RESURRECT DEAD ON PLANET JUPiTER

I wish I’d taken a long vacation instead

About a year ago I borrowed my ex-girlfriend’s car and went on vacation by myself. Actually I split the time half and half, first with a friend in Portland Maine and then alone in Acadia… sort of. My parents were in Acadia and I met up with them a couple times in my few days there, but other than that I was on vacation alone. Either way, saying I went on vacation alone sounds much more dramatic and serves the purpose of this story better.

But anyway, I wanted to be alone so I rented out 3 beds in the Bar Harbor Hostel. I had the whole room to myself. Some people love traveling by hostel, but fuck that. I enjoy the communal common space, but I can’t stand the dorm style sleeping arrangements. People stumble in and out at all hours. They’re loud. German couples start whining in German about stupid shit at 4:30 in the morning. Your bag is never safe. People smell bad and they snore.

I like having my own room where I can make my mess and not think about it. I like reading until I want to turn my light out. I like writing or going through photos or leaving my camera on my bed without worrying about it being there when I get out of the shower. I like going to bed and waking up on my own schedule.

Also it was in the center of town and 3 beds there were still cheaper than a Motel in Ellsworth.

But none of this is the point of the story. My inspiration for this post is a conversation I had with another traveler. Both of us were waiting to check in. The hostel wasn’t open yet and we met each other while waiting for the owner to get there. She was in her 40’s, reading a book alone on the front stoop.

We exchanged hellos and talked for a minute. I remember she said something about visiting Philadelphia once. I think she said she was from the northwest. She wore thin-rimmed glasses, khaki shorts and carried a well-worn backpack. She’d gotten to town on a bus. She seemed low on energy, like she was running on fumes. She wanted to talk to me, but her words took effort. She craved interaction but could hardly muster the energy it needed.

I asked how long she’d been traveling and she said “years.”

I asked what made her start. She told me that her job was killing her. It was too much work for too little appreciation. When she had a job, she worked in advertising. A relationship ended at the same time she came into a little bit of money. She’d been traveling ever since. I asked if she regretted her decision.

She brushed her hair away from her face and stared off into space. After a moment she said:

“I wish I’d taken a long vacation instead.”

She was in the hostel as long as I was. I didn’t talk to her again.