Tag Archives: Hostel



I’m working at a hostel on the coast just west of Lisbon. I like hostel work and while I have to keep my head down the next two years and hit the books to become a massage therapist, I don’t intend to take my eyes off of the prize -I like this life and I want to do more in this domain.

That said, tonight has been….hilarious. I don’t know of a more diplomatic way to refer to a frustrating night full of guests who make me wonder how they are able to tie their own shoes, let alone book rooms online. Timothee for example and his compatriot called up unable to find their hostel building. Since I’m managing from offsite and a foreigner to boot, I was at a bit of a loss to navigate him to the location in Lisbon. More frustratingly, he wouldn’t listen. The whole exchange would have taken half the time if I could have had him shut-up and listen to my questions, but he was so flustered -THEY were so flustered- it was like being on the phone with two little French girls whose croissants had been taken away.


I kept them on the line and got on my personal phone with my supervisor, Ricardo, a muscly, beautiful gay Portuguese man who unironically uses the term of endearment,¬†bros when referring to me and Charlie. So I had two phones up to my ear: The voluminously frustrated French man in my right ear and the loud, gay, Francophobe, Ricardo on my left, and I was trying to relay the information back and forth but whenever I said something to one phone, the other phone piped up. Ricardo for all his good qualities can be a bit of a prattler himself and he was already frustrated with these dudes because they hadn’t been reading the emails all week leading up to their booking which told them that the hostel was self-check in and that we couldn’t give them their room codes until they provided us with credit card info.


At length, I had Ricardo call them and they later got back to me with their CC and I gave them room codes. They had me stay on the line until they were past the vestibule and then abruptly hung up on me….wankers.

I was happy with myself that I managed to take it all in stride. A younger, dumber me might have been a little averse to this flaccid abuse, but honestly, it starts to wear less on you the more you remember that you are dealing with small children. Small, adult-sized children.

Fuck it, having a smoke!

Who am I kidding, Timothee and his friend are French, so they’re probably Napoleon-sized.



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Hostel California

My Friends,
   I am still in Cadiz.  It is a beautiful city with fantastic beaches and the people at my hostel are friendly so I am enjoying myself. I will be looking to exit the city soon however; either by flying out to Munich on Friday or leaving with some new Dutch friends for Gibraltar before then.  But for now, I wait.  Living at this hostel is cheap (10 Euros per night to sleep on the terrace) so I can justify staying here with my budget, but the little things are getting to me, perhaps a sign that I need to hit the road again soon.
   Like many hostels, this one has areas which close around midnight; the terrace patio closes so that the people sleeping in hammocks on the roof can go to bed, and the kitchen and lounge close so that the neighbours are not disturbed by excess noise.  The problem is then that no place is left to share the company of friends after a certain time.  We found this out the hard way last night when one of the hostel employees told us to basically pack up our shit and get out.  When I asked where paying patrons of the hostel were supposed top go to hang out, he suggested to come go to the beach or come to the bar.
   I have been to enough hostels to know that this is some old bullshit.  Not everyone wants to go to the bar and if someone doesn’t want to go to the beach, what option are they left with?  Perhaps I am being too picky and perhaps I should also have read the fine print when I checked in.  I had entertained the idea of checking out this morning and searching for accommodation elsewhere but I realised that I had grown comfortable here and chummy with my fellow guests, whom I had also made travel plans with.  Checking out now would throw a wrench in these plans.  So for better or worse I have decided to stay put with the knowledge that party-time ends at midnight.  Somehow I will manage.
Stay Thirsty

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The Best Drunken Idea of my Life

My Friends,

   In Cadiz, Spain.  Canadian dude at this hostel recommended hitting Oktoberfest in Munich for the last wknd its on.  The more I drank, the better it sounded.  So I will be saying “fuck Gibraltar” for the time being and heading north-east to Munich to crush some fancy beer and eat animals.  That is all.
Stay Thirsty
-Andre Guantanamo

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