A guide to backpacking for the pampered

By: Susana Gil de Real

The Salkantay Trail in Perú, visited during the author's travels.

When I first had the idea of taking an indefinite backpacking trip through South America, my parents were hesitant. I had let the thought marinate for a few months before suggesting it, and by then, I was pretty much decided.

‘Where are you going to stay?’ ‘How will you protect yourself?’ ‘Can you afford it?’ were questions I received from all my social circles.

I did the math. I figured that with the amount of money I’d save on not paying rent in New York, I could afford to spend up to $40 per night on accommodation to break even. Most hostels in South America range from $5-$20, which was more than perfect. Food was also cheap if you took care of where you went, so really, the main things I would be splurging on would be tours and travel, both of which were things I was willing to spend money on.

As for safety, I made sure to bring a lock for my backpack and the hostel lockers, and I took care not to bring anything too valuable with me while I traveled. My parents gave me a list of emergency contacts I could reach out to in each country in case I found myself in dire straits.

People always ask me what was the scariest point during my time in South America. To be honest, I think it was when I finally, after months of stressing out about it, ran out of my favorite moisturizer. I had to buy one off-brand at a store in Paraguay, and I thought my skin’s pH would never recover.

No, but in all seriousness, I know what people mean when they ask me that, and it’s a totally fair question. I too have read all the crazy stories about people getting stabbed over stolen phones or ‘mini-kidnapped’—when a driver takes you to an ATM far away and won’t let you go until you drain all the money in your bank account. There are countless articles and books and even movies about the dangers of traveling, about everything that could go wrong, about the global South being a place of peril and privation. The truth is, during all the time I was there, there was never a point where I felt unsafe. It may be because I spoke Spanish, and I knew that I could ask anybody for help. But traveling isn’t as scary and dangerous as people hype it up to be. Keep your head on, use your common sense, and keep your phone and wallet close to you.

I spent four months backpacking and making my way through Colombia, Ecuador, Peru, Bolivia, Paraguay, Uruguay, and Argentina. I learned a few things along the way about long-term travel.

So without further ado, here are my top tips for backpacking alone:

Number one: don’t have a plan

Okay, you can have a bit of a plan. But don’t fill up your schedule before even setting foot in a place. I think it’s good to have a list of places you want to see but try not to book too many things in advance. Let yourself go with the flow; otherwise you’ll start to feel trapped, stressed, overwhelmed.

Before I started on my trip, I had a vague idea of the places I definitely wanted to go—Machu Picchu, the Uyuni salt flats, Iguazu Falls, and Ushaïa—but I left my plan open for flexibility and kept an open mind towards possible detours on my way to these destinations. I talked to other backpackers that I met in hostels, and they told me their stories and their recommendations, and I added new spots to my ever-growing list. I went to places I’d never heard of, and did things I’d never imagined. I laid offerings at an altar for the Devil in the mines of Potosí, Bolivia. I walked through the Perito Moreno glacier in Calafate, Argentina with crampons, and drank water from its melting cracks. I walked up desert dunes in Huacachina, Peru with a raging hangover to watch the sunset. What started off as a six-week trip ended up taking four months, and I relished every minute of it.

I suppose it all depends on the place you go, but in my experience, I was able to do all of the things I wanted with very little advance planning. I signed up for a five-day hike to Machu Picchu with the people I’d met at my hostel two days before we started. I reserved flights and bus tickets the night before I was traveling. I booked hostels on the same day I’d be staying there. At times it could be a little chaotic, but not having a schedule to adhere to allowed me to change my mind, adapt to new circumstances, and feel free to do whatever I wanted. Because of it, I was able to do more than I had initially thought.

Number two: stay in hostels

Hostels get a bad reputation, and I get it. The idea of sleeping in the same room with a bunch of strangers, sharing a bathroom, and having to wear flip-flops in the shower isn’t altogether appealing. But lots of people who travel alone stay in hostels, and usually, there are common rooms where people can meet and socialize. In general, I feel that people that stay in hostels are more open to making new friends. In fact, most of the people I met during my travels were from the hostels I stayed at, and we would often sign up for the same tours and explore the cities together.

As with most things in life, hostels can be good or bad. After staying in so many, I know what to look for when scouting for places to stay and what to expect when I arrive. Hostels with smoking areas, for example, are infinitely more fun than those without because people tend to bond over a cigarette or strike up a conversation when asking for a lighter. Even if you don’t indulge in that (admittedly bad) habit, the second-hand smoke is worth it for the social possibilities.

