Finding My Fix: Chronicles of a Travel Junkie

I arrived in Hawaii on a Wednesday, and took the shuttle to the Beachside Hostel. I dragged my suitcase inside. By this time, I had dragged both a backpack and giant suitcase through four different airports, up and down too many stairs to count, and had emptied them in the middle of the Wellington airport to throw away half their contents. I knew by then that on my next trip I would return to my minimalist roots.

“Hi, I made a reservation here. At least I hope it’s here.”

“You hope?” The desk attendant looked at me, eyebrow raised. “What’s your name again?”

Turned out my hopes would not be fulfilled today. This was the Beachside Hostel; I had wanted the Seaside Hostel. I didn’t feel like lugging my crap, which at this point is what it was to me, to the next place, so I settled into the room that to my disappointment was of the mildly roach infested genre and had a bunk bed that rocked and squeaked like a ship in a storm. But you try not to think about these things too much. [read on]