I stayed in a hostel for more than a month. Here's what I learned.

“Here it goes,” I said to myself as I ambled along the edge of the pool lined with thatch-roofed cabañas. Hopefully, I’d get quality writing done. Likely, I’d meet fun people. Definitely, I’d spend sunny days at the side of that blue, bean-shaped pool. These were the first moments of a long-term hostel stay which I booked because… well, I could. In my mid-thirties, I’m a Canadian freelancer living in South America. I’m child-free and responsible for myself, my work, my happiness, and creating a life that feels both aligned and like one I’ll enjoy looking back on when I’m old.

Those last two can feel like afterthoughts when you come from a culture that emphasizes career and academic success before we’re even ten years old. 

These priorities feel almost unnecessarily luxurious when I come from a place where the first thing people ask one another is, “What do you do for work,” on the off-chance that they actually had time to attend a social event in the first place. Unnecessarily luxurious, maybe. But, I stick by them.

Anyways. I went to the coast for five weeks of seabreeze, creativity, and sunsets. Contrary to the proverbial saying, just because you can, does mean you should. I stayed in a private cabaña in a hostel the entire time and actually, long-term hostel life revealed a lot. About myself, about travel in general, and about how we connect with others from around the world.

So, here’s a little bit more about that.

Travel is a lifestyle and you really don’t need a lot to do it. 

Because I stayed in this hostel for a while, I got to know the volunteers well. Guests came and went, but the volunteers—mostly from elsewhere in South America—were intent on travelling as much as possible. There was the Peruvian chef who told me he wanted to explore the higher, chillier, Andes. There was the Swiss woman who had been through Argentina, volunteered at a Chilean ranch, and would live the beach life before hopping over to Panama. There was a couple from Colombia who had volunteered at this hostel, impressively, for a year and would soon return home to cloud forests, coffee regions, and the Colombian soups they missed so much. There were also two women from Argentina, who were equal parts caring and adventurous, each travelling north. 

I was impressed by them. They’d left home for big adventures filling in the blanks as they went along and hustling to make the journey work. That meant living and volunteering in a hostel, sometimes serving in bars or restaurants in town, or working online. 

So many people see the obstacles when it comes to travel. But, the wistful, “I-wish-I-could-do-that”, the defeatist, “maybe-if-I-can-save-some-money,” and worst of all, the “you’re-so-lucky,” comments don’t always have ground to stand on. Sometimes you can make it happen, which is encouraging news. If you really want to travel, you will and I saw hostels as being the solution for other travel-oriented people during that month.

I thought I was a solo traveller but actually, I loved saying good morning to volunteers each day.

For five weeks, my mornings started very similarly. I’d wake up, drink a glass of water, throw on a bikini, coat myself in sunscreen, and venture out of my cabaña glancing at the sky to see if it was a beach day or not. Then, “Sineeeeeead! Buenos días!” The same volunteer would greet me with a wide smile and chipper tone almost every day. From the kitchen, from the pool, or swinging in the hammock in the main common space. 

That’s so different from how my days typically start in my apartment in the mountains where I live alone. And it was so nice! I’m often a solo traveller, yes. I appreciate alone time, of course. But staying long-term in a hostel meant that I could go about my days as I wished while also feeling like a part of a community—even if just temporarily. Those little touches of connection—both to start the day and throughout the day—are so unique to hostel stays and a big part of why I check out which hostels might be worth a visit before I travel.

Seriously, there’s no better way to learn about other cultures. 

Though I was on Ecuador’s coast, I learned a lot about other cultures. I learned that Argentinian empanadas are totally different from Ecuadorian and Colombian ones. (Not just the dough, but the filling) and that they make a really hearty, thick-crust pizza which is some of the best pizza I’ve ever had.  

And speaking of Argentina, I found out first-hand that they eat really, really late. I don’t mean 9 or 10 p.m., I mean midnight and beyond. I was lazing in a hammock slightly before 9p.m. when one of my newfound friends mentioned that we should cook. The Argentine take on shepherd’s pie. The next night: pizza. I was so in. Great practice with new accents, new culinary things to learn about (always a yes), and more connection than I would have had by reading alone. Overall  a win. 

So yeah, when other backpackers talk about the cultural exchange beyond the country you’re visiting, toooooootally true.

My travel style is mixed: I most enjoy hostel life when I get alone time too. 

In deciding where to go, where to stay, choosing how to spend your time, and who to invite into these memories, personal travel style can get a bit lost. When I started including travel into my lifestyle a bit more, I knew very little about the type of traveller I was. I knew I didn’t like museums that much, that I did like food and patios a lot, and that I’d have a ways to go before becoming a weathered, intrepid traveller. 

Somewhere between backpacking in Peru, cruising through Galapagonian mysteries, and frequenting smokey little local snack joints, I found my way. I learned that I like slow travel and hate firmly-planned days. I can easily pass a day wandering around a neighbourhood and looking for its pretty details. I love parties if the crowd is right. I also love alone time. Mixing travel with work is really nice for me—a great conclusion given that it’s also essential. And if there’s an outdoor adventure to be had, I’m 1000% in. 

During my long-term stay in a hostel, I realized something else: I best enjoy hostel life when I get alone time too. This makes me not quite a solo traveller (I love to chat and ask about others’ adventures), nor a seasoned backpacker. So, likely my best move for future trips is a mix of hostelling *and* private accommodations. It’s totally fine to not be all one thing. You don’t have to only stay in hostels, only eat a certain way, or only do active tours. Get my point? Do what works—even if that means blending several styles. 

I like where I live and the life I’ve created.

One of the age-old cliches about travel is that it changes you. As a woman who literally moved to Colombia because I did a pretty waterfall hike once, I can attest to that. But here’s something else: sometimes travel shows you exactly what is working and prompts you to fully appreciate the life you’ve built. 

I lived on the beach for almost six weeks and it was great. I let the sun bake my bare thighs for once and walked for kilometres without shoes or a purpose. I swapped batch cooking soups for sitting in the sand and hailing a motorbike vendor to order 50-cent empanadas for dinner. All of that was great. Sometimes though, when the sun set, I thought about my cozy living room with my monstera plant and burnt-orange boho rugs and I missed it. I missed my dumb little routine and sweaters I wear on the kinds of nights when Andean breezes creep up my spine. 

At the end of March, I checked out of the hostel having learned a lot. As the van careened around the mountainside like a roller coaster on a steep climb, my heart lurched. The air turned chilly, the plants changed, and suddenly we were looking down into valleys instead of up at towering mountains. It felt like I had crossed from my vacation mode back into something like home. The best trips are the ones you’re glad you took—and glad to come home from.