For most of my trip, I've been a vagabond. My residencies are hostel dorm rooms peppered with 6 to 12 beds, each home to a constantly rotating lineup of snorers, early risers, and worst of all...middle-aged men.
For the past three mornings, however, I've woken up in luxury: a bedroom with only two beds other than my own, neither sullied by anyone. Especially not 40+ year-olds.
This isn't the result of good luck. You see, the cost of a private room in the Balkans is the same as the cost of a hostel bed in Western Europe. Since it's my first stop of this leg of the trip through Eastern Europe, I've decided to splurge.
My money goes further, which means I'm living like a billionaire—actually, a millionaire. A very very very cheap millionaire. Very cheap.