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…

It’s time for me to go out and see some of this place. It’s gorgeous, a winter fantasy. I’m bundled up, hiding under two jackets, three shirts, two pairs of socks, and a leather boot, but none of that is enough. I need some food, fast.

This is Market on Front Street, a cafe/organic grocery/performance venue/reprieve from the cold. I get a cup of Americano and a Hot Hippie. Good food, good drink, good music, and good people. I’ve encountered 15 or so people since I’ve been here, and everyone, everyone has been so nice. It’s a different kind of nice. Like, that’s just how the people are; it’s not a face to put on when one goes out to deal with the world; that’s just how they are.

I ate too much. I have to head back to the hostel and get ready. I’m meeting up with an old friend tonight.

I’m back at the hostel. This is my last night here. I’m going to miss it. But, I’ll be back again, I know it.

I’m ready for my friend. She’s going to take me to ALL the bars in Missoula, which is a dangerous proposition. But, I play along.

She drives a van now. We go to Stockman’s. Everyone knows her, and she knows everyone. This is her favorite place, and it shows. I’m treated to this concoction, which is vodka mixed with basil and lots of sugar. This is just our first drink. Before I know it, we are at our fifth bar, on our seventh and/or ninth drink, catching up. She’s doing well now, with some boy troubles. I meet Dan, who drove eight hours to come to party in Missoula. Dan is 68, and his wife is back home, so he’s having fun.

I think it’s time to go back. She drives me back, and I run into Dennis, as we both stumble into our quaint temporary home together, both out of our minds, but never out of wit. We drunkenly, over some grilled cheese, decide to drive to Jackson Hole, WY at 6 AM. It’s 3 right now.

It’s 11 AM on Saturday. I wake up. Dennis is still sleeping, and snoring. Neither of us are going to Jackson Hole, WY today.

I can make coffee now. Chris wakes up, and I treat him to coffee that I made. It came out strong and bitter, just right. I pack up, hug Dennis and Chris, and head out. There are some new people coming in, and they’re already here. There’s a guy serenading his girl. He has a raw and soulful voice. I want to hike in the mountains today.

I’ve passed so many people to get here. Everyone seems ready for this. I’m not. I have my backpack, my camera, my clothes, and my vanity with me. I’m only wearing a pair of sneakers, some shorts over compression tights, and two jackets. I’m simple and I travel light, but this is impractical. But, I’m here, and I want to do this. I start walking up the M. It’s the iconic hilltop of Missoula, and I want to see how the valley looks from up there.

I don’t make it up. Quarter of a way through, the girl coming down tells me to try walking down, just for fun. I do, and fall on my ass. Going down is harder, more slippery, and full of treachery than going up. I look down from where I am. It’s nice, I really wish I could’ve gone higher. But, it’s OK.

I’ve made it to the base now. I didn’t fall any more, although I would’ve been OK with it.

I’m staying with Cat and Jed, a couple who I met through Couchsurfing, today. This is my first time Couchsurfing. I don’t know what to expect.

I’m here. I knock on the door. Jed opens the door. Kind eyes and a warm smile. He takes me in, shows me around their place, and gets me settled in. I’m lucky enough to get the private room.

I settle in, and head to the common room. There’s another Couchsurfer there, Verena and she’s from Austria. She’s been in the country for a few months, studying geography. She’s doing a talk at the campus soon, and then, she’ll head back. She’s an experienced Couchsurfer, and I’m not.

Jed and his band the Dodgy Mountain Men are playing at the Top Hat tonight, and we’re all invited. He calls their music Stompgrass. I don’t know what that is…yet.

Jed is rehearsing and doing the final run through as we all chat about where we come from, what we’re doing, where we’re going, etc. I try some of Verena’s roasted tomato chips from Trader Joe’s. They are really good. Jed gets a call from Kacie and her boyfriend. They Couchsurfed the night before, and they’re still in town. We all should go to the distillery, and so, we go.

We’re here, on the same street I was getting drunk last night. Jed parks on the street, and it’s OK. That’s what people do here, and everyone is OK with it. No stress.

Verena, Jed, and I meet Kacie and hers. They’re from Rapid City, SD. They’ve already had a couple of drinks. I sit across from Kacie, and Verena sits across from the guy. Jed separates us from them. We order our drinks. I get Nightburner, it’s fused with tobacco rinse. We start talking, getting comfortable with each other. There are lots of travel stories between the four of them, some good, some horrific, all being great stories to share. Kacie travelled through India, and her train was robbed, so the only guard on the train naturally decided to protect the one lone American girl, who’s the only person in that cabin. The boyfriend, while teaching English, had food poisoning and had to learn to squat poop in Central America. Verena, in Sri Lanka, had interesting experiences all around, traveling by bus, sometimes on train, always on the edge of death. Now, she’s traveling through the States on the Greyhound, and she tells us that it’s a very similar experience to her travels in Sri Lanka. And Jed, who met Cat through Couchsurfing, had a horrible time finding anywhere to stay in South America. And, I’m here, enjoying these wonderful humans and soaking in some parts of their lives.

It’s time for the show. Jed, Kacie, and the rest of the gang is already there. Verena and I, after getting some food, walk over. The music is already happening. Jed is on the stage, strumming along with his group. There’s Cat, cheering on her man. I go up and tell her that I’m here. She introduces me to Desi, her friend, who thinks I look like Nash, another guy who stayed with them through Couchsurfing, and who also must have come to one of Jed’s shows.

The Dodgy Mountain Men are so good. It’s Bluegrass with spunk. Everyone is dancing. Kacie shows me to dance and just groove to the music. I fail and everyone laughs; I do too. I’m feeling the music, the people, the drinks, the town, the love.

It’s close to 1 AM now. Verena wants to head back, and I accompany her. We talk about her life, her parents, Austria, the politics and the philosophy, her purpose, her wants and needs, and I share some of mine too. I tell her about some good music, and she tells me to listen to The Glitch Mob and IAMX. One day. She has tattoos from Harry Potter. She’s very interesting and easy to talk to. She tells me that in Austrian, Tramp Stamp translates to Butt Antlers. I like it.

We’re home. It’s cold, and we fall asleep. At some time, everyone else gets back. We realize that Kacie and her plus one don’t have a place to go to, so we decide that they’ll Couchsurf with us for one more night. I give the private room to them, they deserve it.

It’s 10 AM on Sunday. Everyone is still asleep. I miss them already. I miss this town already. But now, it’s time. Time to go somewhere else. I’ll be back.

Now, it’s time. Time to go somewhere else. I’ll be back.