Backpacker Life [iii] - The People

And so it was that the last night of my second African chapter was spent in a Cairo dive bar in the company of a Ghanaian/Egyptian IT technician and a Kuwaiti prostitute. Both were off duty, unfortunately for me as I was rather hoping to get a minor bug fixed on my laptop before flying home. Both were also excellent company though, as Gamal explained how it was none other than Colonel Nasser who convinced his racist grandmother to allow her pale-skinned daughter to marry a West African who was darker than the night itself, and Jenny regaled us with sordid tales of the behind-closed-doors sexual fantasies of Gulf State nobility - real freak sheikh speak, if you will. But tonight's company was no more unusual than most of the people whose paths my own has had the privilege to cross on this trip.

Backpacking for an extended period of time is comparable to flitting between a continuous series of social Venn diagrams, with colliding lives sharing a common experience for but a fleeting moment. As with most things in life, you never forget your first, and this trip's was an unexpected peach. There isn't a significant amount on paper or papyrus that a nineteen year old medical administration student from northern Germany and an unemployed forty-one year old multicultural mongrel salesman would have in common, but Johannes and I formed a solid Cape Town alliance, cruising the downtown grid by day and frequenting rooftop cocktail bars by night in effortlessly enjoyable company. It was a great sign of what and who was to come.

From the French army girls based in Djibouti to the South African cannabis smugglers; from Yasir, the Sudanese government official sourcing passport-making materials to Thor, the twenty-one year old Norwegian fitness centre owner, via bipolar Maria and timid Timo: everyone had a life-enriching story to share and a starring supporting role in the film of my voyage. Helen, the English ophthalmologist about to study a rare eye disease in a rural Ethiopian village, made an excellent city exploration and trail running partner in Addis Ababa. And how could I forget Andrea, the crazy Mexican human rights lawyer living in Switzerland, whom I met in a German resort in Namibia and nearly married in Zanzibar?

And then there was Jeff. I have to admit that I had a soft spot for Jeff. Jeff, the Frenchman from Avignon and his trance-like permanent hand-sculpting of his inseparable walking stick. Choosing the only sensible solution to a troubled life situation in which friendship, love and employment complications had all come to a head simultaneously in a spectacular psychological meltdown, he had decided to follow in Jesus' footsteps - spiritually at least - and disappear into the Ethiopian wilderness for exactly forty days. The candour with which he discussed his evolving state of mind and raw soul-searching, and his burning desire and childlike enthusiasm in embracing all things Ethiopian made him a delight to travel with for six days and provided refreshingly different human interaction from the typical backpacker fare: this was method travelling of the highest order.

A more than special mention must go out to the wretched souls who actually chose to share their travel time with me for more than the cursory dormitory conversation or random night on the tiles. It remains to be seen how easily a friendship with my two longest-serving travel buddies in Africa (Patrick - 18 days; Alex - 10 days) would be cultivated in our normal everyday social circles, but I would join forces with them on the road again without a second's hesitation. It was easy, it was fun, and most importantly we travelled well together - at least once Alex and I agreed to close our gin-infused cricket versus baseball debate. In a solo travel world of ephemeral relationships and frequent solitude, it is a pleasure to occasionally be able to construct a friendship with a little more substance. My Rwandan and Ugandan memories will forever be intricately associated with Alex, as will Ethiopia and Egypt with Patrick, such is the intensity of sharing remarkable experiences with a near complete stranger.

As I prepare for the third and final round of this African odyssey, I cannot help but smile at the thought of all the unsuspecting travellers quietly going about their backpacking completely unaware that their circle is currently moving inexorably towards mine. Whether the collision takes place in a hostel dormitory, on a bus or at a beach bar is yet to be decided; all that matters is that I can look forward to having some more hookers, ophthalmologists and passport-makers in my life very soon.

The very first night, celebratory shot with Johannes and... one of the many that shall forever remain nameless

Alex and I in three countries at once, and conquerors of Mount Sabinyo

Me, Patrick and Jeff: volcanoes, mountains and Ethiopian nightclubs...

The backpacker, the IT technician and the hooker...

