Backpacking?

When people ask if I am a backpacker, I feel a bit disingenuous saying yes.  I HAVE a backpack, but I lack many of the badges worn by REAL backpackers.

1.       I have not slept in the park, on the beach, in the train station or in the street for lack of money or a place to stay.  Backpacker’s have stories about seedy characters and heroic savings from sexual propositions and the best place to stay in a park.  I just do not have the courage, and I am fine with that.

2.       I have not hitchhiked across country borders.

3.       I am not traveling indefinitely.  I have met some people that are traveling for years at a time, picking up when something better comes along, traveling to where jobs might be in order to save for India or Spain. 

4.       I have not worked, to pay for my next meal, plane ticket, or hostel, as a waitress, migrant worker, sex worker, hostel worker, bar keep, pub crawler, etc…

5.       I have a genuine desire to go home.  Many backpackers are getting away from home—it’s too cold (from a Swede), it’s lacking culture (from an Aussie), it’s boring and requires settling down with a career and family (from the English).  I wonder what else keeps people moving, besides wanderlust and an explorer’s heart.  I wonder what kinds of sadnesses backpackers carry with them, what they might be escaping from, as well. 

I stay in hostels because they provide cheap accommodation.  I make my food from the grocery store because I can eat for four days on what I would spend on one meal.  And the less money I spend on sleep and food, the more money I have to pay for more museums and more art experiences.  Backpacking says more about my luggage than it says about my story or my personality. 

I have, however, had my food stolen from the hostel kitchen and traveled with camembert and salmon in my pack for two days, much to the chagrin of my fellow travelers.   That has to give me some backpacker points.