You are in your wide, purple, shabby but comfy cotton pants, leather
brown hiking sandals, a dull grayish jacket is rapped around your
waist, and an orange scarf his anging around your neck. A waist pack
with your passport inside, touches the camera strapped across your shoulder, while every little thing you own in this country is stuffed
inside the Backpack with ur sleeping bag attached.
You definitely look weird by normal standards, but right there and
then..there's so many of you that you could never stick out.
Around you the scarf might be green instead of orange, the pants shorter or longer, the sleeves rolled up, or torn off, the backpack
"Katmandu" instead of "The North Face", the camera is a "Canon" and not a "Sony", the old hiking sandals are flip flops but worn out all the same, the colorful thread anklet is a coppery oriental bracelet, an eye brow ring or, or a funky pendant….
You look around you and absorb the mess of colors and shapes and you give a relaxed smile.
At the border a long line of those outrageous eccentric looking
creatures extends to your horizon, all dragging their heavy luggage
waiting for the immigration stamp. It takes an hour and half till
your turn comes, and people start taking out thick books, and they
start reading them. Standing in line with a book in your hand ??
….how "nerdy" is that? Yet these people are not exactly what you
call the nerdy type, having all those tattoos and body piercing
done all over the place….
You look at your passport and you notice other peoples'
passports: red, burgundy, green, navy blue, that go with all those
skewed foreign accents, polite gestures of the philippinoes, the
noisy chatter of the Scots, or the outrageous laughter of the
Italians…
In the bus after the "holy" stamp has been granted to you, you see
them reading all those different genres of books. Books about
Isaac Newton, The future of the universe, the structure of the
Cambodian society, political change in eastern Europe, artificial
intelligence, Zen Buddhism, comic books, the sacred architecture of
Angkor Wat, the art of foot massage, Armageddon…or a love novel.
In the night train, you sit across from a person, a couple, or a
group, and you start talking. They tell you they had been traveling
for 2 months, 3 months, and 9 months. Been to this and that place,…
are going to the same island as you,… thought Lao people to be
the most peaceful, loved Cambodian folklore dance, enjoyed the
waterfall, thought the elephant show sucked, or just hated Vietnamese
seafood.
When the waiter comes with food while you are sleeping, a stranger,
but a fellow backpacker makes sure to wake you up or keep your food
for you. They share their stories, impressions, tips and anecdotes
with you and are eager to hear your own. People from two rows behind
are interested in the conversation and come over to join a night of
chatter before everybody goes to their bunks for sleep.
On the night train you meet different people with different accents,
different social and ethnic, religious and educational backgrounds,
but they all hold on to the same "traveler's bible" in different
editions, versions and languages… reciting it, agreeing or
disagreeing with it…but still the "the lonely planet or the rough guide" remain the main references for everybody.
The nice memories and flash backs come alive when you chat, and the
thrill and excitement of the coming adventure or destination set the
common ambiance…you all share one thing…a deep desire to take in
more of this world, of its people and to have your soul
break or broken free in the process…this is what I call the common
spirit, "the Spirit of the Backpacker" shared among total strangers…
yet, you never feel they are strangers. They are just like you…a
backpacker roaming the lands!
Noha El Shoky
Jan 23, 2005
