---
title: "ESSAY: Accommodations I Met While Traveling the World"
description: "A year-long backpacking trip taught me that where you stay shapes how you remember a place. Bad lodging ruins great destinations; a cozy guesthouse transforms forgettable towns into memories."
published: 2017-11-01T00:00:00+00:00
author: "ONDA 편집팀"
category: "Insights"
image: "https://zqcfqfqgiyckyhazcfrk.supabase.co/storage/v1/object/public/blog-images/webflow/6316f3f75130788ec2d762dd/65a9e1303d353c8390260d5f_62e7681e86728d2b060ca121_5e8acd8facdbb5897d41f7bd_1_ec9ab0ec9ca0eb8b88.jpeg"
canonical: https://global.onda.me/en/blog?slug=essay-segyeyeohaeng-jung-mannan-sugso
locale: en
---
# ESSAY: Accommodations I Met While Traveling the World

##### **Story and photos by Jeong Min**

I'm in my late thirties and still figuring things out. I quit a perfectly good job to travel the world with my wife for a year and two months. It took all that time and money to finally learn how to find happiness in everyday life. These days, I'm traveling through the ordinary.

[**https://brunch.co.kr/@jmkang**](https://brunch.co.kr/@jmkang)

![1_우유니.JPG](https://zqcfqfqgiyckyhazcfrk.supabase.co/storage/v1/object/public/blog-images/webflow/6316f3f75130788ec2d762dd/65a9e1303d353c8390260d5f_62e7681e86728d2b060ca121_5e8acd8facdbb5897d41f7bd_1_ec9ab0ec9ca0eb8b88.jpeg)

How much does accommodation really matter when you travel? For some backpackers, any place you can crash is good enough. For honeymooners, the hotel *is* the trip. Depending on why you're traveling and what you care about, a place to stay can mean wildly different things. My wife and I spent 426 nights on the road over fourteen months. Which means I spent 426 days agonizing over where we'd sleep that night, experiencing all kinds of lodging across the globe. We were on a tight budget, so I can't say we sampled every tier of accommodation out there — but I can definitely speak for the low-budget backpacker crowd. For us, guesthouses are rest stops and playgrounds, places to think and places to socialize, somewhere you pass through and somewhere you remember forever.

Accommodation wasn't just a spot to dump our bags and pass out before the next adventure. For travelers, it's part of the destination itself — and your satisfaction with the lodging plays a huge role in how you remember the place. Even the most raved-about, stunning destination can leave a sour taste if check-in is a nightmare and the bed feels like plywood. On the flip side, even a forgettable village in the middle of nowhere can feel enchanting if you stumble into a cozy guesthouse. That's why, before heading to a place I was excited about, I obsessed over finding the right accommodation — I didn't want a bad room to ruin the trip.

![1.jpg](https://zqcfqfqgiyckyhazcfrk.supabase.co/storage/v1/object/public/blog-images/webflow/6316f3f75130788ec2d762dd/65a8b267c575ecdd05cdf48e_62e7681e86728d8b770ca125_5e8acd8ffbc2c002e6dd4e8a_119.jpeg)

### **Picking a place is like picking lemons**

Even though you're only renting a single room for a night, it becomes *your home* for that day when you're living on the road — so choosing accommodation was always serious business and one of my biggest headaches throughout the trip. When evaluating a place, I'd look at price, location, cleanliness, hospitality, and facilities. But honestly, the answer was obvious: the more you spend, the better the location, nicer the amenities, and (usually) friendlier the staff. For long-term travelers, though, the easiest way to stretch your budget is to cut lodging costs — so my search always started at the bottom of the price list. Cheap, of course, meant compromising on some (or all) of those criteria.

For example: good location but run-down facilities. Or spotless and friendly, but out in the suburbs. You get the idea. Still, everyone has their non-negotiables — the things you just can't give up, no matter how cheap the room is. For me, it was accessibility. For my wife, cleanliness. So we needed places that were affordable, well-located, *and* clean. As I said earlier, there's no such thing as cheap *and* perfect. So picking a room always came down to choosing between a well-located dump or a spotless place in the middle of nowhere.

But the real problem with booking accommodation? Information asymmetry. No matter how carefully I studied the photos, ratings, and reviews, I'd arrive and feel let down more often than not. I never trusted listing photos to begin with, so I relied on traveler reviews to mentally reconstruct what the place actually looked like — but even that failed frequently. "Cleanliness" and "friendliness" are wildly subjective. Even "location" — which feels objective — turned out to be unreliable. A fit Western traveler's "10-minute walk" often translated to "gasping uphill for 30 minutes" for me. So I started filtering reviews: I looked for East Asian travelers, thirties or older, traveling as couples. And I learned to completely ignore reviews from twenty-something Western guys. (They were absurdly positive — give them beer and other travelers, and they'd love any hostel.) Ideally, you'd just visit places in person before booking. But wandering around with a heavy backpack looking for a room isn't exactly fun. And if you show up without a reservation during peak season, you might end up sleeping on the street or catching a bus to the next town. So during high season, I'd always book ahead. Off-season, though, I'd shortlist three or four places within walking distance of each other and check them out in person before deciding.

