands of women have traveled alone in India and thousands will continue doing it. And if we could, there is no reason for you not to go. While traveling, I met a Chinese girl who spoke no English, but NO ENGLISH AT ALL, not even “Where are you from?” And she was traveling all by herself, with a smartphone’s translator. It was not practical at all because each answer used to take about 10 minutes to get through the bilingual Chinese microchips, but well, anyway she shook the fear off her, she packed up and left. Personally, I think to this point she must be dead in a ditch, but if not, hopefully someday she and her translator will give us a blog post, because she is quite a heroine.

Chances are that if you go to India, you will survive. As I survived as well, even when I think no one could be more terrified than my alter ego in India on July 25th, 2013. I also survived. And nothing happened to me, except for one guy who touched my breast with his elbow on a street in Delhi. In fact, it was not until I sat down to write this post that I confirmed it, meanwhile I was reviewing some other articles from solo female travelers in India to be sure to contribute as much as I could. At that time, I had doubts because it seemed such a bizarre way to touch me that I didn’t know how to react. Rather, I felt sorry for him, because if touching my breast with an elbow (how much can you feel with an elbow for a second!) was his only satisfaction in a society in which so much pleasure in life is repressed, then poor guy who have to content himself with something so simple.

Anyway, the feeling during a second of a stranger’s elbow on my chest, a guy I will never see again in my life, it’s nothing compare to the feeling of the Himalayas weird skinny air in my chest. Being dressed from head to toe on a hot day is nothing compared to the chill that will shake your body in front of the Taj Mahal, until almost makes you cry. The eyes of many Indians on you are nothing compare to the eyes of the Milky Way in all its glory looking at you, in the midst of a night in the desert of Rajasthan.

So just go to India and lose the fear of, simply, being a woman. Your future self will thank you until the very last day of your life.

In Jodhpur, the blue city.

It’s cool to sleep on a stranger’s couch

(7 myths about Couchsurfing and other hospitality social networks).

“Never talk to strangers,” my mom used to tell me back in the 80s, not knowing that one day, 25 years later, her daughter would find cool to sleep on a stranger’s couch in a foreign country.

Formerly, such an audacious idea (if not stupid) could be considered only as a result of a night in which everything that could go wrong, actually, went wrong. What the fuck would I have in my mind to do something like that, a quarter of a century later? One word: Couchsurfing.

I understand, no couchsurfers neophytes creatures: it sounds as if, instead of writing On the rocking horse, I would be eager to be a detective novel’s character, willingly to play the victim’s role, happy to write the book’s chapters with my own blood.

The truth about CS

In fact, the first time I heard about Couchsurfing, back in 2009, I found wonderful (but absurd) the fact that a couple of Detroit, Michigan, USA, accepted to receive 14 strangers for free in a one bedroom apartment (yes, right, you read this correctly) and that, on top of it, they threw a party with all their friends to celebrate our arrival. But in the world of hospitality social networks that (and much more) is possible, as it would be in an ideal world where Cain never had killed Abel and we all wouldn’t tried to play Monopoly at all times.

After my first Couchsurfing experience, I forecast, wrongly, that all the hostels would go bankrupt. Hospitality networks, for me, represent more than a couple of square meters to sleep: they mean a road crossing where I can find friends who I did not know in countries of which I knew nothing about. Beyond saving money (which does matter), hospitality networks are a way to get out of the traditional book like Lonely Planet (where there are not even characters) to get into the novels of real people, with all their cultures, and write so much interesting chapters than the ones you could scribble from the heights of a tourist Hop-on, Hop –off bus. Thanks to hospitality networks, I ended up making such random things as going to an underground Latin bar in the middle of Belgrade, enter the Hunderwasserhaus at night (an apartment building in Vienna, which is one of the city’s attractions, although its interior is closed to the public), or spend three weeks in an idyllic vineyard in California, toasting with exquisite wine every night.

Hospitality networks are websites that work as some kind of Facebook, where you upload your photos, basic information (age, profession, city) and likes, among other vital information, such as having seen someone flick a cigarette onto the floor and having seen it landed standing up as if someone had placed it there very carefully after it bounced. The idea is as simple as usually bright ideas are: in order to promote cultural exchange, the couchsurfers can stay at other member’s homes, go visit the city with one of them, or attend any of the parties or meetings in the area WITH NO MONEY INVOLVED. Like ancient Greece’s style, when the gods used to choose their favorites ones and hospitality used to be a virtue.

So, when you go to a city, you can simply write your destination in the website’s search engine and then start sending requests (what I call “do my homework”), using available filters like age, sex and number of nights, among others. Personally, I usually send five requests to have several backups and to not burden my host with my presence (in Spanish we say something like “the dead and the unwanted guest stink after the third day”... but well, there have been cases when if I've got along with the host, I have stayed up to 3 weeks and without stink).

Couchsurfing is the most famous of all the sites, with an online community of more than six million users and present in virtually every country in the world. However, recent controversy (about the site’s purchase by a company) has upset many members and ever since, BeWelcome has doubled its users, who call themselves Couchsurfing’s “refugees”.

