Best 27 quotes in «backpacking quotes» category

Hookers in whore houses awaiting drunkards at dawn who can't get it up. Broken sprung beds. Sulking, sagging and stained. Foreplay forgotten. Failed and fumbled fucks by the hour.

Backpackers can pack much more meows than baggers. Beggars never feed stray cats as street cats are self-sustaining.

Tourists don't know where they've been, travelers don't know where they're going.

Hiking is not escapism; it's realism. The people who choose to spend time outdoors are not running away from anything; we are returning to where we belong.

Salahs atu hal yang perlu diingat dalam setiap perjalananmu yaitu tersenyumlah, maka dunia akan membalas senyum manismu.

I'm in love. Again. How on earth do people pick a favorite travel spot?

It's not "jalan-jalan" nor "liburan". It's just something we do naturally. Like breathing and eating. It's basically living.

Meandering cows, tenacious bicyclers, belching taxis, rickshaws, fearless pedestrians and the occasional mobile ‘cigarette and sweets’ stand all fought our taxi for room on the narrow two-lane road turned local byway.

Hundred years war between England and France. The term ok comes from the tax collectors in England. They needed to know how many people died in the house.

I’d say I needed to find myself, if that didn’t sound like I was heading into the Himalayas, taking only a backpack stuffed with angst and clean underwear.

I refuse to let this suffering be for nothing. In fact, I refuse to suffer." I whispered to myself as I pushed each tent stake into the ground. "I can adapt. I am adapting." Another long day was done and I was forty-two miles closer to Canada.

Setiap orang bebas menentukan pilihannya dalam menjelajah dunia melalui cara yang berbeda-beda yang disesuaikan dengan keterbatasannya masing-masing baik secara waktu, biaya, tenaga, kebiasaan serta faktor batas kenyamanan. Namun sejatinya pengalaman perjalanan yang telah dilalui akan berdampak pada berkembangnya kualitas kehidupan kita.

The tourists come here to stay put in their hotels, with their holiday-friendly staff, private beaches, private bars and private sunshine. And yet still, when they get back home, they'll claim they've been to Egypt.

...That's the difference between backpackers and holiday makers. The former can't help but invite hassle whilst the latter pay to escape it.

The old school of thought would have you believe that you'd be a fool to take on nature without arming yourself with every conceivable measure of safety and comfort under the sun. But that isn't what being in nature is all about. Rather, it's about feeling free, unbounded, shedding the distractions and barriers of our civilization—not bringing them with us.

Sunrise over the mountain-forest was gorgeous - Aurora brushing out her golden tresses with a comb of dark-needled pine and bare-limbed oak.

The trail was designed to have no end, a wild place on which to be comfortably lost for as long as one desired. In those early days nobody fathomed walking the thing from beginning to end in one go. Section hikes, yes. Day hikes, too. But losing yourself for five months, measuring your body against the earth, fingering the edge of mental and physical endurance, wasn’t the point. The trail was to be considered in sections, like a cow is divided into cuts of beef. Even if you sample every slice, to eat the entire beast in a single sitting was not the point. Before 1948, it wasn’t even considered possible.

Why is it that I can't be content to live a normal life? Why do I spiral into depression when I am away from the wilderness for too long?

They're the fakes... Those who travel to exotic places, but never walk the streets or meet the people. Preferring instead their cosy interiors of buses, hotels and holiday bars. That's how Harry sees them. A backpacker is never a part of their breed.

When I travel, people say ‘Yet another place in this world’. But I see ‘Another world inside every place I go

Wilderness areas are first of all a series of sanctuaries for the primitive arts of wilderness travel, especially canoeing and packing. I suppose some will wish to debate whether it is important to keep these primitive arts alive. I shall not debate it. Either you know it in your bones, or you are very, very old.

Whenever I think of these things, I feel an exquisite pang of longing. I feel oddly depressed; it's almost like I know too much simply to be in the moment anymore, to enjoy what I used to relish so uncritically. I'm aware that there is a bigger, far more complicated world out there than I'd ever realized, and just like the students at Beijing University, I've glimpsed it only fleetingly, peripherally. I've sensed the vast expanse of my own ignorance now. I feel antsy and constricted and a deep, almost sexual yearning for velocity, for some sort of raw, transcendent experience that I cannot even begin to articulate.

I'd really like to get on a Greyhound bus and go backpacking across America.

In 1995, when I was backpacking through Europe solo, I would head to the train station, look up at the big board, and decide right there and then where I would go that day.

I see myself being married to my girlfriend and backpacking all over the world. If I can go out and do a 15-mile hike and climb a 12,000-ft. peak, I'm good to go.

I see my path, but I don't know where it leads.

Then came the gadgeteer, otherwise known as the sporting-goods dealer. He has draped the American outdoorsman with an infinity of contraptions, all offered as aids to self-reliance, hardihood, woodcraft, or marksmanship, but too often functioning as substitutes for them. Gadgets fill the pockets, they dangle from neck and belt. The overflow fills the auto-trunk and also the trailer. Each item of outdoor equipment grows lighter and often better, but the aggregate poundage becomes tonnage.