An Idiots Guide to Borrowing a Towel from a Random Backpacker

Two sweaty white guys limp back to their hostel after a solid session working out. It seemed like running around in 35 degree heat was a good idea at the time, but now, the pungent smell of man sweat mixed with the dirt and grime of an Asian city is all too much. Even the five dogs sleeping across the road (which smell dead at the best of time) scurry away at the stench of us two human garbage bags. It's a sight to be smelt.

We arrive back at the hostel and instantly feel like Moses parting the sea. People step aside as we walk past, turning their heads away, creating a clear and uninterrupted passage through to the dorm room. I give Dylan a smile, "Wow we should smell like shit more often".

Straight away I head to my bag looking for the sacred towel that lies deep within the perilous depths of my 40L bag. Discharging items across the room like a 4 year old throwing a tantrum, I search frantically for the towel that I'm certain must be somewhere between my 4 day old jocks and week old socks. Jocks are launched 5m across the room, t-shirts flung onto bedposts and bottles of toiletries thrown onto neighboring beds. The lid of a moisturiser bottle flies off and goes spraying over the pillow in the bunk next to me. That'll be an interesting one to explain.

For an unaware backpacker entering the room it would appear as if a bear had gone through my bag looking for food. A key difference being however, that a bear would probably smell better than me.

As the bottom of the bag reveals itself, except a few grains of sand, we realize we're towelless. Bummer. In our time of greatest need our towels have deserted us; soldiers fleeing the battlefield.

Contingency planning commences. "We could use a shirt to dry off", "don't worry about it towels are for girls" (not really sure what statistical data Dylan was referring to here), are all possible plans. Out of the corner of our eyes we see our answer. A slightly damp ‘quick dry’ towel hanging over the rails of another backpacker’s bunk bed. We see it as a white flag of sorts, surrendering itself to our needs to be dry in a few minutes, even though it's green.

I begin picturing how were going to explain to the owner of the towel why we have their towel wrapped around us and why there are newly appeared brown smudges. Dylan suggests "just tell them somebody else said we could use it". Unfortunately I don't think that excuse would hold up in the backpackers’ court.

Dylan: we were both exhausted; I remember asking Josh if it was morally acceptable to steal someone else's towel. Immediately in my head I reinforced the fact that we wouldn't even be stealers we would be borrowers. After a brief hesitation, Josh murmured, “Nah I guess we shouldn't”, followed by another even briefer pause, “You know what, who cares we need it.” Operation capture the towel was about to commence but let's rewind 15 minutes prior.

Josh was unhappy with his centimeter thin flimsy mattress. He looked across at the Holy Grail, a perfect mattress in the hostel bed across from his. I didn't even need to ask him when I saw him glance at his mattress and the other one. “Are you really planning on swapping Mattress with someone who has already had that bed?” The answer I knew was yes. Only the strong survive in the backpacker world, well at least in our opinion. 15 seconds later we are tearing off this mattress as quick as we can and swapping it before a bewildered roommate sees the scandal. Josh's crap mattress was on the floor and we have the Holy Grail mattress on his bed, the problem is it’s a foot too big. "Josh the mattress is too big.”

Josh put a hand on his chin looked at it harder. “No it's not”, he argued back. As I agreed we forcefully started trying to squeeze the mattress into a way smaller frame. The final product was like a hammock, with the mattress bursting above the frame on both sides. Josh laid on the contorted on the bed with a confused look on his face as if to say "I wonder if this looks inconspicuous”. It couldn't have been more obvious. Like the pit team of a formula 1 car, we scurried back to re-arrange the mattresses in lightning speed.

Josh: 15 minutes later Dylan is on the lookout in the corridor, letting me know if the coast is clear. I whip the towel off the bunk rail and sprint to the shower, slamming the shower door closed. Phase 1 completed. Detection avoided.

For the next minute we take the most efficient showers of our lives. Even the Germans outside playing cards would have been envious. Dylan starts doing his daily shower singing, but before he's sang even 5 words to "Genie in a bottle I'm quickly telling him to stop. Rule 1 of borrowing a towel: avoid unwanted attention, in particular high pitch singing to Britney Spears.

Dylan: I finish my shower a minute before Josh. The waters off and I'm shivering from the cold water and ask Josh for the towel. "Yeah just a second", he whispers as he slowly finishes up after drying off first. My strategy had failed. I got the wet towel but who really cares.

I left all my clothes in the bag and made a dash for the room, half naked with just the stolen towel wrapped around me. Josh beckons "the roommates are coming.... quickkkk! I've never thrown on a pair of boxers so fast in a rush of terrifies panic. I look across at Josh and he has a massive grin on his face, “Got ya!” he laughs.

Josh: A month back, we developed a strategy in response to a girl’s shock that we occasionally used the same towel. She was disgusted that one of us or both of us were possibly wiping our faces with the same part of the towel for drying our balls. At that moment I felt a pain deep inside my stomach and began dry retching. Maybe those hairs in my mouth after drying off were not from Dylan's head. "There have been wars started over less then this", I thought. Our solution was to use the tagged end as DPW (Designated Parts Wiper).

Needless to say, I followed this newly implemented policy very loosely. I had to get a bit of payback after all.

A month later I'm confronted with a similar situation. Which end do I use to wipe my face? Drawing on previous experience I opt for the 'no tag end', hoping aimlessly that this stranger subscribes to the same sacred methodology as us. Knowing all too well that Dylan will go for the same end, I commit the cardinal sin and swap the DPW for the tagged end. As Dylan dries himself off I snigger, "you'd hate to dry your face with my balls".

Dylan is not impressed. Dylan does not see the funny side. Dylan will attempt payback.

Sitting on our respective beds, we take a deep breath and rejoice in our 'cool blue rush' (not to be confused with thrush) fragrances. Yes, men can also use the word fragrance ladies.

We feel as if we have accomplished something heroic, going behind enemy lines to secure an item required for the future survival of our species (our species being only Dylan and myself). We have demonstrated man's courageous and ingenious ability to adapt to an ever changing environment under terribly sweaty circumstances, whilst using the few resources available to conjure something up practical and useful.

We have succeeded where many have surely fallen before us. We are an example of what you can achieve if you really set your mind to it, and if you're too much of a cheapscape to buy a $4 towel and have no hygienic objection to using someone else's sanitary device.

For a fleeting moment we feel like we are the lovechild of Bear Grylls and Alexander the Great.

But then we look at each other and laugh.  Who are trying to kid? We're just two massive brats!