Slackpacking, because some of us just aren’t built for backpacking.
Slackpacking is, quite simply, slack backpacking.
Slackpackers are people who really suck at backpacking. They just can’t do it. They might want to backpack, for various reasons. They might be travelling for a few months and need to stretch their budget, or they like the grass-roots experiences that can be gained from more intrepid, social budget travel. BUT, they are just a little too “Princess & The Pea” (or Prince) to go through with it.
I Confess… I’m a Slackpacker
Prior to commencing El Camino de Santiago de Compostela I suspected I was a slackpacker. The thought of carrying my backpack and sleeping amongst strangers made my stomach churn a little.
The first hint I was a slackpacker came to light the day before I was due to set off, I organised my backpack to be collected and delivered to the place I’d be staying on the night of my first walk. I bought a new day pack (with a clever pouch in the front for a water camel) and gave myself a pat on the back.
By Day 3 of being on the road, I knew for certain that I was a slackpacker. I had spent two nights in “albergues” (Spanish hostels with dormitories for pilgrims) and I felt like my quota for shared sleeping had been filled. I liked the social aspects in the evenings, when pilgrims come together after your day’s walk and have dinner together in the albergue dining room. I learnt a lot of tips for surviving the Camino from fellow pilgrims at dinner too, but I knew there was no way in hell I would be able to live like that for 5 weeks. Why?
- I had to queue for a hot shower. After returning from some hard “slogging it out” on hills and mountains, I really needed to jump straight in there. It was the first time I’d walked 16km in ten years, and I was hurting. Access denied!
- My shower had to be quick so that I left hot water for other pilgrims. Good for the environment I realise, but I needed a long, hot soak.
- I didn’t have a private bathroom area to dry myself and dress. I was supposed to do that near the hand basins with other females coming and going and trying to chat to me. I’m way too old for that (I’m not six!).
- I couldn’t spread the contents of my backpack out, so it was annoying trying to put things in and out of my backpack. I felt disorganised. Everyone else looked it as well.
- I could’ve been squashed to death in my sleep. I had a bottom bunk and a giant of a man was sleeping on the top one. It was hard to get to sleep, despite being exhausted, as I feared I’d be crushed to death when the bunks collapsed. I wonder how many pilgrims have suffered that awful fate.
- It was noisy and smelly and everyone was using up my air. It was freezing outside so the windows were closed. There were 15 other people in bunks around me, all breathing, snoring and well, we had lentil soup for dinner. Say no more.
Slackpacking…. is it Good or Bad?
It’s good! Slackpacking is not some kind of sad failure, despite the negative connotations usually associated with the word “slack”. Not at all. Slackpacking is a choice, and it’s a bloody good one! Basically, it entailed making a few decisions to make my Camino experience a happy one.
I chose to upgrade my accommodation from ‘pilgrim’ to ‘cheap comfort class’ (and occasionally I upgraded a wee bit more). Not only did I sleep well every night, with privacy to spread my stuff everywhere. This resulted in:
- being super-organised (it’s easy to re-pack your bags when you can see it clearly laid out before you)
- avoiding tendonitis and blisters (because after your bath you can lay on your bed naked and massage your feet, then put them at a 90 degree angle up against the wall – it’s important, and you can’t do that in a dormitory)
- having fresh air and no risk of being squashed in your sleep
- being super clean (have steaming hot showers to your heart’s content)
- the freedom to walk to the beat of your own drum (rise, start walking, shower, sleep whenever you want)
In Summary…
Slackpacking is an awesome alternative to backpacking/pilgriming the Camino. It allows you to have all the benefits of the adventure, without the smelly asses. It’s like eating a juicy prawn that’s had its string of crap removed. So, if you have concerns about gritty, grotty backpacking stuff, welcome the sweet taste of slackpacking!