Due to slightly unorthodox parenting, I was bitten by the wanderlust-carrying mosquito earlier than most. I say bitten. I really mean it was purposely forced upon me by a mum and dad who didn't so much see the arrival of their only offspring as an obstacle to globetrotting passions, but as an extra pair of hands. As such, I was fortunate enough to have seen a great deal of the world while I was still being given colouring books on planes.
This probably played some role in me ending up in the UAE, not the most backpacker-friendly place around, but somewhere I've been able to use as a springboard for further jaunts, albeit slightly shorter ones given the unjust constraints of full-time work.
Recently I managed to squeeze in a two-week trip to New Zealand - a place I had first visited as a 10-year-old with the 'rents, then again as part of a lengthy post-university job-delaying tactic. Interesting it would be, I thought, to see the place through wisened(ish) 30-year-old eyes. In actual fact, the interesting part turned out to be how much I'd changed since last there. I have, it transpires, turned into a big girl's blouse.
While I'm still assuring myself - and others - that my backpacking gene remains dominant, the truth is somewhat different. First, despite still sleeping in hostels, I'm now giving shared living a wide berth and heading straight to the far pricier single rooms, ideally with en suite. The communal areas, previously a source of hearty traveller banter and a place where solid friendships have been forged over cheap pasta, are now no-go zones. I've instead dined mainly in upmarket restaurants and spent the sort of money that could keep the average traveller in fisherman's trousers for a year.
In my Lonely Planet guide - bought in a gust of self-delusion - the "high-end eating" sections are the only ones showing any signs of wear. My bag, too, is now one of those with wheels on. I used to scoff at people lugging such cases around, but these days the prospect of anything requiring back support terrifies me.
Mostly, I'm blaming the UAE for this change. This country has totally ruined me with its enjoyable five-star, excessively pampered living for the past half a decade. Perhaps it has something to do with age as well: sharing a dormitory with a load of snoring teens on their gap years isn't high on my to-do list anymore. Whatever's at fault, it seems I need to wean myself back into backpacking gently, taking away one luxury each time until I'm slumming it with the best of them.
Just don't take away my wheels, please?