Hostel Life.

Considering I'm yet to become a 'proper backpacker' and travel the world, I've completed a fairly decent stint of hostel stays in my time. I've always been fairly lucky, and haven't really encountered any that were too bad - until now.

It was inevitable that at some point I'd end up sleeping in a disgusting hell hole, and I'm certain it'll be the first of many more to come. Although, I do have to say, however bad it was, it did spur me on to start my blog - so a huge thanks to St Kilda Hostel for getting my ass into gear. 

When I arrived, the man at reception told me I wasn't booked in for the room which I'd paid for, which was funny for about a split second before I realised he was being serious. Luckily, (or rather, unluckily as it turned out) he managed to find me another bed. Because it was obviously hammering it down in sunny Melbourne, I practically ran to my room, put my key in the door, and was immediately shouted at. 

Now, I have absolutely nothing against tattoos - including tattoos that completely cover every single inch of somebodies face, but when I open the door to my room to be greeted with 'WHO THE HELL IS THAT!?' and a giant tattooed face in my face, I think I'm well within my rights to be slightly dubious about my new roommate.

It actually turned out that Michael, the shouty person who owned the giant tattooed face, was lovely - a classical piano player (never judge a book by it's cover) from Melbourne who lives in the hostel long term. He had the best bed in the room and instantly offered it to me if I wanted it. I didn't actually mind having a top bunk though. (Mainly because I'm a giant kid at heart.) I was the only female in a room of six, and to be quite frank the room was an absolute dump.

Despite the funny smell, it was all going fairly well until I decided to put my bag in my locker. The first problem occurred when I realised there were no lockers. Which probably partly explains why the room was such a mess, with the floor appearing to be the only place to keep my belongings. The fact that there was nowhere secure to keep my things was pretty annoying, but the main issue arose when I tried to clean my teeth in the bathroom and a sink that was so blocked with pubic hair filled up to create a frothy, minty pube filled swamp for me to heave into. 

The next three nights were pretty sleepless. On the first night I awoke to one of the guys having an extremely loud wank. I couldn't work out which one it was, but that was probably for the best. Night two consisted of me waking up to what appeared to be a drug deal taking place next to my bed, and by the third night, I wasn't surprised to wake up to find the front door wide open - though I didn't get up to close it, because it was nice to get some air in the room considering the other occupants had decided it was fine to chain smoke in there. 

On check out day, I awoke early to be out of the room at the earliest possible moment. Walking the streets of St Kilda in the rain was definitely preferable to staying there any longer. The pubic hair fountain was getting worse by the day, and although it was nice of the boys to attempt to hide the massive porn DVD collection that was originally scattered all over the floor, it still wasn't enough to make me want to extend my stay. 

The final straw came when I handed my keys in and the reception man tried to tell me that I hadn't paid for my stay and I owed him $90. There wasn't a chance in hell that I was going to pay twice, so I told him where to stick it, and walked out.

And so begins the travelling life...