Controversial or not, the point is that I'm still using mostly Couchsurfing and, given that I'm revealing all my secrets of how to travel on a budget, in order to motivate many people to do it too (as we see, in this case, this is a secret shared by more than six million people), I decided to give a small lecture on demystifying this website and hospitality networks in general. Anyway, the point is that hospitality networks are one of the most brilliant backpacker’s ideas in history (it should win the Nobel Peace Prize) and it is worth to be spread in a world where people believe that only with the money it’s possible to move forward, when it also could be done with a little bit of good karma.

So, without further preface, let's demystify some stuff, so you can see how cool it is to sleep on a stranger’s couch, regardless of what our mothers used to tell us.

1.It’s free accommodation.

Noooooooo! It’s not! And I put it as the first myth in honor of us, thousands of hosts, who have received a copy-paste request by people who are not even capable of check that we are not in our country, even though it’s clear in our profiles.

Yes, hospitality networks don’t involve money, but they are not websites to take advantage of people as if they were a free hotel. The idea is to have a friend wherever you go. One of the secrets why I almost always find couch is because I take my time to read the whole profiles of people who I would like to be hosted by, because I understand that I will make a friend, not that I will stay at one place for free. Besides, who would like to stay with a person with whom you don’t have anything to talk about? (if you have no experience in the field, I recommend watching the episode of Friends when Ross and Mike decide to have a few beers together). So I send super custom applications as a minimum of respect for a person who will open the doors of his/her home without even knowing me. At least! And If I'm not in a social mood, or I really can’t find someone with whom I feel I could get along with, then I pay a hostel and that’s it, even if it’s not as Dadaist as sleeping on a mattress in an abandoned school, or going to a rave party under a Danube’s bridge.

An abandoned school. The stragest place to couchsurf ever. London.

2.It’s unsafe.

Noooooooo! It is not! Probably only a very low percentage of couchsurfers have, among their background, the habit of going to an isolated place, with a bag, to steal backpackers and devour them as their main dish of the day, seasoned with masala, soy sauce or Lizano sauce, depending on the country where they are located.

Although I have to admit that my first Couchsurfing’s experiences were with a group of people or in the company of my ex-boyfriend, if you know how to pick your guests or your host, the chances of people finding your picture on milk boxes or on photocopies attached to light poles as a missing person are very, very remote.

Couchsurfing has a reference system. On your profile’s wall, people in the community can discuss their experiences with you and classify them as positive, neutral or negative and they CAN NOT BE DELETED until the last judgment, when God shall point his finger down from heaven and delete them himself. So, for example, if you hosted me and I stole your iPod, you can tell everybody about it on my profile wall and screw me, because a bad reference (especially in cases of theft or sexual abuse) practically exiles you from the community. Having only positive references is essential for any couchsurfer who claims to be one: your profile is like having your conscience exposed online. In addition, there is a vouching system. When the Counchsurfing’s founders started the site, they gave among themselves the power of vouching (it seems that they loved each other very much). Eventually, they vouched for other people, and these people vouched for other people and so on. For example, if I trust you with my life, I can vouch you, but you can’t vouch someone else until you have at least three vouches on your profile. Whoever who has many positive references and many vouches, has as well more chances to be a good host or couchsurfer.

At this point, I've lost count of all the places I've done Couchsurfing (given that it is almost always my first choice when I travel) and all the people by whom I have been hosted, but I can assure you that, with the references system’s help, I have NEVER had a negative experience, even when it may sound pretty risky to sleep at a stranger’s place based on what other people may say about him on the internet.

But anyways, as one of my backpacker’s mantras says: “I've always relied on the kindness of strangers.”

The best room in Zurich. Couchsurfing in Switzerland.

3. Don’t be such a liar! Of course there must be bad experiences

Noooooooo! There are none! O well ...Yeeeeeeeeeeees! Yes, there are! Obviously, there have been bad experiences in the Couchsurfing’s world, among six million people there must be some villains (as they are in all stories). But, as I say, thanks to the references, you can avoid them.

I, for example, received a couch request from a guy, but there were two people who wrote he was a scammer and that, besides, he used to steal the sheets. I do not understand why someone would do that, but even though I'm not a very-attached-to-her-sheets kind of person (unless it is five minutes before I have to get up), I would not want someone under my roof with such an eagerness for collecting sheets. Also, once I received an invitation from a guy who had 170 positive references, but four negative from women he had tried to molest. So, no way. In the end, by reference shall know them.

In my case, my only negative experience was with a guy who had written in his profile that he had two daughters and, since he could not afford to travel with them, he liked to receive couchsurfers so his girls could be able to get to know other cultures. I loved the idea, but when I arrived to his place, it turned out that the girls were spending the weekend with their mother and the truth is that, although the guy was very kind to me, we had absolutely NOTHING to talk about (at least Ross and Mike had their dialogues written in the script). But well, two days of exchanging nervous and mandatory smiles with a random Hungarian are nothing compared to all the cool people I've met directly or indirectly by Couchsurfing (and who have become even my best friends) and who have offered me the best experiences in my travels, to the extent that many of the On the wooden rocking horse’s chapters include couchsurfers.

With Manuel. He was my host in Austria and then, by chance, we met again in Delhi, when I was sick and alone in the hotel.