Similarly, if you stay somewhere that offers parties in-house, don’t be surprised if you wake up in the middle of the night to the sound of creaking bunk beds and suppressed moans. It happened to me, and I had the nerve to be offended. Bring earplugs. It’s better to stay ignorant.

Finally, beware of the person that grabs the hostel guitar and starts to play for the whole room. They usually think they’re hot shit. (If you are that person, just know I am onto you, and I’m not falling for it.)

Number three: eat the local food (but be cautious of fish in landlocked cities)

A lot of us like to include food tourism in our travel plans, and even though today we have access to almost all the food in the world, especially those of us who live in a big city, there’s something special about getting an arepa in Colombia or a taco in Mexico. “This is the original version,” you think while holding the dripping, greasy fritter in your hand. “Here is where they invented it.”

Of all the countries I visited, the best culinary experience was by far Peru, but that came as no surprise. The amount of typical dishes they had in different parts of the country was staggering and hard to keep track of, but their most well-known dish was, and continues to be, ceviche. I had lots of it in each city I visited as I made my way through the country. When I got to Cusco, I went to the local market and ordered a ceviche at the cheapest place I could find. Big mistake. I remember the fish was floppy when I speared it with my fork, which should have raised some alarm bells, but the taste of lemon overpowered anything off that I could have noticed. I spent the rest of the day curled up in my bed, hyperventilating, unable to get up or even raise my head unless it was to urgently hobble to the bathroom every fifteen minutes. I couldn’t eat real food for two days after that.

So although I do condone eating local food, my advice is this: don’t get the cheapest thing, don’t get fish if you’re not by the ocean, and when you go to the market, get the dish that seems to be selling the most.

Number four: take days off

I’m not talking about taking days off to travel in the first place, but rather take breaks from your traveling frenzy. If you’re someone like me, who likes to see all the touristy spots in a city and struggles with the idea of missing anything worth seeing, things can get exhausting quite quickly. Prioritize some things over others, and don’t try to do everything in a day. If you wake up at 6AM to see the sunrise over the city, you probably shouldn’t go out bar hopping until 3AM that same day.

While I was staying in Cusco, I ended up getting COVID for a week. Before crossing the border into Bolivia, it was necessary to take a PCR test, and although I had been coughing for a week straight, I was still surprised when mine came back positive. I had to book a single room at a hotel for a week, and could only leave for short walks around the block while double masking outside. Despite the total bummer it was to stay quarantined and alone for so long, the week actually served as a good respite after all the energy I’d spent the previous two months. I spent my days lying on the hotel bed watching comfort movies like Pirates of the Caribbean and Shrek. By the end of the week, after I got my negative PCR test and was able to continue on to Bolivia, I felt rejuvenated.

Toward the end of my journey, I started to get sick of it. I was tired of packing up my backpack every day, as expert as I became at it, and staying at a new hostel, a new town, a new country. I was tired of meeting new people and saying goodbye to them days or hours later. I was lonely and drained. I felt guilty taking days off, especially so close to the end of my trip, but I realized that I was not enjoying myself because I was spreading myself too thin.

The truth is, it’s important to take some time to relax every now and then, especially if you’re trying to see as much as you can. It’s easy to get burned out. Backpacking isn’t necessarily the most comfortable mode of travel, after all, and sometimes you just need to disconnect. In Buenos Aires, after saying goodbye to a particularly dear friend, I curled up on my bed at 8pm and watched videos on my phone for the rest of the evening, uninterested in interacting with anyone or seeing anything outside of my room. People walked in and out, chatting about a party on the rooftop and then going to a bar later, but my eyes did not stray from my screen. It happens sometimes. We need some alone time, even when it feels impossible. Don’t feel bad to have a lazy day every now and then; it’ll keep you sane.

Number five: speak some of the language

I have to admit that I kind of cheated with this one because I chose a continent where the dominant language was Spanish, a language I’ve spoken since I could, well, speak. I’m not saying that you should only choose countries where you speak the language, but there are some words that you need to learn before you go anywhere. Know how to say, at the very least, ‘hello’, ‘thank you’, and ‘sorry.’ It goes a long way.

‘How much?’ ‘I want…’ and ‘Do you speak English?’ are also pretty useful to learn, but I suppose you can get away with just gesturing for those. Tourist sign language is one of the funnest things to simultaneously invent and interpret.

I was the only person in my group hiking the Salkantay trail to Machu Picchu that spoke Spanish, and thus the only one that the tour guides would speak to casually. I would sometimes overhear them talking, comparing notes on who in the group was struggling, who needed extra help, and I would catch their eye and shoot them a conspiratorial smile. They would quickly say, “Tú no, tú no,” assuring me that I was doing fine, even though I knew I was not—I was consistently the last person in the group when walking.

