I am fully aware that the life we lead is a romantic one. It is partially intentional and partially necessity and happenstance. We love raw experience, we love adventure, but also in order to achieve our dreams we have had to make choices that have pushed our lives even further in the direction of the surreal.
For example, the decision to live two consecutive summers in a van was largely of necessity if we wanted to pursue our goals for the those time periods. Many would have found another way around it, but to us it seemed like the best way to fully accomplish our dreams in spite of our monetary restrictions.
This romantic life has taken us across the vast mid-west, to the mountains of Colorado, to the warm beaches of the Outer Banks, to Central America, up and down the East Coast, and currently landed us in Germany.
These past few years have been filled with once-in-a-lifetime moments. I’ve summited mountains, slept under the stars with waves crashing beneath me, climbed a volcano, drank tea on a roof-top in Nicaragua, run on an abandoned beach alongside a pod of dolphins, walked through courtyards and castles. And I could go on and on. Sometimes I look at my own life and can’t believe it is real.
People always talk about how hard it is to capture these moments–the vibrant sunsets, the towering mountain. But what I find hardest to convey is the other side of this life–what makes it truly romantic and what makes it so different from ordinary life. What makes a moment truly romantic is what sets it apart from the ordinary, from the mundane. It is being alone in the wilderness, walking along a precipice, lost in the vast ocean. It is seclusion, emptiness, fear, suspense, uncertainty, pain, irony–all mixed together with unthinkable beauty.
But as an observer we tend to see all of those as simply a backdrop for the beauty. When you live this life, the backdrop is every bit as real as the foreground.
I was particularly hit by this experience a few months after our move to Germany. Many of our plans had fallen apart since our arrival. Our living expenses were more than we had anticipated, the process of becoming legalized for short-term residency was dragging on, and my job prospects had fallen through. We had an endearing little loft apartment in the city (which we could not afford to heat), but our savings were being rapidly depleted and everything in the future was utterly uncertain.
One night, shortly before Christmas, we found ourselves sitting on some stone stairs beneath the Kaiserberg (the city castle), looking down upon the brightly lit, medieval streets of Nurnberg. It was bitterly cold, but we sat here for hours while Tyler played Christmas carols on his melodica (a small, mouth-blown, keyboard instrument) for spare change. This was our only way of earning money since neither of us could legally work.
Sitting there with Christmas shoppers bustling past, the castle towers glowing overhead, and the music drifting out over the city–as Tyler literally played to earn our Christmas dinner–I knew this was truly one of the most romantic moments of my life. And one of the hardest.
The beauty of it all was overwhelming, and it stood out all the more vividly against our cold, hunger, fears, and uncertainties. I felt like we were living a chapter out of a novel.
This type of experience can’t be recreated.
You can’t recreate desperation.
Experiences like this feel surreal and unattainable for a reason–for most people they are. Most people aren’t really willing to pay this type of price for these kinds of raw, harsh, breath-taking experiences.
It is raw because it is hurts.
And it is beautiful because it is difficult.
Those who choose to live the romantic life know that for every beautiful sunset there is a storm as well–and you are going to find yourself out in the storm with only the memory of the sunset to keep you warm.
And we wouldn’t have it any other way.
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This post inspired by a post on Outside about the reality of the #VanLife.
It always amazes me how many people think that traveling, especially international traveling, simply isn’t affordable. I mean, come on people- I’m a broke college graduate, with thousands in debt and I manage to fit it into my budget. You just need to start thinking outside the box of traditional travel expectations.
There are basically two reasons to budget travel:
You are broke and can’t afford to travel any other way.
You are semi-broke and want to be able to afford to get more out of your travelling (do and see more things).
If you are one of those lucky people who has plenty of money to travel however, whenever, and wherever you want then I’m not sure why you are reading this blog. Maybe you are a yuppie who wants the raw experience of budget traveling…
Tips for Budget Traveling
Find Affordable Housing–
Abandoning ideas about fancy resorts and hotels is the first step to traveling economically. Hostels are a budget traveler’s best friend. Hostel Bookers and Hostel World are my two primary resources for finding a good hostel.
A lot of people find the idea of a hostel really sketchy. But most of these people know little or nothing about hostels. Hostels are designed to provide the most basic needs for a night’s stay while cutting costs for customers as much as possible.