4. If I have no references, no one will accept me

Noooooooooooo! It’s not like that! We all started somehow on Couchsurfing and our references were not written by our moms, by our school teachers (fortunately!), or by someone kidnapped in a basement with a gun pointed his head.

If you just have opened you account, ask people who already have an account and who know you from other travels, from work, from college or from some other place, to write your first references. And make your profile as complete as possible, with photos and all the possible information, so people can know you. In the end, hospitality networks, after all, are not necessarily about opening the door to a stranger: people need to know who you are.

5. But if I open an account , I have to host someone if I stayed at that person’s place,  and I do not have room, or now I'm busy, or to be honest there are days when I do not want to have people around, or ... (fill in this space with your favorite excuse).

Nooooooooooo! It’s not like that! Couchsurfing is a “pay it forward” karmic exchange. If I give you accommodation, eventually someone will give it to me. It is not mandatory to be mutual, this is not a house exchange or anything like that. In Spanish, we say something like “If I give you something, and you give me something, then the bird can fly”. Well, even in Spanish, Couchsurfing does not involve any kind of bird, nor in English.

In fact, you rarely have the opportunity to return the hospitality to someone who offered it to you, the planets have to be aligned in such a way that gravity attracts to your homeland a person who is several parallels and meridians away. In my experience, the only time I experienced the phenomenon was with my friend Tomas: I offered him couch when he came to Costa Rica and then he hosted me at his home in Slovakia, where in a Dadaist way I ended up in the Hockey world championship.

Tomas and me in the Hockey World Championship. 

Kosice. Slovakia.

If you can’t host, nothing happens: you can put your couch momentarily unavailable, or stay in the mode in which I am now (available only to go for a coffee or a city tour). As I mentioned above, hospitality networks are not just about a private room with a bathroom, a sofa-bed, a mattress, a hammock or a square meter where you can do three laps and lie down: it is about meeting people who have always been your friends but you just don’t know them.

6. If I let someone stay in my house, I have to give them the key

Noooooooooooo! It’s not like that! Your house is your house and you set your own rules; very cool idea and Imagine no possessions, but even John Lennon would have had his standards at home and if not, Yoko would have had a few. Each host sets his rules: number of nights, number of people who can stay, if he only accepts women or men, if he gives you the key or you can only be in the house while he's there, if he accepts you with pets, if you must bring your sheets (and not steal them, etc.).

In the end, the rules may be infinite according to people’s needs or whims (which in this case, are also valid). If you are a couchsurfer it’s your duty to respect them all, each and one of them, even more than the Ten Commandments, because you may forget to sanctify the holy days, but if you smoke in the living room without asking if you can do it or not, you deserve the eternal fires of hell where already, in itself, there is enough smoke and no one else should care about it.

Besides follow the rules, use a little common sense: if you're there, offer yourself to help with housework (I do not cook since I do not want to poison cool people, but I do the dishes), invite your host to dinner or buy him a simple gift. Most hosts do not ask for anything in return, and if they do, they ask for extremely symbolic and simple things in the vast majority of the cases. One of my hosts, for example, asked me to do a collage because he decorates his home with couchsurfers’ collages, another one said that some cereal would be welcome because he loves it and he place cereal boxes on the ceiling (everyone has his own Pinterest ideas), or they just may ask you to take a picture with them or leave your signature on a wall of their house.

My contrubution to the wall of fame in a student's house. 

Couchsurfing in Riga, Latvia.

7.Couchsurfing is to have sex

Nooooooo! It’s not like... Ahem, ahem... I'm not the best person to demystify this point because people actually do, and I must admit (especially since this post is being written during Easter and it could be a good opportunity to tie my sackcloth a little bit more), that actually yes, I have been involved with couchsurfers, although the website’s terms of use clearly stipulate that Couchsurfing is not a dating site or something like that (I always forget to read the fine print in the contracts).

But hey, it is a reality that the vast majority of couch requests I receive are from men and that the vast majority of requests I send are for men. I've talked about it with other couchsurfers, and it seems to be something normal (I am not sure why... humans! We're so weird!). Personally, I like to stay with two specific types of hosts: the ones who live in student houses (they are always full of people, there are other people to hang around with if by chance you can’t hang out with your host, and usually I sleep in the kitchen, the culinary and social center of the whole place), or with guys. I choose men because usually I get along better with guys than with women (sorry girls, nothing personal) and, always speaking in general terms, the truth is they do an extra effort to treat me as good as they can. They are more proactive, they run the extra mile as English speakers would say, even if that extra mile do not always lead to other contact sports.

My couch in a students house kitchen.

Salzburg, Austria.

Indeed, if you are in a foreign country, where everything is new and exciting, and you are with a guy with whom you have a lot in common, both of you drinking a glass of wine on the couch, it makes sense that the situation actually may go further on that couch, and the wine ends up being sprawled. I've met people who even got married because of Couchsurfing. This is the normal life’s evolution and, as adults, there is nothing to cross yourself about.

In any case, as it happens in real life, you always have the possibility of saying no and pack your things and leave the place if you don’t like something. Besides, it doesn’t happen aaaaaaaall the time and there is always the chance to stay with a person of a gender that doesn’t attract you, with a couple or a family. I've also had this kind of Couchsurfing experiences and they have been amazing. Even when it is true that I love guys, this novel is not The Single Men’s Island nor The Lord of the Flies kind of book to have a 100 % male cast.

