Hostel Living

Hal has decided he wants to go to Europe one more time before we become grownups and start thinking about having a family! :) So we are planning a jaunt through Europe in May of 2009. We are thinking about starting in London (I've been there twice, but Hal hasn't been there), then going to Paris (only for a day and a half -- neither of us have been there), and ending up in Rome (neither of us have been there, either). Or just going through Italy. Or heading through Poland and Germany and ending up in Rome somehow. We have no idea quite yet.

Hal thinks it will be so adventurous if we "rough it" and stay in hostels. This is spoken like a person who has never stayed in a hostel. I have.

In 2003, I took off for London for spring break (I was there right around this time!) with friends Emily and Andrea. We spent the first weekend in London with Keith, who was studying abroad in Manchester, who I was totally in love with, and who, coincidentally, was the boy who gave me a high five on New Year's Eve. The girls and I found our room (Keith happened to be staying in another part of the hostel because he booked separately than us, or because he didn't think he could stand to spend THAT MUCH time with me, take your pick!).

Our room was shared by about 9 others. Most of the others were living in the hostel, so the room was quite lived in. Which was fine, and everyone was super nice. (One of the guys even stopped smoking something that didn't smell quite like regular tobacco in the common kitchen one night to tell off a bunch of Spaniards who had followed us back to our room and wouldn't leave us alone -- and that's class.) We locked our valuables in our personal lockers, but for the most part, we felt comfortable with letting our clothes sit under our bunk beds.

Possibly the most telling story of staying in the hostel was coming home at 2 in the afternoon from a morning of touristy stuff and finding on of our male roommates passed out drunk ( AT 2 PM!) on his bed, a top bunk, wearing (I swear) a T-Shirt and socks. That's it. Which, if you are keeping score, leaves out something very important. That's right --- PANTS. And I don't mean he was sleeping in his T-shirt and boxers. Oh no, not so much. He was allowing us a view of (how do I put this delicately?) ... the total package.

Noticing our horrified looks, another boy in our room draped him with a washcloth. (Which was hilarious!) And we went about our day.

It was SO FUN for that week.

But I was 20. That was 5 years ago.

I think I'm too old to do that again.