Where did you sleep last night?

One of the great thrills of independent travel is not knowing where you will spend the night. Perhaps you’ve been hitchhiking and are unsure if you will reach your destination, or you arrive in a new city and have no reservation. Over the years, I have slept, or rather, spent the night, in many strange and interesting places, here are some of the best.

Zakopane, Poland

For every traveller, there is a moment when you realise you are too old for hostels. That moment dawned on me in Krakow, Poland. After two sleepless nights in a dorm, I was fed up. Arriving in Zakopane, I decided to try something different. On the outskirts of town, I found a sheltered field, and spent two nights stretched out under the stars. At the height of summer, it was warm enough overnight, with the only downside being the sweeping winds that blew down off the mountainside early each morning.

San Pascual, Philippines

My first long term international trip was as part of a volunteer program in the Philippines. We lived in a village outside of Baguio City, and the males and females were provided separate sleeping quarters. The women were allocated a vacant classroom, and us men slept on warped wooden pews in the church hall. The church was a haunting scene some nights, with derelict statuettes of baby Jesus catching the moonlight, and moths and bugs flying in through empty window frames, bumping into the walls. Meanwhile, every Sunday morning we packed up our beds and prepared the space for mass, and every Sunday afternoon, we unpacked and setup again, trying to find the right combination of pews.

Marrakech, Morocco

Throughout my 2006 travels in North and West Africa, I spent many nights in unique and unexpected places. The rooftop of a hostel in Marrakech was arguably the least remarkable of those. Travelling on a budget, I bargained with the manager to let me sleep upstairs. Unfortunately, after a few too many drinks, I missed the heavy blanket he left out and shivered throughout the night inside a cotton sleeping bag. It was the last time I volunteered to sleep on a rooftop.

The Sahel, Mauritania

A fortnight after leaving Marrakech, I was sleeping under the stars again. Travelling with Ali and Koko, a couple of French hippies, we were driving from Nouakchott in Mauritania to Bamako in Mali. The journey took three days, and each night, long after sunset and in the middle of nowhere, we pulled over and set up camp. Ali explained that we should camp out of sight of the road, in case of bandits or curious police. The back seat of the Bedford was their bed each night, while I slept in a cheap tent.

Camping in the Sahel region of Mauritania, 2006

Mali Zalazi, Montenegro

If it wasn’t for the insistence of Dimitar, my couchsurfing host in Bulgaria, I would never have visited Mali Zalazi. Tucked away in the hills behind Kotor in Montenegro, Mali Zalazi comprises a handful of stone buildings erected in the 1920s, and in various states of disrepair. Inside one of the buildings, metal pots and a gas stove hint at recent human habitation, but the truth is, except for a few shepherds and hikers, nobody visits this abandoned village. The uphill journey to Mali Zalazi is difficult to find, and is unmarked, long, and winding, though the stunning views and blissful solitude make it worth the effort.

The abandoned village of Mali Zalazi in Montenegro

Daloa, Cote d’Ivoire

The route from Abidjan to Man is a mere 500kms, yet in the smouldering ashes of the Ivorian civil war, it took three days of travel, passing through countless checkpoints along the way. For two of the three days I travelled on a decrepit bus, with non-adjustable steel framed seats and fraying vinyl upholstery. Each night, most passengers disappeared into the darkness, staying at local guesthouses or with family or friends. With no local connections, no French language skills, and no sense of place, I decided the best option was to stay put. For two nights I curled up on the uncomfortable seats, wondering where we were, how long the journey would take, and when I would feel a mattress again.

Kingston Airport, Jamaica

At the end of a month long journey through Jamaica and Cuba in 2007, my final night in the Caribbean was spent sleeping on a park bench at Kingston airport. Returning from Havana late at night, I had about 12 hours before my flight to Miami. A taxi ride into Kingston Town and a half decent hotel room would have set me back at least $US100, and it was an expense I could not justify. Instead, I found a comfortable bench outside the terminal, which closed at 11:00pm, and dozed off with my head resting on my backpack. A security guard on night patrol kept an eye on me as he completed his rounds.

Monrovia, Liberia

After an 18 hour bush taxi journey from the Ivorian border, I arrived in Monrovia in the early hours of the morning. I asked the driver to take me to a cheap hotel, and soon discovered that all lodgings in Monrovia were available only on an hourly basis. At the third establishment, as the time crept towards 4:00am, I resolved that there was no other choice. I politely declined the offer of female company and slept soundly until a knock at the door at 8:00am. Time to vacate, the room will be needed soon.

Brisbane, Australia

In my late 20s I moved to Queensland, and drove the 2,000kms alone in my panel van. On the night I arrived, Brisbane was hosting the Rugby League State of Origin, and there was not a spare bed in the entire city. The Green Bridge, near the St Lucia campus of the University of Queensland, offered as much darkness and seclusion as I could hope for. Moments after I parked, another car arrived and parked next to me. From the corner of my eye, I could see a man staring intently. I avoided eye contact, and then realised where I was – I was parked in a hookup spot! After a few uncomfortable minutes the man gave up and drove away, and the rest of the night passed without any more visitors.

Jebel Shams, Oman

As an independent traveller, hiring a car is one of the best ways to experience Oman. After leaving the capital city Muscat, I drove to Jebel Shams, the highest mountain in the country. From the top, Jebel Shams offers sweeping views of stony canyons, and was populated by only a handful of other travellers and a few mountain goats. Curled up on the backseat of the car, I spent a night under the stars and woke to a brilliant sunrise. As one of the safest countries in the region, it was the first of many nights sleeping rough in Oman.

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