Anyway, those are the myths about Couchsurfing applicable to other hospitality networks. If you have any questions, you can contact me, relax, the point is to encourage you to travel and open your couch profile. In the end, realize that karma also sleeps on a couch, that our mothers were not always right and that yeeeeeeeees! It’s cool to sleep on a stranger’s couch!

How the hell do you to travel so much? (II and final part)

So let’s continue with the future bestseller (hopefully!): "The Seven Habits of the Highly traveled backpacker " or, more realistically, the answer to the question: How the hell do you to travel so much?

Check Part I for points 1 and 2. The ones who already have been initiated, without any further introduction, jump with me to point 3. Follow me, backpackers!

3. I descend my quality standards

Just as each person chooses how he/she wants to invest his/her money and what kind of reality he/she wants to live in, everyone choose how he/she wants to travel. And to make such a significant decision, it is important to keep in mind what you need and what makes you happy.

Some people say: "No way. I can’t afford to go traveling. And if I go only with the money I have now, I will have to suffer, to sleep on the street, to eat poorly and be stressed. In that case I'd rather stay home watching TV and that's it". In that case, if you think like this, what you need is a vacation. Not traveling. That vacation I take when I return to Costa Rica and I spend hibernating in a cave built by comfortable duvets, sleeping under an unquestionable spell of Sleeping Beauty syndrome.

Or maybe what you have in mind is the idea of the all-inclusive trip, the idea of the beautiful hotel and the idea of eating well, like Barceló Tambor Beach style (no sponsor of my travels, obviously). In that case, what you need is an escape from your reality. Not traveling as I understand it.

All positions are very fair. I also practice this ritual of staying at home watching TV (well, I almost never watch TV, but I sleep a lot) and, while I sleep, I dream a bit too about the trip when you have nothing else to do but stretch your hand to receive a cocktail (although I don’t think I will ever have this kind of trip). I don’t think so, because my trips match with my budget. If I live in Hatillo, it is unthinkable that I will always stay at hotels, eat at restaurants three times per day and go shopping. The consolation that I least have is that in the southern suburbs cable TV works.

When I travel I descend my standards. I sleep in hostels, I do couchsurfing and if I have to, I already have experience sleeping in parks, train stations, airports, on the street and in public toilets. I eat twice a day: from the supermarket or at McDonald's (since sometimes this is the cheapest option) and I drink water from the tap wherever I can. And I only buy postcards.

I understand that not everyone is willing to go hungry, to sleep outside and sometimes have a bad day. But I do. Not only for budgetary reasons, but because as masochistic as this might sound, for me, a good trip involves some suffering.

In Slovenia, where everything was so beautiful...

I have better stories to tell when everything has gone wrong. In Slovenia, for example, everything went perfect. Nice hostel, nice morning, nice place. The only thing that went wrong was that it rained in the afternoon with a tropical fury, which I didn’t know it could also have a Balkan passport. In the end, I stayed two days. And so, Slovenia became one of the countries less significant to me. In India, on the opposite hand, everything that could go wrong, went wrong : I crashed in the worst hostel I have ever been (located in the center of Delhi’s main bazaar, with other rooms shit coming out of my toilet, a mouse running on my bed, a hole in the window where people could peek at me, anyway, a place which is famous as an urban legend among backpackers, but I KNOW it does exist beyond hell ), I got sick the first week (and I spent two days with fever languishing alone in the room, with no one to help me to go to the hospital), I had the first cultural shock in my travels and the first panic attack in my life. (On the bamboo rocking horse). In the end, I stayed four months. India, thus, became the most significant country for me.

It is under these circumstances that you test yourself. That you become stronger. That you discover yourself. And for a writer, the worst decisions always leave better stories to tell. Tell someone about how nice it was to spend a weekend in the ultra fancy Hacienda Pinilla in Tamarindo, Costa Rica, or how does it feel to wake up with the Acapulco beach at your feet from the heights of a hotel is very cool (because I spent a really good time), but boring. Tell someone how I got deported from Albania or how I almost lost an eye in Bulgaria is more interesting (even when I spent a really bad time). (Want to know more? Then buy the novel On the rocking horse and learn some Spanish :p).

 It's very cliché, but simple things fill me. Eat a pot of ordinary rice or a bit of caviar and tell me which of these makes you feel less hungry. I have stayed in five star hotels (ok, you can judge me), due to coincidences of life more than anything else, but it was never as fascinating as the time  I slept on a mattress in the desert. I have eaten in fine restaurants, but it never tasted so good as the tiny shop’s burger at a corner in Belgrade. In my closet I have a pair of $200 boots (ok , NOW you can judge me) but if my house burns down,  I won’t save them. Rather I would save my chest, which is full of insignificant objects, like a scarecrow that cost one euro in El Rastro market.

Everyone chooses his or her own quality standards.

And I have news: simple things are the ones you enjoy the most and with the ones you learn the most (speaking of simple things, what a simple statement, like a Paulo Coelho’s one, but it is so true).

In India, where not everything was that beautiful...

4. I lose the fear

Another question that people often ask me is if I'm not afraid of traveling alone. Money, fear… such curious topics come into people’s mind.

