Hostels and their Single Serving Friends

I'm lying in the dark, squinting at page 234 of my book. My arm is tingling as it starts to fall asleep. I don't know how long I have been holding up the little flash light, flooding 5 to 6 lines of the page, balancing the open book with my other hand. I stop reading and realize I've scanned over the last 2 sentences without taking any of it in. I'm trying to decide if it's worth making the trip to the washroom again, or to just wait until 4am to climb off the make shift top bunk and stumble through the dark. The light pops on, and I peer over my book, I give a little wave with a smile to the 8th member of the dorm room. There's a ripple of groans and deep breathing from the other half a dozen sleepers. It's too hot to sleep well, and the broken fan just above my head is staring at me, laughing. The light goes back out. "Sorry" doesn't really comfort the rest of the crew, but I still laugh to myself. The book slips out of my hand and hits me in the chin. Both my hands are asleep. It's time to call it quits. I turn into my pillow and listen to number 8 ruffle through his stuff, drop something metal on the lino floor. "Shit", he whispers. This is everynight, in any hostel, with a new team of faceless dorm dwellers to remind me why I'm not fast asleep in an AC hotel; it would just be too boring.


London. Cranley Gardens. Jet-Legged Neil plays the role of Al Pacino in Insomnia and balances exhautian with his new sickness; Rage is knocking on the door.

Amsterdam. Stayokay HI Vondelpark - a hostel lacking in as much personality as it has cold faceless rooms. The Spanish Inquisition wants nothing to do with Neil and I until 3am every night when they wake us up with drunken Spanish giggling and loud blabbering that is only out done by their 4am symphony of snoring. The Stoner Frenchmen arrive with enough time to roll a limited edition series of monstrous joints. They then walk ten feet from the hostel doors and get lost in a cloud of smoke. They sleep for 14 hours. Also See: old Dutch man in wooden shoes yelling at French girls in the Lobby.

Koblenz. The Fortress - a maze of 8 foot thick walls that overlooks the "birth place" of Germany where the Rhine and the Mosel converge. Felix from Düsseldorf is the first person who speaks English since our Stayokay check out. He tells us stories of his exchange to the US, and how he learned English on the fly. He makes us of "F%#k" in a surprisingly efficient manner. We meet him as he devours a bag of MC's finest with a Big Mac in his hand (Felix is a favorite). See Also: The Spanish Cyclist who loves "Eesspagnn" and is riding back to his homeland. See Also: the Old German Man who talks to himself at night and has a fondness for banging his locker door, again, and again. See Also: millions of sugar-filled, hormon-driven, grade school kids on week long field trip.

Mainz. Hotel Moguntia - a sanctuary of privacy a week and a half into 7. Relaxed, calm Neil finds himself with one English channel; he now loves CNN.

Berlin. Jetpak - a converted house that puts TVs and the internet in every corner that doesn't have a couch. The owner Neil says the place is full of Canadians. Neil ignores everything he says and asks "What was your name?". A youth correctional Canuck with an "I'm going to tare your arm off and beat you with it" exterior and turns out to have a heart of gold with tales of the jaded youth who find peace. See Also: the British girl who spends 45 minutes telling scary stories of her misery in Naples (she managed to get 4 different Italians to ask her to "Com to my huse".


I open the door to a dark room. There are beds jammed together and stacked awkwardly in every corner. I check the door. No it's not the storage room, it's us, dorm 14. Of the 8 bunks, one has a breathing lump. There is always someone sleeping. I stumble around the beds and start to unpack my essential with the tip-toe mentality of a thief (I'm stealing lost opportunities). It's been half a day of public toilet stations. 80 cents is too much, I can hold it. I check out the washroom. That's all it is a Wash Room. One shower, with a sink facing it; no sign of a toilet. I leave the room and kick an empty water bottle as I pass the sleeping lump. I'm the one whispering "shit" now. Down the poorly lit hallway is a door that screams washroom. I open up to a wide angle shot of a 15 foot hall with one lonely toilet at the end. I wait for the walls to start bleeding like in the Shining. The toilet is the second worst toilet in the world, modeled after the porcelain prince in Trainspotting. I leave and look for something else. I'm prepared to "hold it" for a long time. I later find a step up from the out-house in the Hills have Eyes. It's the closest thing to a functioning washroom I've seen in days. When I leave I walk passed three other broken down excuses, and wonder why this hostel has invested in so many models of the 18th century commode.


