On Hostels

Gabriella Miyares (whose illustrious blog is linked on the right) and crew descended on Scotland last weekend for a three day highland romp. Sunday night meant catching up over beverages and backpackers fare at The Castle Arms, and as things go, we ended up going out and doing a little faceshaking. It was a UNC invasion and Edinburgh wasn't ready.

I ended up crashing with them at High Street Hostel and catching the train back the next afternoon. It's been almost a year and a half since I stayed in a hostel, and I had forgotten how infuriating they can be. I can say that Scottish hostels (particularly MacBackpackers hostels) are probably the best in Europe: the breakfasts are filling, the people are sufficiently eccentric, and the beds have two pillows instead of one. I had the best sleep of my entire life in the Lochbuie guest house in Kyleakin on the Isle of Skye (although that may or may not have been because of the entire bottle of Cairn o'Mohr wine I had with dinner), and the Fort William hostel is lovely and worth mention as well.

I'd say the worst hostels in Europe -- if you're asking -- are in Poland, but I guess that kind of goes without saying. That story is long, a little gruesome, and has nothing to do with last weekend, so if you really want to know about Polish hostels you can email me or visit www.don'tstayhere.com/Poland.

The tricky thing about hostels, no matter how wonderful they can be, is how you are generally forced to share a room full of bunkbeds with twelve or thirteen total strangers, and more often than not those strangers fall into one of four categories:

1. The Wake Up Early and Unzip My Bag 47 Times Man (also known as Plastic Bag Man)

This person generally sets their sleek travel world clock to 0700 hours, slips in their earplugs, and drifts off into a precision sleep in order to have plenty of rest for a new day chockablock with cultural enrichment and intelligent observation. They can be spotted by their matching North Face gear and flesh-coloured money belt. Sometimes, if they are/were an English major, they can be found in the lobby jotting down witty anecdotes in their travel moleskin and sipping a mug of complimentary tea (no sugar).

They usually wake up in the morning without so much as a yawn, spring to the bathroom, and come back to dress for the day (in more fresh North Face) after a splash of cold water and a quick sun-salutation. It is at this point that the zipping and unzipping process begins. Since this person is generally deeply OCD, every item in their backpack is compartmentalized through a complicated matrix of plastic bags, and so the next 30 to 45 minutes of your morning will be spent restlessly tossing and turning as Plastic Bag Man reorganizes 743 crinkly plastic bags. Just when you think that Plastic Bag Man is finished and headed for the door there is often a pause and then the whole process repeats itself, only this time he is doing it right beside your head.

2. The Get In At 4:30 AM And Flip On All The Lights Man

Ok, so I guess I can't rag on Lights Man too hard because I've totally been that person... but there's always at least one in every bunch. This is generally the person you see down at the check-in counter paying in pennies. More often than not they are wearing a damp woollen sweater and cordorouy pants (if male) or a spaghetti strap tank top and filthy, wrinkled jeans (if female). Usually their belongings are tied to the outside of their pack and everything about them smells and looks like whiskey. They usually throw their few possessions on the bunk and head out for the evening. They will not be seen again until they are stumbling up the stairs singing HERE I AM ROCK YOU LIKE A HURRICANE and carrying a stolen pint glass. They will then burst into the room, flip on the lights, wake everyone up, and pass out on their bed after taking off only one shoe. Oh, and they will always snore.

3. The Evil, Wicked Long-Term Stay Man

The one thing you must know about this rare breed is that they are without question the most fiercely territorial people you will ever meet. If they could get away with it they would probably pee on every bed in the room to mark their territory. In fact, I'm pretty sure this has happened at some point in the past. These are the people who live full-time in hostels for one reason or another, and generally are wretched and miserable. I should say, however, that my good friend Nigel lived in Castle Rock Hostel in Edinburgh for two months and he is a delight. I guess he is the exception. Please, if you are living long-term in a hostel and have mysteriously stumbled across this blog, shoot me an email and explain yourself.

4. The Perenially Naked Man

This one pretty much explains itself. There is always one, and he is usually German.