The first time I traveled alone, I went to Belgium and I have to admit that, by the time I got on the train, I was so scared that I felt my body in a state that we could define as “ethereal”. I guess I was so terrified that my soul left my body temporarily and left it alone there, probably protected by an urgency of whoever-who-can-save-himself-go-ahead. Anyway my soul left my body and told it: "So now, dude, you are screwed!” In other words, I felt like a sheet of paper, moved by the hurricane gusts of fear.

Ever since, the phenomenon is repeated each time with less and less degree of intensity (with the exception of India, which breaks all the schemes as the emerging world power that is). I have two theories:

Theory 1: Maybe it's the fact that, like all learning, you must start first with an easy country to travel, like Belgium (where almost everyone speaks English, the trains are punctual, safe, organized and clean) in order to get the backpacking PhD eventually, which for me would be India (where those who speak English do so with their peculiar accent “Yes, madam, du yu nid riksho?", trains are very complicated, a country that is not very safe for the solo traveler woman, that is a chaos and it’s dirty as many sacred cows roaming the streets made it possible).

Theory 2: Maybe it's the fact that if there is something I've learned in my travels is that, out there in the world, there are more good people than bad people.

"I've always relied on the kindness of strangers”. The first time I heard this phrase was in All About My Mother. At that time I didn’t understand it, but over the years I have realized that it is true. It's like when we meet someone for the first time. Most of the times, we are super polite. Respectful. Lovely. We don’t know that person yet and we want to build a good relationship. Over time, this first good purpose often deteriorates itself: as we move on, and problems arise, we don’t give a shit to say to that person what bothers us about him/her, and we are less and less eager to do something nice for that person. Unlike by the time when we met, when the score was 0-0, now we can go 100 to -20. Just think of how idyllic love relationships are at the beginning and you will see what I mean. The same applies to strangers: with many of them, we only live this idyllic initial stage, in which humanism wakes up and empathy pops up every minute.

It’s so true that, in my travels, no one have ever stolen from me (well, once my laptop was stolen, but I recovered it within the same day with the help of many other strangers). But, for example, when I didn’t have a single penny in my pockets and I was deported from Albania, the bus driver paid my ticket and he helped me to find another bus that could take me out of such a migratory disaster.  Nobody ever hurt me. But, for example, when I almost lost an eye in Bulgaria, a random taxi driver was the one who took me on a pilgrimage to several clinics (though he did not even speak English) until we found someone who could help me. Less, much less, somebody has ever raped me. But there have been people who have offered me to stay at their homes without any money in the middle, like a woman who, seeing me sitting alone in a bar in Mozambique without knowing where to go, gave me a room at her home.

In Mozambique.

Believe me, the greatest lesson of all my travels has been that: there are more good people out there than we can imagine. What happens is that we all live being afraid of each other.

And if by any chance, fear grips me (because sometimes it happens), I swallow it. I can’t do anything with it. In the end, I always finished sitting at the same table, unharmed, with all those people who let themselves get dominated by the ghosts in their heads and never decided to travel.

And I've got news: in the end, MANY MORE BAD THINGS happen in people’s paranoid imagination than in the real world. In short: bad things happen in movies. Bad things happen on TNT. But bad things almost never happen in real life.

5. I set a date

Very well: finally we decided that we are going to travel. Somehow we managed to chock our fears and they are going through the esophagus, we didn’t buy the latest smartphone to give priority to the trip, we have our backpack ready and we're reading point number five.

Buuut Christmas is coming. Buuut I just got a promotion at work. Buuut maybe I need to save more money. Buuut "black Friday" is around the corner. Buuut I just adopted a dog. Buuut I better start a French course. Buuut...

But nothing! There are thousands of “buts” in the way to convince you that you are not ready or it’s not the right time. I don’t say that in life there are no contingencies or opportunities that can’t justify postponing a trip. Buuut dude: life often throws you to the deepest parts of the pool without saying a word and you have no other choice but to improvise. And, in the end, you survive.

There is never a moment to be 100% ready to go, as I think there is not a right moment to become parents or to die. All these buuuuts come from you brain’s left side: the rational one. All these logical theories that expose you should stay and not go away. Like a new job. Like money. Like responsibilities. The left hemisphere is useful for many things, but it always gets in the middle. Don’t blame it: it wants to protect you and, for this side of your head, protection means send you all the possible signals to keep you within the known. The place where you have found you can survive. Where there is no danger. For better or worse (I think for the better, obviously), this brain guy is not alone inside your head: there, crowded, it coexists with the right hemisphere, which handles impulses, creativity, feelings. Well, it seems fair to me that, given the fact both of them are the same size, the right also has the right (pun intended) to gain power as the legitimate owner of 50 % of the skull’s shares. Solomonic. Give it that chance to come out on stage and surprise you.

The problem is that we think we have time. "There's more time than life." Another slogan that I never understood: what is the fucking point of having more time if you will not have life to live it? Maybe it is because often an imaginary death haunts me (because I've seen it come close, but it walked away as a passing by fly drew more its attention). But even if it doesn’t haunt you, remember that the only requirement to die is to be alive.

