Stay at hostels but don’t eat hostel food. Kitchens and fridges are for the full-time citizens of hostelworld. You are already in an alien culture; you don’t need to be in another.
Drop off your bags and go hunting for food. Avoid any place with a person in front holding a menu. The ones you want beckon in other ways: a lanterned doorway on a dark side street; a wall of specials in second-floor window; a row of backs in the gap between curtains.
When the guy behind the counter says the kitchen closes in thirty minutes, say OK.
When he says all they have left is organ meat, say OK.
When he, drenched in sweat, oil splattered on his apron, says the menu has a set price, say OK.
Have the best meal of your trip.
Tell people and yourself you’ll do things and then don’t do them. Say you’re going to rent bikes and instead take the bus. Say you’ll stay an extra day, then leave early. Look for a mountain trail to hike in the morning and walk it the night before, in the pouring rain. Travel promises are meant to be broken; travel is an exercise in breaking with grace.
Tie your wet boots to the bottom of your pack and realize, as you walk around, that you’re literally kicking yourself in the ass.