![2.jpg](https://zqcfqfqgiyckyhazcfrk.supabase.co/storage/v1/object/public/blog-images/webflow/6316f3f75130788ec2d762dd/65a8b267c575ecdd05cdf497_62e7681e86728d02850ca123_5e8acd8f8a0cee145085f63c_29.jpeg)

### **Backpacker lodging**

Maybe it's a Korean thing, but most travel blogs and forums recommend accommodations near major sights — clean, quiet private rooms in convenient locations. But as I said, long-term travelers have time to burn and money to save. So in every destination, cheap traveler lodges attract other long-haulers trying to stretch their budgets. Hostels packed with Japanese or Israeli backpackers? That's usually the cheapest spot in town. And those places always have a communal kitchen (so you can cook and save on food) and a well-used common area (for swapping travel tips). People call these places hostels, guesthouses, backpackers — sometimes even "hotels," though the vibe is nothing like what that word usually means. Forget pristine lobbies and ensuite bathrooms with crisp white linens. Walk into a traveler lodge and you're hit with noise from the moment you open the door. A chaotic reception desk. A bulletin board plastered with flyers and scribbled notes. A traveler sprawled on a sagging couch in the lobby, reading a book in rumpled clothes while pop music plays in the background. That's how you know you're in the right place. Follow the staff to your room and you'll find bunk beds crammed together, storage lockers, backpacks and clothes scattered everywhere. In the shared bathroom, a stained shower curtain hangs next to someone's abandoned shampoo bottle. In the communal kitchen, a traveler stirs pasta in a scratched-up pan while the fridge is stuffed with labeled plastic bags full of ingredients.

In these traveler lodges, nationality, age, and gender don't matter — everyone bonds over the shared experience of being on the road. You make friends at the foot of your bunk bed, at the kitchen sink, on the couch in the lobby. Isn't that the whole point of travel? Talking to strangers and getting to know them?

![3.jpg](https://zqcfqfqgiyckyhazcfrk.supabase.co/storage/v1/object/public/blog-images/webflow/6316f3f75130788ec2d762dd/65a8b267c575ecdd05cdf48b_62e7681e86728d06eb0ca127_5e8acd8ffbc2c01fe3dd4e8d_315.jpeg)

### **A place that felt like a friend's house**

When I think back to lodges where everyone felt like friends, I remember the guesthouse we stayed at in Cusco, Peru. Run by Natalie, a college student in her twenties, it sat on a hill overlooking Cusco's old town like a postcard. She'd converted the first floor of a three-story house into a guesthouse. But unlike most hostels — with separate reception, kitchen, and guest rooms — this place looked like a regular home. You'd leave your shoes at the entrance, walk barefoot across smooth wooden floors, and find guests laughing together on an L-shaped couch in the living room while Natalie waved hello. Past the couch was a big dining table, then an open kitchen anyone could use, and a short hallway with guest rooms on either side. It was tiny — maybe ten people max — so guests rarely stayed in their rooms. Everyone hung out in the living room, chatting or watching movies and shows together. It felt like visiting a childhood friend's house. Travelers from all over became friends instantly.

Natalie made it easy. Most hostel owners keep their distance — they're used to constant hellos and goodbyes. But Natalie mingled with guests like she was one of them, which made everyone feel at ease. After breakfast, while guests got ready to head out, Natalie would tidy up. Once she finished, we'd all go into Cusco together. With Natalie as our guide — a longtime Cusco resident — we visited countryside markets and local spots not listed in any guidebook. Some travelers even got piercings or tattoos together. On the way back, we'd shop for groceries and cook dinner together, each traveler making a dish from their home country. My wife's bulgogi and pajeon (Korean pancakes) were always a hit. Our bottle-cap flicking game turned into high-stakes dishwashing roulette, and everyone loved it. Staying in a small, warm place like that made even an unfamiliar city feel like home — like a neighborhood you'd lived in forever.

Cusco has plenty of large, well-equipped hotels and even Korean-run guesthouses popular with Korean travelers. But I can't forget that place on the hill — the one with the creaky floors and the breathless climb — because it felt like visiting an old friend's house. We only stayed a short time, but Natalie opened her heart to us not as a host to guests, but as a friend. On our last day, as rain drizzled down, she stood waving with tears in her eyes until our taxi disappeared. Thinking about it still makes my heart ache.

