You get questioned all the time about where you stand in life.
“You’re married?”, “No”, “You have kids?”, “No”, “You bought a house?”, “No”, “You have a good job?”, “Not anymore” and then they give you the poor-girl-she’s-thirty-and-not-settled look. And I give the yeah-but-i’m-having-a-blast-on-a-trip-around-the-world one.
You have the full backpacker look but everyone thinks you are in a honeymoon.
Apparently the heavy backpack, flip flops, muddy walking shoes attached to the bag are the new “Just Married” look at the hostel receptions. Your answer? “Oh yes!” so that you get an upgrade.
You become a budget-wise-person and you definitely drink less.
5 tequila shots are not worth the upgrade to the ensuite-bedroom, because now you actually need your 8h sleep to start the day and you love a clean bathroom. And you hate hangovers.
You really used to love the backpacker happy hour’s peanuts, beers and beer-pong.
Now you are just dreaming of a cheese platter, a good Bordeaux (a 2005 would be much appreciated) and a ping-pong competition on the telly.
You want the triple cheeseburger with fries and a normal Coke that skinny post-teenager with the crop-top is having over there.
But for you it is going to be the Garden salad with dressing on the side and Coke Zero. Tough.
You start seeing crop-tops in every hostel lounge in the world and realize you will never, ever, wear one in your life.
When they were hot in the 90s you were 12 and your mother didn’t approve, now you’re 30 and you’re stomach doesn’t approve.
You decide to go to a moon party and you do not dare to get those cool body paintings.
The twenty-year-olds look like they came straight out from a Spotify playlist. You would look like you had met your year-old nephew on the way in.
You are not trying street shrimp food just like that.
You’ve been around long enough to know the possible collateral damage that a bad shrimp can induce. And it’s bad.
You carry a paper notebook, a paper diary and a real pen with you.
But don’t tell anyone. People might think you are an old-fashioned backpacker. Especially if you are writing postcards too, which of course you are.
You finally understand your parents who you used to curse for waking you up early.
It’s only 8 you are ready to go to enjoy the day and avoid the tourist queues. But you will never, ever tell them that. Unless you have a blog they are reading. Like this one. Hi Mom!
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