So I set a date and I RESPECT it. It doesn’t matter if I get a better job. It doesn’t matter if I don’t have too much money. It doesn’t matter if they begin to break the seals of Revelation: I AM LEAVING. From that day, the right hemisphere begins its tyranny and it shall never be disturbed by anyone in its almighty throne.

6. I use condoms

I bet that you didn’t see that coming... lol.

But it's true. Once again we return to the priorities speech. Today, having children is not among my priorities. I am one of those women who are expecting to hear the last bell of the biological clock and, while hearing its tics, I keep traveling and using condoms.

In my perfect future world, I totally visualize myself traveling with my kids. I hear them speaking in several languages. I look at their photos playing with Buddhist monks. I hear them breathing next to me while we are sleeping in a tent.

However, while that happens, I use a condom because first I want to make many other trips that are not for children. Trips that are not suitable during childhood. Today, I can look after myself, but not after my kids, because I know that when I have them, my backpacking style will change.

Once I knew a girl who was pregnant while she was backpacking. She had bought one of those tickets to go around the world, and in South America she got pregnant during a one night stand. She was in Nepal by the time I met her and then, she went to India. I think that obviously back then she didn’t realize that she was no longer taking care of one body, but two. I don’t judge her, but I do not EVER want to be in her situation.

So, I use condoms. To keep backpacking until the clock sets my hour. To keep backpacking so I won’t have anything to regret of.

In Stonehenge.

7. I imagine my life is a novel

The last point is my life’s philosophy, beyond the fact that, since I started with On the rocking horse project, my life has, indeed, become a novel read even by people that I will never meet.

Always, when I'm at a crossroad, I wonder what would be more interesting for my character. What would be worth to be read: A or B? If I'm writing pages that are written with carbon paper, the same ones day after day, then: does anyone would really read such a “conceptual” novel? Is it more important that the character overcomes her fears and evolves, or that she stays in the same place, without any evolution? Because good characters are the ones who change. Good stories are the unpredictable ones. Good literature invites you to turn the page, not stay on the same forever.

So I travel. I am aware that my life is the most important novel of all the ones that I might write, and that even if you have a lot of imagination, reality is always superior than fiction is. I am sure that I evolved more every time I travel, than when I sat down at the desk. And above all, I don’t want any of the pages of my life’s novel begins with the sentence every curse should begin with: "What if... ".

Each and every one of us is a writer of our own novels in which we are the protagonists. And each and every one of us decide what we write, what characters we want to add, what story we want to tell.

The most risky part is that life is not written in a laptop. Each time you write a page, there is no way to erase or rewrite it, because life is not written with a keyboard or with a pencil. Not  even with ink. It is written with time, that never returns.

We don’t really know how much blank pages we have left. I don’t know either. But whether I die tonight, before anyone reads this, or whether I die on my rocking chair in my old age next to you guys, when I will close the book, I do not want a single missed word.

So there is the answer to How the hell do you travel so much?. The secret?  In my case it’s simple: I simply refuse to live a life that is not worthy of being told.

At 5328 meters about sea level. Manali-Leh Highway. Himalayas.

That’s the way it is: I have my own reality too and I work in it: I write. So if you liked this text and if you think that being a writer is a respected job, like any other (including yours), you have two options: if you really think I write well, click the buttons on the right handside and subscribe yourself, or share this text in your social networks so more people can ride the rocking horse. Thank you for reading! :)

How the hell do you travel so much? (Part I)

"Che (because this guy is Argentinean), could it be that Andre is a millionaire and she has never told us? Have you ever been in her house? Do you know where she lives? Maybe she has a lot of money and we have never known about it ...”

That's one of my friends, theorizing with my best friend, about the eternal question that, I know, goes around many people’s mind when they meet me: how the hell does she travel so much?

I know. This is a question that people always ask me and, if they not verbalize it, at least, implicitly, I can feel it behind all these stares of disbelief in persons who look at me with : 1. admiration , 2. envy, or 3. with "this fucking girl, minimum, has something to do with drug traffic".

What happens is that I usually don´t think about how the hell I travel that much because, for me, it´s very normal. In the backpacking world, virtually, we all have it clear. However, when I return to Costa Rica, I start noticing the huge question that my eternal nomadism arouses.

To my friend, I must reply that if he hasn’t ever heard of my money is because, obviously, I'm not a millionaire. In fact, I come from a low-middle-class background and if you don´t believe me, ask any Costa Rican how many millionaires live in Hatillo. Ha!

To the rest of the people, what I can offer is to tell them how I manage to travel so much. How do I do it, given the fact that I can’t answer otherwise than from my personal point of view. I'm not an authority on the subject and I don’t sell any self-help books with a title like: The Seven Habits of Highly traveled backpacker". But for sure I can share my experience which doesn´t exclude anyone: if there’s something I firmly believe in is that traveling is not impossible as many people might think.

So here are my seven habits for highly backpacking. The great secret. The post that will settle a “before” and an “after” in your life. The oracle that opens only for some enlightened. The backpacker guru’s wisdom of a... Just kidding! No way. Enough maniac episode (sorry, I'm bipolar). You'll see that, in fact, there is no rocket science regarding to traveling:

In Peru.

