The Hostel World

“I don’t want you to be beard.”

“Excuse me?”

“I do not want you to be beard. The shower there it is so hot and so cold.”

“The shower?” I was confused by Richard, an Iranian who grew up in New Zealand, was trying to tell me.

“This place is shit. The only shower is the blue door upstairs. That one is okay. I just warning you. I do not want you to be beard.”

Oh, he doesn’t want me to be burned. Okay, I got it, and I agreed with him, “Yes, this place is shit. The water wasn’t running a few hours ago.”

“It’s shit. Been here two months. I want to leave but it’s too cheap. Try to get job. Get one here there, but it’s cheap here.”

“It’s certainly cheap.”

When I arrived in Melbourne last Wednesday, I was sleep deprived and in a bad mood. My mood was made worst by the worst hostel I have yet to experience. It was only my fifth hostel, so it isn’t a large sample size, but at least give me some running water. Make it look like you’re making an effort at cleanliness. The staff was kind, but there were never more than two working even at peak check in/check out time.

As I settled in about midnight to finally go to sleep after a good thirty-six hours without any, I was kept awake by jack hammering. What the fuck. It is midnight. Why is anyone jack hammering? Why can this not wait until the morning? After spending another hour as a zombie, the jack hammering relented, and I was finally able to pass out.

In the middle of the night I woke up and had to pee. When I reached the bathroom, I noticed someone was showering. An odd time to shower, but I can’t say I haven’t showered at odd hours before. Then my blinking, heavy eyes noticed a trail of red leading from a toilet to the shower stall in use. I looked into the stall and saw the entire toilet splattered with this red liquid. My first thought was, holy shit, someone had a baby. These were unisex bathrooms, so I suppose I assumed the worst first. Then I considered some kind of menstrual explosion. Then I sniffed the air in the unventilated bathroom. I smelled wine, red wine. Goon.

I felt some mild empathy for the person who would have to clean up the mess and went about my business. As I finished, I heard rhythmic wet slapping. Ah now the girl who had the explosion of goon out of her mouth is getting shower sexed.

My impression of Melbourne has improved since that first day, but I will be the first to admit I have not done much. The most notable experience was attending the practice day for the Australian Grand Prix. Since then I have spent every (five) night at the Crown Casino. I’ve rekindled my relationship with poker, and as always, it’s been a rollercoaster. I could make further comment, but I’m sure my thoughts will change in twenty-four hours.

In a bit of a twist of irony, the Grand Prix lead me to stay in a hotel the last two nights instead of the packed hostels. The hotel was the nicest hotel I have ever stayed in. There was a kitchenette (microwave, toast, oven, electric range, glassware, plates), a dining table, a couch, two arm chairs, queen sized bed (in a different room), large closet, and a good sized bathroom. Far too much room just for myself. You can rest assured that I stood on as much of the furniture as possible.