Hostel Hassle

The first part of this post was composed in my journal yesterday when I was a bit aggravated, but not aggravated enough to miss the humor in the situation. Enjoy.

So, I try to check into my hostel a little bit before noon. Didn't think it would be a problem because they have twenty-four hour reception, or so they said. When I show up at the place there is a sign hanging on the door that says, "Sorry. We are not here at the moment. Please purchase a telephone card at one of the following vendors (list attached) and give us a call at (number attached)."

Are you kidding me? You want me to spend my money and purchase a telephone card to ring you? While you are out gallivanting about someplace? I think not. I decide to sit and wait--on a very uncomfortable bench-- for somebody to show up. It is a hot day outside. I wait, and I sweat, and I finally fall asleep. By the time I wake up ol' buddy is in his office. I wander in and tell him I had a reservation for Monique Z. Things immediately start to go downhill.

Crazy Hostel Dude: "Where is your reservation?"
Me: "I made it on the internet."
Crazy Hostel Dude: "No, I need to see your printout."
Me (getting a little testy): "I don't have a printout."
Crazy Hostel Dude: "You do not have a printout? This is a problem. Why do you not have a printout?"
Me (definitely not in the mood for this): "Because I didn't need one at the other twenty-five hostels I have stayed at. I have assumed, perhaps improperly, that most hostels are organized and keep track of these things."

He grumbles a bit before making a phone call. Suddenly everything is okay. He tells me that the hostel is very close, less than two hundred meters. He will take me. I start to walk down the street in the direction he has pointed, but nono. We must go in his car. If the hostel so close, why can't we just walk there? But I do not ask. Questions seem like a bad idea.

We pile in his ancient Renault, speed around the corner where we encounter an accident. He turns to rubberneck at the accident on his right, while steering left into oncoming traffic. Problem!!! A big black car is barreling towards us. I scream. We barely graze past the car. He makes unhappy gestures at the car as it passes us. I exhale cautiously and wonder if I will be alive when we make it to the hostel.

We drive for a bit in silence before he says, "You smell. You smell like the beach." Thanks for the news flash buddy, because I was TOTALLY unaware that I needed a shower. Maybe if I was not baking in the sun while I waited for your lame ass, I wouldn't have the scent of salt and sunscreen oozing out my pores. For that matter, I would have already showered/napped by now. However, I manage to conceal my irritation and flatly say, "Yeah, I really need a shower."

I check into the hostel. For all the weirdness of the hostel reservation dude, the hostel itself is much much more unusual. Sheets? Those will cost you. Blanket? There is a surcharge for that as well. Pillow? No problem, it's a two Euro fee. Now all these fees are per day. This really irritates me. It's not the money; it's the principle of it. It's a calculated attempt to rip you off. Since I am stubborn, and can be a bit spiteful, I resolve to rent none of the above. Now my resolution will not keep me warm at night, and it will definitely not make me comfortable. In fact, I'll probably come down with pneumonia and die, but I will die happy knowing that I was not the victim of a scam.

After I pay for just the basics and decline all the other crap, I head for the "free" shower. The shower is a glass cubicle in the middle of a main hallway. I decide to hunker down in the itsy-bitsy bathtub and take a bath instead. (I love taking baths. Contrary to popular belief, you will be much "cleaner" after bathing than showering. Your skin does not become waterlogged/soft enough to be exfoliated in the shower. Plus, I find the bathtub to be an excellent place to study.)

After my bath, I curl up on my fleece and have a delicious nap. I wake up and decide to go for a walk down to the main square. As soon as I get into town, the sky opens up and pours buckets, making it the seventh consecutive city where I have been caught in the rain. I start to walk back home, but it is dark by now. I realize that streetlights must not be a big part of the culture around here. I wander about for two hours in the dark/rain looking for my hostel. All my warm clothing is drenched. I go to bed, covered with little more than my sleeping sheet and my principles. It is a very long, very cold night.

*****

Don't think I am actually angry about all of this, or that I am not having a good time. I just cannot help but to be amused by the ridiculousness of it all, which manifests itself in the form of sarcasm. This is compounded by my tendency to rely heavily on sarcastic humor when I write. So do not worry. I am having a blast. I love Sarajevo. I bought a very pretty beaded necklace today. Things are very good for me.