1. I make traveling a priority

In Costa Rica we have a saying that, roughly translated from Spanish, states: "Everyone is free to make a flower vase out of his/her ass”.

Beyond this somehow scatological statement, the fact is that this also applies to money: the obstacle that many people place in order not to travel. So let’s translate it into more capitalist terms: everyone chooses her/his own priorities and invests his/her money as they want.

Broadly speaking, in the Western world, from low-middle class up to high- class population, we could say that these are the most popular monetary priorities, at least as it’s traded in the dreams stock market: 1. Buy a house. 2. Buy a car. 3. Buy nice clothes. 4. Buy a good cell phone. 5. Party often.

As I said, the most popular ones. The trick with being the most popular ones is that, because of its popularity, people tend to think they are easier to achieve, easier than, for example, take one year to travel the world.

Fallacy. I promise I would take a look about which type of fallacy is, but fallacy. It’s not like that. I don’t think buying a house is easier. Not with all the money I've spent in all my travels I would be able to pay even the first fee.

What happens is that those who travel have decided to put traveling as a priority (we are many, but definitely not as many as the overwhelming numbers of people who prefer to buy a house, a car, clothes, a cell phone and party).

It’s not the most popular way, because in our society, people seem to value more other things, the ones you can see and touch with the hand. Those things give to people a sense of stability, a word that they tend to confuse with "eternity". In any case, beyond the fact that both of them end with the same letters, both words are highly valued because they promise that nothing will change, when in fact, almost everything that is not dead is always changing even a little bit.

So it seems good to invest, for example, in a house, because you can use it every day. It seems so stable, and so eternal, that even many persons shield themselves behind the phrase "Now I have a place where I can die”. Actually, I've never understood this slogan. I mean, at the risk of sounding a little bit Asperger, no one really knows where you will die. It could be in the middle of the street and anyways, someone will have to pick you up, unless they want to take the risk of leaving you there, stinking, becoming an epicenter of birds of prey, rats and other lovely animals. Or it could happen at a friend’s house, in which case I don’t think she or he would be such a motherfucker and leave you there. I guess she or he at least would call the morgue and say: “Listen, this fucking dude just died here in my living room, could you please come and remove him?” Or you could have a tragic death and no one will ever find your body. If I start thinking about it, I should rather save for a grave. And live to pay my death ... to me, that makes no sense. Buy a house where I can spend my old age? It isn’t too early to start thinking about that? Invest my youth so I can buy a few square meters so I can put my rocking chair? And don’t come to me with the tale of The Ant and the Grasshopper. Sorry, but let’s face it: the grasshopper had a blast too (if we translate it to Marxist terms, we could even say this might be a proletarian tale). Buy a house so I can leave something to my children? Well, I prefer to leave to my children a good education and unforgettable moments, not some concrete walls. Once they become well educated grown-ups, they can decide whether it worth investing or not in the same view from the same window. For now, I've decided not to.

Anyways, right now, if the house no longer seems worthy of any economic anxieties, the rest of the things don’t have a chance. A car? Anyway, in most cases, no one goes very far with it and it’s more expensive for traveling and not ecological at all. Clothes? While it’s true that sometimes I suffer from that stereotypical female weakness for buying clothes, it’s also true that in the vast majority of times, I restrain myself under my inaflible-art-in-90 %-of-cases to translate “clothes” in terms of "travel". For example: those boots …$60... With $ 60 I can buy a Ryanair ticket from Madrid to Morocco... And at home I already have three pairs of boots... And I've never been to Morocco... And with these boots I will walk the same streets as today... So sorry: Bye-bye boots.  A mobile phone? So I can forget it on a table in a bar, so somebody can steal it from me, or so I can accidentally let it go into the toilet? I will never forget my memories and the lessons I’ve learned on my trips on a table bar. Quite the opposite: I take them back to life every time I sit down in a bar and share them with my friends. No one will ever steal my memories, unless in order to steal my cell phone, they smash my head before. And certainly, my memories will never go down through the toilet, unless I throw myself in it. And if you stick to the party side, well, I do party as well in Costa Rica with my friends, because I also value my moments with them. But I try to measure myself with the money and not drink too much beer. As a Costa Rican and consecrated backpacker friend of mine says: “At the end, it’s all about peeing the money”.

I prefer to buy experiences rather than objects. I'd rather invest my money in moments, which are something you can’t touch with your hand and which go away fast. Unfortunately, as I once said, the present is very fleeting (My life has been worth every minute), but the stories and lessons will remain with me until the very last day of my life when, sitting on the rocking chair, after all, I will die, maybe next to you. In short: I invest in something that you can’t see and in something that is not “everlasting” to the eyes of many. But really, I invest in the only thing I can take with me beyond the grave.

And I've got news: traveling, in many cases, is not half as expensive as to live in one place.

Atitlan's Lake. Guatemala.

2. I make traveling as a lifestyle

To me it seems incredibly naive, but as logical as the reasoning of a child (and please note that for me children are tremendously wise) when people tell me: "It must be very cool to spend all your time on vacation". 

Vacation??? Ha! I don't know if I should crack myself up more with that or with the idea of my mythological chalet in Hatillo. I almost never have holidays. Us, who have made traveling as a lifestyle, know that backing is just that: a lifestyle. As other people wake up early, go to work from 8 to 5, and enjoy their time with their families in the evenings and weekends.

