Missoula
It’s 3 AM on Thursday. I haven’t slept enough, or at all. But there’s this energy inside of me, it’s a mix of anxiety and excitement. I’ve been back from backpacking for a while, and I’ve been working pretty hard for the last few weeks. But, there’s been this restlessness, this itch to get away, from my friends, from my family, from the responsibilities. But get away where? I need newness, somewhere that’s different, somewhere outside my comfort zone. So, I pull out the map and start looking at cities east of Seattle, with the goal being to find the next big city (or town) and start traveling my way east. I see Missoula, MT. OK, I don’t know much. Let’s do it. And that’s why I haven’t slept. It’s the rush of somewhere new, but at the same time, the anxiety of dealing with the unexpected, the unpredictable.
I won’t bore with the details of how I got here, but I’m here, in front of my hostel. Wait, one detail. The first person from Montana who I meet is Hundley. She’s 75 going on 28, coming back from a solo excursion from Mexico. She’s my co-passenger on our journey from Seattle to Missoula, and she loves me, advises me, and hugs me and wishes me good luck. She’s spunky, full of stories, and just radiates good vibes. I’m going to find her on Facebook and connect. People like her fill my life with contagious love, unconditional love, positive love.
This is my home for the next day or two, we’ll see. My latest obsession while traveling has been hostels. There’s just so much…life. It’s a constant flux of people going in and out, and with them, constant flux of different expressions, emotions, perspectives, food, culture, and life. Each hostel I’ve stayed in has been a good metaphor for its people, community, and culture. I’m hoping this one is the same.
I enter the place. Chris, the owner/manager/employee/guest welcomes me, with such an utmost smile and warmth. I needed that too, as anything but warmth would’ve frozen me right there in the Montana cold. He gives me a hug, a warm blanket, and shows me my bed, and gives me a rundown of the place. It looks like it’ll be only me staying that night, and Dennis, who’s been there for the last 6 weeks. He’s from the Netherlands, and he’s here to host the 41st International Wildlife Film Festival. He tells me that he hasn’t found a more stable place, and the people who have come and gone through this place have been interesting, fun, and in some cases, difficult to deal with. Great, the whole gamut. I’m already in!
It’s Friday morning now. Last night, Dennis and I talked about art, politics, sustainability, the rings on his fingers, and life over some Brazilian vegan food. At some point, we must have gone to sleep. I don’t know what I want to do today just yet, this place is so new. I try making coffee for the first time ever using this strange machine, and it doesn’t go well. Chris is up now, and he just laughs at my struggle. It’s his turn to show me the way, and now, we’re just chatting, over this locally sourced coffee that his friends grow right in town. Pretty soon, I realize that this whole hostel is a culmination of some very inspired, artistic, and enthusiastic people who are from this community. The logo of the hostel is based on a cross stitch that his friend made for him, the pictures on the wall, well, they’re just shot by an aspiring photographer who captures people on their bicycles. And the folks who pick you up from the airport are just dudes who owe Chris some beer money, and this is their way of paying him back. The whole thing is so smooth, yet so chaotic. There’s no process in place for any of the stuff, but the whole operation is smooth sailing. And Chris, always full of smile, and armed with topics ready to jumpstart any conversation, is there to guide people through this journey. I tell him about my dreams of having my own hostel one day, and he embraces me like a brother, as if I’m already part of this tribal group. Wow…