Let’s be honest, if what you care about on vacation is a big comfy bed, a big screen TV with cable, and a pool, then hostels aren’t for you. But if you plan to spend your time roaming the streets of Paris, visiting the Louvre, making day trips to medieval French villages, and then coming back and crashing–do you really need all of those luxuries? Or do you really just need a shower and some clean sheets?
Like I said before, if you can afford both, great, but a lot of us can’t- and we have to choose.
Hostels come in all shapes and sizes. Some of them actually end up being more like a hotel, some have pools, some don’t. Most hostels offer several room options:
private rooms–these are the most expensive, but generally still cheaper than a normal hotel (remember, no big screen).
gender segregated dorms– either all male or all female rooms.
mixed gender dorms– mixed gender dorms are the cheapest because they are the easiest to fill–they can stick anyone in them.
These “dorms” are rooms of varying sizes with varying numbers of bunk beds and access to a bathroom. Sometimes it is just a set of bunk beds and you could fill the room if you had a group. As a female, I probably wouldn’t feel comfortable staying in a “mixed” dorm traveling solo, but since I normally travel with my husband I am fine with it to save a few bucks.
If you are concerned about ending up in a super sketchy, dirty hostel, have no fears–the sites I listed above are invaluable tools in finding the right hostel. They give detailed ratings and reviews from friendliness to cleanliness.
Most of the hostels I’ve stayed in (and I’ve been to quite a few) have greatly superseded my expectations and, in some ways, have offered more than a hotel could have. For example–I once stayed in a beautiful, old, half-timbered house in Austria which had been converted into a hostel. It was 12 USD for a night.
Hostel in Feldkirch, Austria
Another awesome experience was a “tent village” in Interlaken, Switzerland. These semi-permanent tents (with real bunk beds) were nestled in a field surrounded by the towering Alps. The village was complete with a hot-tub. 20 USD per night.
Tent Village–Interlaken, Switzerland
Hostels offer unique locations and experiences, the opportunity to meet interesting people, a comfortable stay, and all at an excellent price.
There are two other important things that hostels often have to offer: free breakfast, and a community kitchen. And those lead into the next key element of budget travel.
Eat Cheap–
Food probably isn’t the first place you think to cut spending–but it is one of the easiest ways to blow money while traveling. Even if you don’t go out to eat at a fancy restaurant every night, eating on the go adds up. And even worse, buying mediocre food on the go might hurt your budget to the point that you really can’t afford that nice, romantic, meal you were planning to share in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower. So plan ahead and save up for something special.
Breakfast–
This is another huge way that hostels can save you money. Look for hostels that list having breakfast included. A lot do and often times a little looking can get you that free meal for little or no extra cost. These breakfasts usually aren’t anything fancy and some are better than others. Occasionally, they are awesome. I’ve had anything from toast and cereal, to artisan breads and marmalades (Paris), to a full breakfast buffet of hot and cold foods (Athens).
Athens: breakfast buffet.
Not only does this save you the cost of the first meal of the day and allow you to jump straight to sight-seeing, but you can usually pocket a croissant, or a little cheese sandwich for a snack later on.
Meat and cheese sandwich for later.
Lunch– Depending where you are traveling, it may be reasonable and affordable to grab some street food for lunch. But even that $4-6 (or euro, or whatever) sandwich will add up over time (but also remember food is part of the experience–its all about balance). The worst situation to be in, however, is to be cold (or hot), tired, and really hungry, in a tourist destination without cheap food options available. This is when you will give in and buy something way too expensive and not nearly good enough. It is great to spend money on food when you decide to, but not when you have to.
One of my worst experiences of this type was in the tourist city of Rothenburg. We didn’t bring anything with us and everything was super expensive because it is a tourist town. Broke and starving, we gave in and bought a “kebab box” which seemed like a decent deal–6 euros. It ended up being a pile of crusty, greasy meat in a box. The meal ended with me sitting on a curb crying. PLAN AHEAD.
My go-to lunch preparation is to buy a loaf of local bread (in Europe you can usually get something delicious for pretty cheap), a wedge of cheese, and maybe a tomato. Be sure to carry a knife with you for this purpose.
These items are all relatively easy to transport and not super perishable. And while this is very frugal, it is substantial, delicious, and gives you taste of some local essentials. I have many memories (and pictures) of us enjoying a picnic lunch of brie and a baguette under the Eiffel Tower, or substitute a Swiss cheese and an Alp for the tower.
Classic tomato, cheese, and bread for lunch in Switzerland.
