The Sunday after my first two forays into the world of apartment-touring, I looked at my third potential apartment. I had found out on Saturday that Mustache and Curtain were not as impressed by my rock-paper-scissors skillz as I had imagined, and that I was therefore not the winner of the Alps-view room. But obviously the third time’s a charm, because the gal in the third apartment liked me a lot and picked me as her new roommate. I was going to be able to move into her apartment on October 23rd.
This was all fine and dandy, except that I had to move out of my living-room-house on the 19th, which left a gaping hole of four days of homelessness. So I decided to do what any self-respecting cheapskate would do in my situation: I booked a bed in an eight-person room in a hostel.
The hostel was named Wombat’s. I don’t even really know what a wombat is, but the room was cheap enough to satisfy my penny-pinching ways, so I didn’t ask any questions. Their website says that “[a]t a hostel you can meet people from all around the world, share stories, wonders and of course be part of the adventure of travelling.” This is all true.
Here are some of the characters that I met during my hostel adventure:
- A Spanish-speaking family: At first I thought that it was just a young dude staying at the hostel, and that his mom was dropping him off. But then the dad showed up later and I realized that they were all staying there and the dude’s mom wouldn’t be dropping her son off at a hostel anyway. Because this was a hostel, not freshman move-in day. The three of them laid on the same bed, talked nonstop to each other in Spanish, and played on their smartphones until about one in the morning. They were also the first ones up and at it the next morning.
- An American dude: This guy was from Georgia and had just graduated college. He was touring around Europe because that’s what you do after you graduate college. His previous stop was Vienna, where he ate like an elephant’s trunk or a possum’s carcass or something, and he was in serious gastro-intestinal distress because of it. Every thirty minutes he took up residence in the bathroom, where he turned on the shower in a futile attempt to camouflage the obscene noises reverberating in the toilet bowl.
- Two Romanian dudes: These fellas were trying to find jobs as construction workers in Munich. One of them spoke English and the other one didn’t. The English-speaking one was friendly and the Romanian-only one acted fidgety and nervous all night long. The fidgety and nervous one ended up stealing money from the hostel’s front desk and making a run for it.
- A German gal: The day after the two Romanians started their life on the lam, a girl who lives near Nuremberg moved in. She teaches elementary school in Munich, but apparently doesn’t like the city enough to officially live here. So instead she lives in her home near Nuremberg on the weekends and stays in the Wombat’s hostel during the week. This gal got up at six am to take a shower and get ready for school, but the American dude had just taken up his bi-hourly bathroom residence a few minutes before her alarm clock went off. So she huffed and puffed the whole time the dude was in the bathroom and I think wanted to blow the door down, but instead she knocked loudly on it when he finally turned the shower off. Then she told him angrily, “I have to go to work!” when he escaped from his stinky prison a few minutes later.
All of this goes to say: I don’t think I’ll be staying in a communal hostel again any time soon.
(In this video, the American dude is on the left, the English-speaking Romanian is in the background, and a fairly normal British dude who doesn’t understand Ylvis is on the right.)