You mainly visit small towns and villages. People call you stranger, vagabond, boy, mister, peasant, or anything else. That's counting the people who actually talk to you (those people are fairly rare). When you were a teenager you a home and a possible apprenticeship in a useful trade in order to seek adventure.
Mostly now you seek a hot meal (also rare), a comfortable bed (even rarer), a way of making money that doesn't involve mucking out a stable or a sty (even rarer still) and of course the occasional warm female body to warm your body at night (which isn't technically rare since it's NEVER happened).
The joy of travel has gotten to be a bit of a hard crust to swallow the you had originally imagined as well. Which isn't to say you haven't been given plenty of water to wash it down with. Specifically rain water, which you've been seeing more and more of since you've been following a road to the north that you picked at random. You've been following it for a fortnight now and it's rained more then half the time.
Your meals had previously consisted of stale bread, sour wine, and whatever bugs, berries or roots you could recognize as being edible, which is an increasing rarity as well. In fact you haven't eaten in two days, having finished the last of the bread and forced down the last of the wine. Since you're fairly certain you would have died of illness if not starvation should you have decided to sleep, you decided to keep walking along the road in the vain hope that you'll reach whatever town this cursed road promised to lead you to.
You never were one to thank the gods for anything, but your piety increases when you see a few dozen lit windows through the soggy night as you come to the top of a steep but climbable hill.
You're wet, tired, and starving.
So whose door do you pound in the dead of a rainy night first?