Regardless, most people, especially fellow tourists, will speak English. I was surprised to find that even in South America, where I had been looking forward to speaking in my native tongue, I was communicating mostly in English with the people I met. It consequently fell to me on several occasions to act as translator for the group I happened to be with. It was not an uncommon occurrence for me to order for the whole table, talking to a harried waitress while two or three people spoke in my ear to change their beers to wine or vice versa. Like that Spiderman movie says: with great power comes great responsibility.

Number six: get out of your comfort zone

The whole point of going on a trip is to try new things and see new places. Keep an open mind about the places you are going, put yourself in challenging situations, and try to embody the person you’ve always wanted to be. That’s what it’s all about.

For me, this manifested in the nature hikes that I went on. I have never considered myself an outdoorsy person; I like my little luxuries, like running water and access to mirrors. During a two-day hike through the Colca Canyon in Arequipa, Peru—a hike that I signed up for of my own volition—I asked the tour guide if there would be access to bathrooms on the way. This was indispensable for me. He nodded with a glint in his eye and said, with a grand gesture around us, “Of course! The Inka toilet is always available.” I must have made a horrified face because he laughed and walked away as I struggled to recover my composure. In the end, I did cave and use the Inka toilet a few times. And I’m stronger for it.

Likewise, being the pampered and unathletic person that I am, I went on a surprising amount of hikes, mainly in Peru and Argentina. I dragged myself up so many mountains that my hiking shoes ripped open from overuse. Despite the suffering and exhaustion, those hikes provided some of the most beautiful sights I have ever seen. The Fitz Roy peaks in Argentina, for example, reminded me of a physical representation of classical music. The Rainbow Mountain in Peru, likewise, took my breath away (both figuratively and literally—we were nearly 6 000 meters above sea level and I could barely breathe). And the Laguna Turquesa in Ushuaïa, a pristine lake at the top of the mountain with snow sitting placidly above it, was well worth the half a dozen falls I took on the way up there.

Doing things I normally wouldn’t do helped me center myself, challenge myself, and test my own limits. I’m not an entirely new person for it, nor have I changed my natural indisposition towards nature in any way, but these experiences were character-building, and will hopefully allow me to approach future hikes with a more open mind. In that same vein, the whole process of backpacking itself, and of putting myself in a situation where I was in a constant state of change and fluctuation, has made me appreciate half-formed plans and respond without (or at least with less) stress towards uncertainty.

I thought I was unique and special in deciding to drop everything, quit my job and leave my fabulous life in New York to rough it in South America for a few months. But I found, to my dismay, so many other people in similar situations. My quarter-life crisis was real, but I wasn’t the only one going through it. It was humbling but also very encouraging.

Backpacking isn’t for everyone, and although some people may adopt it as a lifestyle, I am personally better suited for bouts of three months, four months max. I distinctly remember the exhaustion that I felt on the last month, my month through Argentina, and how it tinged my experience of the places I went to. I don’t regret it, but it hit differently, and I felt a little more detached, a little more frustrated than I had in the places before it. I loved my time there, but if I had quit while I was ahead, I probably would have been happy to pick up my backpack months later and go at it again. But then again, I wouldn’t have seen Argentina, and that would have been a shame. I wouldn’t have seen the Iguazu Falls, one of the most stunning sights I have ever seen in my life, better than anything humans could ever make. I wouldn’t have biked through the vineyards of Mendoza and tried six different glasses of Malbec in the span of four hours. I wouldn’t have taken a 30-hour bus ride from Bariloche to Calafate (which consequently granted me bragging rights to anyone who ever complains about travel conditions). And I wouldn’t have partied at the end of the world.

Towards the end of my trip, I also started getting a little existential. I felt that I was in a state of limbo. On the one hand, this fluctuating state of existence didn’t feel like real life. Nothing was permanent, and where I woke up one day wasn’t necessarily the same place I would sleep that evening. But at the same time, wasn’t this the thing people dreamed of? I had spent years in a state of mundanity, waiting for the moment I could finally travel and live. Wasn’t this what I wanted? Wasn’t this what life was supposed to be? It was a contradiction. Was I living or was I in between two phases of my life, my past life and my future life?

They were valid questions, but as I look back at that time, I know now that it very much was real life—one of the most adventurous times of my life. It will take me some time to pick up my backpack and go on another indefinite trip again, but I know for sure that I’ll do it someday. Solo traveling can be daunting, but it’s also fun and freeing and full of interesting people along the way. I wouldn’t change my experience for the world, and I cannot recommend it enough.