I don’t really know how to start explaining my hostel experience. Whenever I’ve travelled – ok that one time in Thailand, Lucy and I said we would really immerse ourself in the culture and stay in hostels and be all traveller hippy and shit. The thing is as soon as we saw how cheap the swanky sexy hotels with double showers, cute little free miniatures and balconies were the idea of a hostel was long forgotten .
We knew oz was the time we absolutely had to hostel because:
A: we had to try and make friends somehow
B: we couldn’t afford to stay in oz’s version of the ritz
Everyone says that it’s really quite fun, you meet lots of people and there’s beer pong and shagging in the bunk beds. I’m yet to find the “fun” in hostels. Yes, I know it’s only being one day.
I don’t think it helped that we arrived about 10pm.
We opened the door of the dorm and it was pitch black….. erm soooo what do we do now? Switch on the light and potentially get shouted out or just muddle our way through with a phone light? I was all billy big balls and told Rhiannon to turn on the light for gods sake. We didn’t get shouted at, thank fuck.
We navigated through the clothes and the smells to try and find a bunk to share and there weren’t any so had to split up.
The next few hours involved me going to the reception and asking about “hostel etiquette”. Yes, I did feel like a dick but I wanted some ground rules. Turns out not only should you not turn on the light you shouldn’t even use your phone torch. I then went in and out of the room trying to find stuff with the light, wondering how the hell you’re supposed to shower.
My awkward self decided a shower was far too stressful as was trying to find my pj’s and then somehow changing into them, so I did what any 28 year old adult did and went to bed in the clothes I’d been travelling in all day without a shower.
I’d specifically chosen a top bunk so the murders and spiders couldn’t get me,, but then realised I had to actually get up there without waking the sleeping gal below, suffice to say, that didn’t happen. We all know how clumsy I am and those beds aren’t that sturdy. I then spent the rest of the night trying not to move an inch.
Day 1 – wake up at 5am, try to get back to sleep, I of course can’t. Curse the curse of the top bunk, there’s no way that clumsy me is going to manage to get down from the bunk without disturbing the whole neighbourhood. Will myself to just do it for 40 mins, then move to edge of the bed by the stairs and spend another 20 mins talking myself into it.
I Discuss tactics with myself in my head which include whether to approach facing forward or backwards and whether to jump when at the final step (quickly realise that one is a very ridiculous idea) Finally make the leap of faith at 6:04am no fatalities.
Realise this life ain’t for me and Rhiannon and I swap bunks, my love affair with the top bunk has ended before it even begun.