The Backpacker Gods have a sick sense of humor

The backpacker gods have a sick sense if humor-

Hostel rooms are like the price is right; There’s always a little anticipation and excitement to see what lies behind door number 1. With any bit of luck this time I would be greeted by three 6’1″ Swedish girls in their 20’s that love American accents and greying beards. With the insert of my key the door to my hostel door room clicked a friendly and welcoming green light. I opened up the door wide eyed and ready for my Swedes.

On the bottom left bunk there was a seated Finnish man in his 70’s with no shirt or pants on. From the way he was positioned with elbows on knees and book in hands I couldn’t tell if he was completely ass butt naked or had on a small pair of underwear briefs. Either way he made zero attempt to cover himself up and just looked up from his book over his reading glasses and gave me a very Finnish ALLO… “Um, hey buddy, how’s it going”… A half grin immediately crept up on my face thinking the backpacker gods were playing a practical joke on me.

While making my bed (as far away from his as was possible) curiosity got the better of me and I had to look back to see if he was rockin’ it commando or had on some underwear. Just as I was turning over my shoulder he stands up to offer me some of the bag of pistachios he began eating. My relief that came from him not being completely naked quickly turned to terror when I saw that what he WAS wearing was a purple banana hammock (buggie smugglers to my Aussie readers). “Na man I’m cool on the pistachios… Good looking out though”… I set a new land speed record for making a bed and headed to the commons room to check my emails, only pausing to talk to him long enough to find out he was from Finland. An hour later and now fearful of what lay behind door number 1, when my key card turned the door light green I was holding onto the hope that I had some “normal” company to share in my misery. I slowly opened the door to find the Finn was joined by 2 other silver haired compadres. At this point I swore I was on the latest episode of Off Their Rockers, but with no candid cameras in sight the 3 just give me back the same confused look I must have been giving them… I waist no time, drop my laptop in my locker and hit the town in a hurry. No big deal I tell myself, I’ll just spend my time going out in exact contrast to my game plan in Byron.

After dinner and a night of light drinking I head back to my room. Now my key card in the slot is only spitting back a denying red flash and I can’t get in to go to bed. I make my way to the reception to swap cards. “Are you sure you are in 219 sir”… Um, yep, pretty sure, at least I was earlier this afternoon… “Shindelar, you say it was”… Yep. (tic-toc, tic-toc) “Oh there’s been a mistake. We had room 219 going to a gentleman named Liam Schneider! It seems we double booked that and gave you the wrong room. He checked in a few hours ago… Here is your new room key for 209. We will reactivate this old key for one time use so you can grab your stuff out of the locker and transfer” Never mad about it and thinking it was funny the whole time I explained that I was wondering why they put me in the geriatric ward. We laughed about it and with my newfound optimism I headed to see what delights were behind door number 2.

Green means go! My new room key works and I open the door to find a cluttered, but vacant room. Without picking anything up or disturbing any personal items I scan my absent roommates belongings in hopes to find a makeup bag, pair of stilettos or small Swedish flag on a stick. My eyes followed the extension cord trail coming out of the single wall outlet in the room, behind the desk, around a nondescript bag, under a towel, through a chair and to the bed underneath mine. AN OXYGEN MACHINE!?!?… You’ve got to be fricken kidding me!

Within a few minutes my new roomies open the door- a 67 year old Swiss man and 62 year old German guy. The German guy just carries along with a goofy smile and doesn’t say much. The Swiss- a nice enough guy, but just talks, and talks, and talks, and talks, and talks, and talks, and talks. He talks about how he needs to wear compression socks when he flys, talks about his wife that can’t travel because of severe asthma, talks about the 70% pension he now gets after retiring, talks about how it’s dangerous to travel in the Middle East, about the crocodile he saw when up in Northern Territory Australia, talks about the time he went to San Francisco in the 80’s and ALMOST made it to Vegas, but instead got sick from eating oysters.

I now have a frantic hurried pace about me whenever I walk into the room as if I’m late for a meeting and cant stay to chat. I haven’t had to resort to a phantom phone call, but it’s definitely crossed my mind and I may have to pull that trick out of the bag before the week is over.

In my last entry I mentioned how I was expecting my hostel in Adelaide to be a different experience. I was handed a new experience and then some. Lets just say I’m hoping that 3rd time is the charm. I check into my room in Melbourne in a few days and if you happen to be a 6’1″ smoking hot Norwegian female reading this, I’ll be staying at the Nomads on A’Beckett street.

Bob