An OE without the O

At local backpacker hostels you can meet people from all round the world, writes WILLY TROLOVE.

For those of you who are sick of motels and camping grounds, backpacking offers a whole new world of experiences. For example, one night over a plate of tinned salmon and cold pasta I nearly start the next European War.

On one side of the table sit Hinda and Rudolph, a couple from Holland. Hinda is a newly graduated lawyer who confesses that she has only worn clogs twice. Her partner Rudolph doesn't know what he does but is very enthusiastic about buses.

On the other side sit Kate and Erico. Kate is a trainee vet from Bath. Erico is a retired Croatian optometrist. His beard is so large that it may once have sheltered anti-Tito dissidents.

I make the mistake of mentioning the new Europe. The Dutch couple are all for it. The single European economy will bring peace, prosperity and cheap Polish dandruff remedies.

The other two are Eurosceptics. Europe spent most of the last century mucking Erico's country around, and Kate is English. As far as they are concerned, a Europe without borders is a disaster waiting to happen.

Within minutes a mild disagreement has turned nasty. The Eurosceptics make snide remarks about the Dutch. The Dutch retaliate in kind. Voices are raised, faces are flushed and before long the agitators are on their feet, gesticulating wildly in various European dialects. I wolf down my salmon pasta before anyone can use it as ammunition.

Eventually the participants tire and hostilities cease. The Europeans simmer for a few minutes but before long they are discussing a subject of common rebuke: Belgians.

Relieved, I try to figure out which side of the new Europe argument makes more sense, but draw only one conclusion: you'd never get this kind of experience in a motel.

In the week that I spend backpacking north of Auckland, I meet people from every corner of the globe. In Orewa's Marco Polo Lodge there is a Bavarian book-keeper who has no idea how his Government works, a man from Seattle who bolts engines on to Boeings, and a Korean girl who speaks no English but trounces us all at Scrabble.

In Whangerei's Bunkdown Inn I meet a water inspector from Montana whose job is to measure the concentration of cow dung in prairie streams. Then I dine with a Japanese man who cooks an exquisite meal of rice and vegetables, before talking long into the night with a student from Torquay. Three Brindisians chatter in the background, all of whom answer to the name of Silvio.

But the night I spend at the Greenhouse Hostel in Dargaville is the most interesting of them all. The cast is so diverse that it defies belief; an Israeli paratrooper, a pair of Nagoyan mechanics, a stunning Parisian architecture student, a retired zookeeper from Geelong, a Lausanne baker and two young lovers, Josaacé and Selma from Buenos Aires.

They all try to teach me bits of their language, but I am hopelessly inept. I treat them to the only foreign phrase that I can remember from my fourth form German class: Ich bin fadiünfzen Jahre alt. This causes much amusement because I am clearly no longer 15 years old. To complete the cultural exchange, I teach them how to sing If it weren't for your gumboots where would you be?

In my week on the road I don't meet one Kiwi backpacker. Several of the hosts tell me that the Kiwis have a bad reputation. They are untidy, badly behaved and sometimes drunk. It is a disappointing note in an otherwise fascinating experience.

New Zealand's backpacking facilities are simple, but warm, clean and comfortable. The service may not be as comprehensive as that at hotels or motels but it is much friendlier. It is obvious that the hosts do it for the joy of meeting backpackers rather than for the money. Hostels have their own character, and the enjoyment of each stay depends more on the quality of the overnight company than on the facilities provided.

Backpacking is not a sensible choice for every traveller, but you don't have to be young or aimless to enjoy it, just independent.

For those who are keen to travel cheaply, see our country through the eyes of its visitors and learn a little about the rest of the world without leaving these shores, backpacking offers a new adventure every night.

CASENOTES


PRICES: Backpacker hostels vary in quality and facilities offered. Typical prices range from $15-$20 a person a night for a dormitory bed. Prices increase to around $20-$35 a person a night for a bed in a twin, double or single room. Sheets and pillowcases are generally provided but may cost a few dollars on top of the room rate, depending on hostel policy. Laundry facilities are available, usually coin-operated.

BOOKING: The BBH Backpacker Accommodation Guide provides comprehensive information and contact details for 267 hostels around the country. Each hostel in the guide has a quality rating from backpackers who have visited. The BBH guide is available from information centres and all good backpackers.

EATING: Take your own food for dinner and breakfast and cook with the facilities provided. All cooking and eating utensils are supplied. Wash your own dishes and clean up after yourself.

OTHER TIPS: Travelling on your own or with a partner is the best way to enjoy backpacking. Don't hesitate to introduce yourself to others. Most backpackers are travelling alone or in pairs and are keen to share their experiences. They have come here to see the country and meet the people and are usually fascinated to hear what you have to say about New Zealand. Don't be surprised if they have seen more of it than you have. Hostels are reasonably safe and secure, but leave your valuables at home and keep an eye on your possessions.