Mood song: People Are Strange - The Doors

Mood food: anything and everything...

Backpacker Life [ii] - The Accommodation

Hostel Life:
If the backpack is the raison d'être of the budget traveller, then the backpacker hostel is his/her lifeblood. It is both the glue the binds a sequence of travel experiences and the source of social interaction that can often help to define an entire trip. The hostel's primary function, as indicated by its very name, is to provide a safe haven to recover from interminable bus journeys or day-long hikes, a welcoming oasis of warmth and comfort to be appreciated after the rigours of third world travel. Once this function has been fulfilled, however, it progresses to its secondary and more complex role: providing the opportunities for social stimulation.

Social Interaction:
Simply put, anything goes in the melting pot of international culture that is the modern-day backpacker hostel. Doors to myriad social adventures are opened at the drop of a simple "Hello..." and any sentiment of social inadequacy goes out of the window in this most unforgiving of environments. Introverts, extroverts, party animals, loners and sociopaths are thrown together to create a heady cocktail of contrasting personalities in the already intense context of shoestring travel. Connections are made and discarded in an instant, based on immediate like or dislike. Encounters are paradoxically superficial and profound, the brevity of any relationship being offset by its intensity. Just as I will probably never see Nick and Vivian again, neither will I ever forget the disarming candour with which we spoke of our life hopes and experiences on the rooftop of the Hilton in Windhoek - an evening that would categorically not have happened had we not exchanged the briefest of dormitory greetings.

Amenities & Facilities:
The three most important things to consider when rating a hostel are WiFi, WiFi and WiFi; closely followed by the quality of the free breakfast. The walls could be covered in bloodstains and the shower smell like an open sewer in Mumbai, but if a backpacker can stream Season 6 of Game of Thrones and make uninterrupted WhatsApp calls on reliable 4G bandwidth, and have three types of fruit jam, the hostel is a winner. Despite its traditional image as a low budget form of travelling for poor students and permahippies, backpacking is a big and profitable business: the more ways a hostel has to make a backpacker part with his/her cash, the more lucrative the stay. Bar, kitchen, tour desk, laundry, taxi service - these are all services a backpacker will use if available, particularly if the outside world is out of bounds after dark. My dormitory bed may have only been $12 a night, but my total bill for a recent three night stay came to $150 (Editor's note: not all at the bar). Multiply that by eight beds and you have a highly profitable room.

Resident Hierarchy:
Social ranking in the backpacking world is based on occupancy duration, with stays of one or two nights rarely eliciting more than the customary politeness reserved for paying guests. For longer or more memorable stays, a hostel can start to acquire the lofty status of home away from home. Thus, at the Fat Cat in Kampala, I am bestowed senior status on day three and am always greeted by name by owner, receptionist and cleaner. On the morning I am due to leave after a five day residency, I am handsomely rewarded for the longevity of my service by being exempt the $0,50 towel charge and the allocation of an extra pancake at breakfast. This is the backpacker world equivalent of elevation to silver status on British Airways' Executive Club.

Backpacker Nirvana:
Every so often, the right mixture of all of the above elements will combine to create a hostel experience that is so close to perfection that it is admitted to the pantheon of phenomenal travel memories. With its beautiful pool and siesta-inducing cabanas, vibrant bar and surprisingly good kitchen, and most importantly a perfect combination of fantastic staff and fellow travellers, South Coast Backpackers in Kenya has ensured that I will be the first person to visit Diani Beach for three days without actually ever seeing the beach. Esther, Ali and Paul's supreme standards of hospitality coupled with the midnight psychoanalysis sessions of the newly formed Failed Romance Club and a fantastic night pool party mean that my only experience of Kenya on this occasion will not involve animals or national parks but the gated compound of the best backpacker hostel of the trip.

And the winner is...

South Coast Backpackers, Diani Beach

Its beautiful swimming pool...

Its cosy cabana nests...

 Its deep and meaningful conversations...

Its not so deep and meaningful behaviour...

Mood song: Good Vibrations - Beach Boys

Mood food: Chef's remarkably good spaghetti carbonara