For me, holidays, what I call vacation, are quite similar to those which the average people have in mind: basically to sleep AS MUCH as I want, wake up in a nice place somewhere and throw myself to read without anyone bothering me, only to return to sleep AS MUCH as I want again. Something cyclic, lazy and predictable.

Rather, my vacations begin when I return to Costa Rica and, entrenched in my sacred bed, shielded by my legendary pillows, I hibernate for days, sleeping 15 hours in a row. Maybe you can understand it better if I state this: sometimes when you travel and you go back home, you feel the need of one or two days to recover. The real vacations because you finally take some rest. Well, that happens to me.

Few are the days when I am backpacking that I'm not busy. Logistics are like office work: I must find the next plane, train, bus, ride or whatever, analyze hostels or Couchsurfing profiles, learn how to get orientated in the city, read travel guides, get lost so I can find myself again. You can imagine it like this: let’s say every two or three days, you wake up with amnesia and you have to find, from scratch, an apartment, you have to know the city again, learn what to do there and what not to do, find out how much everything costs, and so on (I am writing this “so on” not because I don’t know what might comes next, but because this post is becoming huge. But believe me: we are talking about a long “so on”). Many times I have not even arrived to a place and I am already figuring out how to move to the next one. After a few months, it becomes exhausting, especially because since most of the times I travel alone, everything depends only on me.

Well, if that didn’t convince you as a day job, maybe something else that takes a lot of time will do: a job. In my travels, I have met people who have been on the road for two, three or more years. Including me: I've spent one year and a half backpacking. Non stop. How the hell do we manage to achieve that? Well, like all mortals do since Jehovah condemned us to earn our bread by the sweat of our forehead: we work! The vast majority of backpackers are not millionaires (yes, I live in Hatillo).

They say need is the mother of all inventions ... and it’s true. As soon as I see myself against the wall (or against the risk of returning to Costa Rica, which for me it's worse than the wall) I start to move myself so I can keep going. And believe it or not, my hands and my brain work well beyond the borders of Paso Canoas, Peñas Blancas, the Caribbean Sea and the Pacific Ocean. And yours work pretty well too. We all have talents and I've seen people that reinvent themselves and start teaching languages. They start working in bars. They start a small business. They start doing translations.

Of course, not all of them are glamorous or well paid jobs. Often it’s just about volunteer work in exchange of food and a bed. I have worked taking care of German dogs (Dog-logic), I cleaned floors in hostels, I loaded stones and weeded gardens, I have driven a truck, I have worked as a babysitter and in a construction site. But I do it, something that not everyone (especially those who give priority to their careers) is eager to go for it. And yet, I am pretty sure that even with your career as a priority in your life, if you were there in your country of origin, and there is no other choice to survive, you would do it too.

And, as it happens in the reality of most people, if you can devote yourself to do something you like, the better. I now dedicate myself to writing, for example. It is not always easy and I'm ready for the fact that, at some point, I might have to dig again a hole made out of dog shit from the last decade (Pain and gain). That's why my trips are so long: it’s not the same walking around as a tourist in a foreign country, than walking around in a foreign country with a regular job as everyone else worldwide. Undoubtedly, it makes the backpacker agenda even longer.

The misconception is that people think that I live in a fantasy world, “in a perpetual holiday”. No, no, ladies and gentlemen. My reality is this one. It’s a nomadic one. As you chose yours, whatever reality you might have. There is no difference between other people and me: as the people who work 8-5 in a city do that so they can have where to sleep, what to eat and how to move around, I have decided to travel and work even more hours so I can have where to sleep, what to eat and how to move around. We all seek to survive and, in particular, we all seek happiness. We all want to make our dreams come true: buy a house, a car, traveling, going to the moon. The only thing is that many people decide to focus their reality in only one place. I have chosen to do it in several.

Unlike many people, that when they return home , they sigh: "Back to reality", when I return to Costa Rica I go still to another part of my reality, because, as I said before, I have no home.

My reality is this one. It’s not always easy, as no reality is easy. It’s not always easy to see people on Facebook with their photos of marriage and cute babies. It’s not always easy to swim against the tide in a society that gives more value to objects than to the stories that can be told. A society that values more the titles and the status than the countries you have visited and the cultures that you can learn from. It is not always easy to spend so much time alone, living in the uncertain, in the confusion, in the instability. In the fear. But that’s the price I pay for living a "fluid, perplexed and exciting” life.

And I've got news: if you don’t like your reality, you can come to crash into mine anytime.

Seriously:  if I let myself being seduced by the temptation of the best-seller book idea, and I let myself go with megalomaniac thoughts that I own the ultimate truth, this could become a short self-help booklet about how to travel. At the end, many of these books reveal the secret behind how to create warm water, duh! Anyway, since this post is becoming huge, I will leave the steps 3 to 7 for future occasions.

That’s the way it is: I have my own reality too and I work in it: I write. So if you liked this text and if you think that being a writer is a respected job, like any other (including yours), you have two options: if you really think I write well, click the buttons on the right handside and subscribe yourself, or share this text in your social networks so more people can ride the rocking horse. Thank you for reading! :)