Athens. Students and Travelers Inn - a refuge from the crowded busy streets of Athens with Free internet that people lose arms over and a guided tour for 13 Euro (that's like 3 meals). Vincent and Olivier were excited to meet other Canadians who spoke French. Our English accents mixed with their Quebec jumble made for outrageous conversation. See Also: the Asian couple whose Santorini paradise was flooded by 3 days of rain. See Also: the Drunken Brit who couldn't figure out how to operate the door at 3 in the morning (Neil answered while I dozed on).

Santorini. Stelio's Place - a beach resort claiming to be a hostel, with private rooms and AC that worked too well. Brendon and Kate played Pirate with us. We toured the island with the couple as they told us their top five "American's ask us the greatest questions" and led off with "Is Australia more then 24 hours head of LA?" (the Aussies are Favorites). Stelio himself picked us up from the airport and made Santorini the first place we didn't get lost in as we tried to find our hostel. He dropped us off at the airport for our 7AM flight and drove his little bus like a manic around cliffed-corners and one-laned dirt roads all while he balanced his coffee mug and shifted gears. Real Swell guy. (Stelio is a favorite) Also See: Stelio's whole family making breakfast for us, and managing the hostels reservations.

Rome. Gulliver's House - this haven treated us to breakfast with multiple English news channels every morning, and huge castle style rooms. Joseph spent his days racing around the small hostel asking everyone if they needed anything. Telling them "Cool man, cool man, that's what I'm here for, just ask. Cool Man." Bonavista Paul who after "Canadian", and "Calgary" became a guy who grew up 5 blocks away from us. We compared friends and our 6 degrees of separation turned out to be only 2. Brooke who introduced us to the ins and outs of the hostel as she was part way into a 3 week Italian class. We swapped stories of the crazy Italians in roman streets after every day (Brooke is a Favorite) See Also: Drunken Americans who had endless drinking games and sang like English football fans. See Also: Gregory Peck and Audrey Hepburn who showed us the ropes in Rome. See Also: guy who met Jim from the Office in "some piazza about 15 minutes from here" who we also randomly ran into in Venice (we may have spent the rest of our time looking for a tall American and randomly yelling "Johnny K" at many "candidates".

Florence. Emeral Fields - a six bed dorm with a spacious washroom and a kitchen. Jen and Kim from Toronto became our 3 and 4 as we roamed Florences streets and explored its museums. They were our 3 and 4 for 2 full days; we were ready to make the cut and play the last 18 as a twosome (Neil and I are just too good a travel team). One can only take "that laugh" for so long. See Also: common room full of shady people who wouldn't laugh at my jokes.

Venice. Residenza Santa Croce - facing the Grande Canal this place forgot it was a hostel and spoiled Neil and I was hotel comfort. The SoCal girls from Orange County had spent 36 hours without a hostel, splitting up the gap with 5am bar hopping. After 6 hours of sleep they got lost in the pubs and parties of Venice and slept again at 8 the next morning. When they finally crashed on the third night at 10, I began to believe they were human. The Colorado girls who had lost themselves in the extreme sports of Interlocken told wild stories of sky diving and canyoning. They also said they don't like to walk around at night in strange cities; it's dangerous. Also See: the Sydney Brit from Liverpool who explains to us how he IDs North American by their fashion. Also See: Brad and Jim from the Mid West who can't wait to find the "Italian Hunnies". Also See: a random from the Rome hostel.

Nice. Hotel Pastoral - This is the hostel you hear about from those stories that start "Things were going fine before we checked in". The Islanders from BC are pic-nic girls who eat all their meals on blankets on the floor of the dorm. They also spend 75% of their conversation explaining to each other the best way to get "Shmamered" off alcohol that you can buy for less then a baguette. Also See: Asian Engineers from the Imperial College in London (which we walked passed not 3 weeks ago). Also See: the Petite Quebec girl whose wild conversation and squeaky French accent make me want to Van Gogh my ears.

The room is staring at me. There's a total of 8 people, coming from 3 different dorms. I've paused for a little extra suspense before I hit them with the punch line. They Laugh, and Laugh. It's been the John show for about 20 minutes. I didn't force this on anyone, but when my one liners started to get all the attention, the team just began to expect more.

Hostels are an experience all to themselves. Whether its a bed that sags to the left and tips you out every night at 3am, or a cool manager that lives to make you their best friend, "this" is what it's all about. Dig the Hostels, love the Hostels. What a Mad journey.