![4.jpg](https://zqcfqfqgiyckyhazcfrk.supabase.co/storage/v1/object/public/blog-images/webflow/6316f3f75130788ec2d762dd/65a8b267c575ecdd05cdf484_62e7681e86728d69570ca124_5e8acd8fbcf6e18a81cc2a80_413.jpeg)

### **Home away from home**

What kind of place stays with you long after a trip ends? Sure, places like Cusco's guesthouse — cozy and friendly like a pal's house — stick in your memory. But even more memorable are places that feel like your parents' home. Sounds ridiculous, right? Comparing a paid accommodation to your childhood home? But the homestay we found in Ella, Sri Lanka, genuinely felt like a countryside family house. Sri Lanka's tourism industry is still young — decades of civil war delayed its growth — so you'll find more small homestays than big hotel chains or luxury properties. These homestays are like Korea's old *minbak* (guestroom rentals): large family homes where grown children have moved out, and parents rent their old rooms to travelers. (Probably listed on Airbnb by now.) Some have multiple rooms depending on house size, but the one we stayed at in Ella had just one guest room — a small cottage on the property. The yellow single-story house had a wide yard with clotheslines. The owners were a retired couple: the grandfather had worked at a bank for 35 years, and the grandmother was a former police administrator. Their eldest son ran a guesthouse nearby, and their youngest, a university student in Colombo, managed the online booking site. The tidy yellow house — just like the couple — had a terrace at the entrance where they'd sit and drink tea, plus a prayer room with a Buddha statue, fitting for a predominantly Buddhist country. Inside, a spacious living room and dining table made it feel more like a family home than a guesthouse.

Honestly, I'd just been hunting for cheap accommodation and stumbled on this homestay with zero reviews — it had just opened. I figured a place without many guests yet might be extra hospitable. I was right. When we arrived — hauling giant backpacks front and back — the elderly couple rose from the terrace and walked into the yard, greeting us with the warmest smiles, like we were long-lost family members coming home. Over tea, I felt a welcome I'd never experienced at any other accommodation. I impulsively said we wanted to stay longer than we'd booked, and we ended up spending a week in that quiet village, living like family.

Every morning, we'd sit at the dining table and eat breakfast together. When the sun climbed higher, we'd hang laundry and chat. On rainy afternoons, we'd share tea on the terrace, briefly feeling like we were home. Grandfather took us to a famous local temple on the back of his motorbike. Grandmother introduced us to a village kid who guided us on a light hike. We spent our days in Ella like we'd taken a break from travel to visit relatives in the countryside. Then one day, the house filled with noise — the son from another town, the married daughter, grandchildren — everyone gathered for Vesak, Sri Lanka's biggest Buddhist holiday. And we, the guests, ended up sharing the feast and celebrating with them. They barely spoke English, and we were total strangers, yet they kept smiling and inviting us into their daily life. It felt like they'd accepted us, if only briefly, as family. The whole stay felt like being at our parents' house. On our last morning, we left early to catch a train. They held our hands, prayed for us in front of the Buddha statue, and packed us lunch in case we got hungry on the journey. I almost dropped my backpack and stayed. Even without spotless bathrooms, plush bedding, spacious rooms, or scenic terraces, that place stayed with me because of the small, thoughtful gestures that made us feel cared for.

![5.jpg](https://zqcfqfqgiyckyhazcfrk.supabase.co/storage/v1/object/public/blog-images/webflow/6316f3f75130788ec2d762dd/65a8b267c575ecdd05cdf494_62e7681e86728d1c850ca126_5e8acd8facdbb5dab541f7be_59.jpeg)

### **The lodge travelers dream of**

A lobby that feels like a friend's house. A guest room that feels like home. If you love travel, you've probably fantasized about running your own traveler lodge someday. And in that daydream, your guesthouse has everything you ever wished for on the road: friendly reception, clean common areas, an atmosphere where every guest becomes a friend, and the constant thrill of living among free spirits. But that ideal place rarely exists. There are always groups drinking and making noise late at night. Thieves stealing from broke backpackers. Entitled guests making unreasonable demands in the name of "I paid for this." People who leave shared spaces disgustingly filthy. Every place has a few badly behaved individuals — and because of them, hosts stop being travelers' friends and become stingy innkeepers. Bright, free-spirited traveler lodges turn into soulless businesses governed by strict rules. Traveler accommodation isn't just a place to sleep and rest — it's a space where diverse people meet, understand, and learn from each other. Before researching destinations, maybe travelers need to prepare by learning traveler etiquette. The ideal lodge travelers dream of isn't built with the latest facilities — it's created by mature travel culture among guests and a host's effort to maintain the atmosphere.

Staying at a good place with considerate people means more than just a good night's sleep. Everyone understands how important living space is in daily life. The same applies to long-term travel. When travel becomes your everyday routine, lodging quality determines your quality of life.

After finishing our trip around the world, when I zone out and think back, certain places come to mind — not for breathtaking scenery or incredible monuments, but for the lodging. And I think, "Yeah, we lived pretty well there." I'm grateful to those places for enriching my travels and helping me hold onto beautiful memories of those destinations. The lodge travelers dream of isn't about prime location or cutting-edge facilities. It's a place where your mind can rest. A place where you feel the warmth of the people staying there. Someday, I want to run a traveler lodge like that — one that feels human.

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