Are tourists and travellers the same?

I haven’t been able to create this post, because my mind can’t quite grasp that all these moments are reality, let alone turn these thoughts into words. In fact, I have felt dissociated from the stories that I tell and the experiences I am fortunate enough to have had. I have noticed myself living in a movie like life, where I alternate between being the main character, fully conscious of every detail and thought, and other times observing life and letting the world pass in front, as if I were a spectator. 

My last post included a request to go slower and sit in the present, which I thought was a choice until the train strikes in France forced me to stay in one place for a lot longer than I had originally planned. For context, I had stayed at a hostel in Barcelona for one night as a layover before continuing to travel. Even that short stay felt unreal, due to a series of unexpected scenarios… When I arrived in Barcelona I had underestimated the 40 minute walk to the hostel from the station. Due to the baking sun and carrying a heavy thing called a backpack, it took an hours walk. The weather suddenly shifted in the evening and it started to lightly rain. So I did what any reasonable person does, I chucked on a rain coat and went to get some supplies from Carrefour. Leaving the tills I noticed a crowd of fellow finished shoppers hesitant to exit and I squeezed past. It was torrential. I gripped my shopping bag in both hands and zipped up my coat, but my eagerness did not match the linen trousers and bare feet in sandals on the bottom half. I ran, or should I say nearly swam, as fast as possible through the flooded streets. Cars drove by splashing waves of dirty Barcelona water (reminding me of my surfing earlier in Northern Spain), people ran for cover, I could barely see in front of me and couldn’t help but laugh as I weaved through road works and arrived sodden at a taco restaurant. I can’t recall rain causing such chaos in such a short amount of time as it did that night. I had to wring out my trousers and slap them in a laundry bag in the morning, which would end up to be the culprit to the strong damp odour, that would linger in my backpack for the next couple of weeks until I was able to finally  do laundry. I left at around 5 am, before having to ask about 5 people in Spanish for directions to the station. The gates wouldn’t allow an interrail QR code and as it was still dark, an employee was nowhere to be seen. I was stuck. That is until a lovely lady scanned her pass and both of us, plus the backpacks, pushed through to the platforms (I promise I was legally allowed to go through). I hopped on the train as normal and hopped of at Port Bou, only to be confronted by the platform employee telling me to get back on if I was going to France, so I did. The last destination was Cerbere - an unfamiliar location to me. After finding out all the rest of my trains were cancelled from some local police officers, I wandered down to the town to ask around for the bus station. Confusion arose when only a few understood my Spanish, and that’s when I realised they all spoke French! It turned out there was no bus 'station’, just a bus stop that said there was one bus to Perpignan over 4 hours later, confirmed by the lady at the ‘tourist office’, that I was led to by two very kind English hikers. I hopped on the bus hours later, only to have to hop on another after being forced off at a random stop. Plan B resulted in me arriving in Perpignan at 4:45pm and waiting on a train station bench until being moved to the bus station bench at 11pm, before finally catching the midnight bus that I had hastily booked, in a panic to find another route out. I arrived extremely sleep deprived in Nice early enough the next morning to walk to the hostel during sunrise. Rewarding myself with a French croissant was a sure way to boost the mood, especially considering I then fell asleep in the hostel waiting area until they could check me in later that morning. When I look back now I can laugh, and although I was definitely slightly nervous as to where I was heading, I somehow managed the whole situation without shedding a tear - a lesson that there’s no point in getting worried, because there’s always a solution, even if it means a lot of waiting! 

Another crazy thing that I cannot comprehend is how journeys with others keep aligning. There was this one travel day where every person in the queue that I asked to confirm I was getting on the correct train, all ended up being the passengers next to me or behind me. In lake como, there was another lady wondering where to get the ferry to another town. 5 hours later I noticed her lying in one of the bunks in my hostel dorm. In the same dorm there was a French lady in the bottom of my bunk. I said hello the first night and we just about understood each other. It was quite lovely actually as each evening I would return to the hostel and we would attempt to catch each other up on each days activities, it was more like a game of charades, but it made us laugh every time. It was even more funny when we joined each other in the ferry queue to leave the lake at the same time, eventually catching the same train to Milan. I don’t think I will forget that train ride; it was relatively short but memorable due to the people sitting in it. The older lady sat next to me sneezed and I said bless you, igniting a lovely interaction. We were 4 women sat across, all different languages, different ages, different journeys, and yet we all had the same smiles. 19 year old me on the way to my next backpacking destination, the 36 year old French lady on her way back home from a holiday, where she had to stay an extra week after train strikes, a 57 year old German lady travelling around with her husband and an Italian 82 year old who we worked out was on her way to swimming, as the lake was to cold. We said our goodbyes and that was that. When I started this trip it was difficult to see so many people come and go quickly. But now I’m happy to move on and it makes me smile that I got to spend time with people who I would have never met otherwise. I accept now that I won’t see these people again but they make my journey more valuable. Through all these temporary friendships, it makes you realise who the permanent people are back home. If you’re reading this then you’re likely one of my permanent people and probably on my acceptable to hug list, which you will also know there’s not a lot of. For some reason certain people that I have only just met have incredibly contrasting boundaries to me. I love that deep connections can be created in such a short time, but what I have learnt is that embracing in hugs with random strangers is not one of those highlights. What can I say, not everything is a deep valuable lesson! 

Something else I didn’t enjoy was the touristy parts of Italy. However, when you dive deeper into the streets and wander where the locals are, that’s when your really feel the heart of the area you’re in. Watching the elderly in Italy move with purpose and move with each other paints a smile on my face each time. Notices of engagements and those who have passed are postered up on the wall to let everyone know and keep the locals in the loop. It forms this sense of community. Half of us don’t even speak to neighbours enough anymore. There’s something incredibly warming when the locals smile back at me, as if they’re giving me approval to roam and be curious about their area. Tourists flock to see the next monument that they found on TikTok, oblivious to the beauty that lies beyond the walls of the usual sight seeing. Getting lost in the empty outskirts of Venice felt better than seeing a bridge covered by people. Hiking up a mountain in Spain to reach peace was more fun than roaming the city. Cycling in Slovenia in the pouring rain showed me more about the area and it’s people than sightseeing on a warm sunny day would have, swarmed by other tourists.  I guess I am technically a tourist, but I don’t want to be. I wonder if by definition travellers are the same as tourists; I travel, I see, and I move on. But I want to soak up as much of the culture as I possibly can in each place I visit. That culture can’t be bought with a fancy ticket to a touristy spot, it has to be earned by interacting with those who know it best. Slovenia is making its way to the top of my favourite countries so far; most of the people here will go out of their way to provide what they can. Something as small as when a lady at the reception of one of the hostels lent me her umbrella (which ended up being counteracted by the car that drove so fast it drowned my dry clothes, which is not the point), can make a positive impact on the rest of my day. It’s not just the other travellers I meet who leave an impression - it’s also those who chip in on this trip in various ways, whether it’s their job or not. 

This journey continues to form new perspectives. I hope I never forget these small stories and details that make my adventure memorable. 

Rosie over and out :)