Dinner– Another important hostel feature is the community kitchen. This is a very high priority for me when looking for a hostel. I’m willing to spend an extra buck or two for a decent kitchen. Why? Again, going out for dinner while traveling is great, but doing it every night drains the bank account. Instead, cook most of your meals at the hostel and save a ton of money.
This may seem like too much of a hassle–buying all the ingredients, preparation, etc. But if you do it right it is easy. I always keep a few non-perishable staples in my bag while I’m traveling. Pasta, rice, a handful of potatoes, corn meal, some bouillon cubes, and butter (if it is summer or a hot climate, go with a little oil).
Having these essentials always on hand prevents me from making a last minute decision to go out to eat because I’m too tired and hungry to go shopping.
When you first get to your hostel scout out the kitchen. Why? Because hostel kitchens can be a gold mine for food. People come, cook a meal, and then leave and don’t feel like taking along that half a stick of butter or that half a box of pasta. Sometimes there isn’t much, but always check–and then you can plan the evening’s meal while you travel and pick up any other ingredients on your way back in the evening.
I’ve found some crazy things in hostel kitchens–potatoes, pasta, rice (lots of rice), sauces and condiments, cheese, cold cuts, salamis, crackers, and even a half a box of wine! Half the time I didn’t even need to buy food, and I could almost always refill my staples stock from these leftovers. Simple easy recipes that you know by heart are essential. My basic list:
Risotto– basic ingredients–rice, onion, bouillon. Dress it up with whatever else is on hand–wine, garlic, butter, cheese, veggies.
Polenta–corn meal, water, butter, bouillon. Good on its own, but add some sauteed veggies and cheese and you have a gourmet meal. (I once made “polenta” in an airport using a free cup of hot water from a coffee shop.)
Rice and beans–rice, beans, seasonings.
Pasta– Pasta, butter or oil, seasonings. Add a tomato and you have a great meal.
Creativity is the key. Look at the resources available and use them. If I ever come upon a lot of leftover potatoes at a hostel, I rub them with butter or oil, salt and pepper, and then bake them. Let cool and then save for the next day’s breakfast of lunch on the go.
Find a Good Location and Walk Everywhere–
Another important thing to look for is a good central location to travel from. You may find a super cheap/nice hostel on the outskirts of the city, but always consider how that is going to impact your traveling in terms of cost and time. Sometimes it is worth it, but sometimes the hassle and cost of transportation isn’t. Again, a few bucks for the metro or a train might not seem like much once, but it adds up.
Be sure you have good walking shoes so that you can stay moving all day and see as much as possible without having to catch public transit. You see more and enjoy more this way anyways than if you just hop trains or buses from one popular location to the next. But, if you don’t prepare for a lot of walking, your feet will regret it.
The most important rule to go by when traveling on a budget is to spend money on what you want to spend money on and don’t get trapped into the mainstream mentality of what you should or need to spend money on. Be creative. And no matter what, don’t be pretentious–being pretentious is expensive.
We had spent the first few days of our honeymoon laying in the sun, playing like giddy children in the gentle, clear water, and trying all of the quaint, family-owned, water-front restaurants near our villa–the obvious activities for a vacation in a beautiful Mediterranean village. But the dry, rocky mountains at our backs had been beckoning to my husband since we had first arrived. He would never be satisfied until we had explored and conquered at least one of them. To me they looked rather dull and uninviting at, but as the days passed the barren landscape began to have a draw on me as well. Finally, one morning, when Tyler again raised the idea of venturing into the mountains, I agreed to (to his great surprise) to make an expedition.
By the time we had eaten breakfast and set out, however, it was already late morning and the sun was well up and as we headed away from the refreshing sea breeze the heat became oppressive. But we plunged into the desert hills nonetheless. We had a vague idea about finding a gorge we had heard about that was supposed to be a few miles inland. But the trail we thought would lead to it soon began a steep ascent and, though we suspected it would not lead to the gorge, we decided to see where it would take us. We passed through an olive grove and up past a few houses before we broke out on the side of the base of a mountain with our little village and the brilliant blue ocean sprawled out below us.
We continued on this rocky trail as it wound up, along the side of the mountain. Here in these vividly barren mountains little grew except for some coarse, stunted little bushes and shrubs, but the air was filled with a wonderful herbal aroma that rose from the dry, shriveled plants. The scent was elusive at times and pungent at others. Those warm, fragrant wafts of air further contributed to the feeling of adventure–the smell was foreign yet familiar, soothing yet evocative.
