Becoming a Backpacker

Looking around me, I felt intimidated and yet... inspired. Lounging across the airport seats were several hardened backpackers.

My backpack was a vibrant blue, clean and bright. It was still stiff and not a mark had crossed its path. My boots were shiny and clean. Their tractor-like tread was spotless. No dirt clung to the soles. No scuffs were visible on the surface. My clothes were clean, ironed and smelled of fabric softener. I was so obviously a beginner!

I held my new passport and ticket carefully in my hand. I watched the clock, knowing I wouldn’t miss my flight but constantly checking - just to be sure. I was at the airport, waiting for my first flight – the flight which would take me out of Australia and into my year of travel.

Soon enough, I found myself in a far-off airport. My backpack was dusty, dirty and scuffed. My boots were dusty, dirty and scuffed. My clothes were dusty, dirty and no longer smelled of sweet fabric softener. My passport was dirty, creased and wrinkled. I no longer held it carefully, but tossed it into my jeans pocket. I was at the airport, waiting for another flight.

My backpack was tossed onto the hard airport seats. I used it as a pillow, leaning my head against its dusty surface. I lounged across the hard plastic seats, feet folded over the plastic armrests. The noises of the airport and the glare of the lights didn’t stop me from falling into a deep sleep – so deep that I slept through my alarm. Waking to realise that my flight was now boarding, I raced to get myself on the plane bn. A lady at a counter noticed my just-woke-up-and-running-late-face and processed my passport at a side counter, letting me fling my backpack onto my back and race for the boarding gate.

I’d made it. I was a real, hardened backpacker!