Of Whims and Things

Let me tell you a story. In a resplendent little hostel nestled amidst the cobblestone slopes of Albayzin, Granada, worked a young man from Boston by the name of Nick. I met this youth during my travels in Spain in the summer of 2011, when I stayed at the Makoto Backpacker's Hostel. He showed me around the place - "Here's our little kitchen. Breakfast is free, from 8am to 11am each morning", "These are our hammocks, we only request that you take your shoes off when you use them", "Here's your bed for the next three nights" - and then proceeded to pour me an awful version of Tinto de Verano at the ramshackle bar.

One night, after getting well and truly lost and wandering around Granada for hours, I return to the hostel, huffing and puffing.

"So how've you been?" Nick enquires, as he pours me a drink while I catch my breath.

"I’m doing great. I love Granada."

It was true – there was something about this city that had turned my wildest imaginings into an enchanting reality. As I sip my drink, I am overcome with curiosity about how a gentleman from Boston happens to speak fluent Spanish, and work in a quirky little hostel in the hills of southern Spain. So I ask him to recite to me the story of his life.

"Well, I backpacked to Granada last year - much like you - and stayed at the Oasis hostel. And, like you, I fell completely in love with the city. So I moved here."

Now many of you might not find this story as spectacular as I do, but a few might share my admiration for the idea of packing your bags on an impulse and going after something you want without really knowing what lies ahead.

And for abandoning the futile pursuit of wealth and social status for something more satisfying.