The path led steeply and quickly up the mountain and we soon found ourselves scrambling up the crest and onto the crown of the first small peak of desert mountains which extended as far as the eye could see. The steep face of the mountain fell away before us and we could see the tiny dirt path we had come up by snaking down it and on through the olive groves. Beyond the olive groves we could see the small cluster of white washed buildings lined up along the vibrant Mediterranean blue which stretched on infinitely beyond them. It was a strange contrast to see–that endless blue which through its very intensity seemed to cry of refreshment and life. And yet, at the edge of the blue the dry, empty world began. A world that could not receive the life of the sea–though they touch for a moment. And here we stood–in this other endlessness of dry and crumbling rock.
Something about that contrast–and maybe the fragrance in the air–made me feel invigorated, curious, expectant. I needed to see more of this crumbling land. And so we headed back down off the peak and onto the trail that continued into the heart of the mountains. The path followed the curvature of the mountain we had ascended and we anxiously awaited to see what would appear beyond each bend. We seemed to be gradually ascending again with a deep gorge appearing below us and another craggy mountain on the other side of it. We realized we had found the gorge we had been seeking, but were instead passing over top and along side it. Through this mountain pass we could see more hills in the distance–some appeared to have cultivated olive groves on them which piqued our interest–who could be farming out in this barren, alien land?
A few more bends and curves and the trail and we once more found ourselves with a clear view through the pass; but this time another world had appeared on the other side. It was like looking through a veil on a time and place from ages past–a fantasy that would pass in a moment. Beyond the high walls of the mountains we were passing through, the land seemed to open out onto more rolling mountains. And perched on the edge of these–with the gorge winding past underneath–was a tiny village of square, rambling houses–bleached white and shining in the sun. But more surreal still was the sharp peak–like a finger of rock which loomed over the town. A narrow path meandered out of the city and up the hills to the peak and then wound up the side of it to the narrow summit where rested a small white building–a monastery, we excitedly speculated.
We stood there, staring, for a while, marveling. We turned to each other, hardly believing the other could be seeing the same thing through the veil. But we were. And tired, and hungry though we were, we wanted nothing more than to press on to this place before it vanished. But we had already hiked several miles and it was at least another three to the village. We were out of water and had no money to purchase food or water if we made it to the town. And so, with great reluctance we turned around. But I was the first to say, “We are going back tomorrow. All the way to that town. And we will climb that rock tower and visit that shrine.” Tyler looked at me with surprise. “Really? You will want to come all the way out here again?” I looked at him with eyes that I can only imagine looked bewitched and said firmly, “Yes.” There was no question in my mind or his–we had to visit that town. If it was still there on the morrow, that was.
The next day we rose early; we packed extra water, food, and money for our trip. This time we found the path to and through the gorge we had been looking for. A wooden sign pointed into the gorge with the single world “Pefki” on it. We decided this must be the name of the town we were pursuing. When we reached the gorge we found ourselves entering into the cool shade of the rock walls rising high on either side. The rock was bare but had beautiful streaks of various shades of reds and yellows and the artistry of time had worn and carved its face into beautiful, interesting forms. Through the gorge ran the smallest trickle of a stream and around it had sprung up life. Grasses, shrubs and even some small trees filled the canyon. We followed the faint gurgling of the stream further into the shadows and as the shadows grew so did the stream. At one point a smaller path broke off of the main one and meandered down and into a cluster of small trees. We had to see where it went, of course. Inside the shelter of the trees we found a small, round pool of water–cool and clear. The water trickled over moss covered stones and frogs swam around the pebbled bottom. The air here was particularly sweet and refreshing. We spent a few moments absorbing the beauty of this secluded place and then continued on our way.
After following the trail deeper into the gorge, through rocky, mossy, damp places illuminated only by light filtered green by the trees above, the path began to climb upward again. Soon we were scrambling up a steep, narrow path that somehow wound up the wall of the gorge. Suddenly we were above the gorge and bathed in the bright, hot, desert sun. We had covered a significant portion of the distance to the town, Pefki, on the hillside; further than the day before. We could now see the whole path laid out before us. To our right–across the gorge–there still rose a sheer wall of mottled rock. We were catching our breaths and appreciating the view when I heard a distant sound coming from the rock face. My eyes instinctively scanned the flat face and were snagged upon movement halfway up. Goats! Four goats were hopping around on invisible niches in the rock wall.
After watching in bemused amazement for a few minutes we continued on our pilgrimage to the mysterious town and the distant mountain-top shrine. As we walked we discussed the possibility of whether the town was actually inhabited and what we would find on top of the peak. We made up our own history and mythology for the origins of this place that had captured our fascination.
Finally, we reached the outskirts of the town. We passed rambling shacks with vegetable patches; a dog here and there lying in the sun. Up a cobble-stoned path, under the shade of olive trees we climbed. We entered the town, walking down narrow streets with houses on our left and a low wall on the right, beyond–the gorge, the mountain pass, and far, far in the distance a sliver of blue ocean. Some of the houses were dilapidated, but others had fresh, brightly colored doors set into clean, white-washed walls. Vines climbed over the walls of private gardens and heavy clusters of grapes dangled down into the street. We picked handfuls and ate as we walked. The streets were empty. Silent. We walked as ones afraid to break a spell or wake the dead. When we spoke it was in whispers.
Though the town seemed deserted the occasional sign of life continued to present itself–a massive Greek urn with potted flowers, glimpses of carefully tended gardens, a cat resting on a wall. We wandered the empty streets, climbing higher into the town by way of staircases joining the street levels. The first person we encountered did not fully confirm to us that we had not entered a dream. We were climbing one of the aforementioned staircases when we pulled up short at the sight of an old woman asleep in a chair on her door step. We peered at her from around the corner. She was dressed traditionally–skirt, shirt, headcovering–all black. The hair that showed beneath the cloth was pure white. We waited, but she did not move. We passed quietly by, watching her as we went, but she did not stir or make a sound.
We were still speculating over this scene and, whether we had indeed been transported back in time, when we found the street we were on opening out into a sort of stone-paved patio, shaded by a huge tree and looking out over the valley below. Under the tree were several tables and chairs set with tablecloths and silverware. The door to the building closest to this layout was open and a chalk board stood alongside it with meals and prices written on it. Faint sounds of kitchen activities drifted out to us. We looked around, but no one was in sight. We peeked in the doorway just as a young man walked out.
The sight of someone so fresh and alive took us completely off-guard. But after a moments mumbling and confusion we asked if we could have lunch on the patio and a moment later we were seated under the tree, looking at menus. We enjoyed a wonderful lunch there, all the time marveling, delighted at the strangeness of this experience.
When we had finished our meal and felt thoroughly refreshed, we knew we had to complete our journey. The rock thumb with loomed over us, beckoning us on. We climbed up through the rest of the town–not encountering a single soul as we went. Another wandering path lead up, out of the town, over grassy hills, towards the rocky pinnacle. We followed this, occasionally looking back to see the miles we had traversed and the small town growing ever smaller. Beyond the rock that we pursued the grasslands ended–or rather harsh rock had been forced up through the earth, or perhaps the earth had worn away from them thousands of years ago. They formed impressions against the sky and enticed us to investigate. But we would not be distracted. We would make this pilgrimage that had undoubtedly been made by many before us. Finally, we were at the base of the rock. The path had no pity for the pilgrim and climbed as steeply as could be allowed–a small rail separated the path from the sheer drop on the outer edge of the path.
And so we climbed. Feeling every step to be full of meaning and wondering what that was. The sun was overhead now, and we climbed straight for it. Our legs were strongly protesting long before we reached the top and, when we at last stepped out onto the flat pavement at the top, they trembled with exhaustion. But there was no place for weakness here. We had reached the top of the world and below us was a detailed map of the many miles we had traversed. Though the view was beyond magnificent we were drawn to the small white building which occupied most of the peak. Two small windows and a wooden door between them. A bell hung from a little arch on the roof and the rope to ring it hung down beside the door. Tyler grasped the rope and rang the bell–breaking the bright silence which had engulfed us and signaling the end of our pilgrimage. We held our breaths as we tried the handle–it opened. Inside, a small room, candles, icons, the cross, and the face of Christ. It wasn’t a monastery; it was a shrine. We felt the devotion, the sorrows, the prayers of generations, and we were silent. When we stepped back into the bright sunshine we stood for a while and marveled at the world below and this small, white shrine quietly above it all.
The reflective chronicling of the most beautiful, singular moments of life.
Snapshots of a Traveler's Life 