Ok hold up, my blog on Barcelona made it seem like travel is all rainbows, sunshine, and pink marshmallows especially with that cheesey intro…Please allow me to diverge just a bit to tell you about an unwelcomed lasting impression that happened on my very first night.
So there I was, fresh off the plane but exhausted from the journey, walking around the outskirts of Barcelona at 12:30 am because I chose the cheapest flight with a bad arrival time and the cheapest hostel with a poor location. Eventually, I found my hostel and was welling up with relief at the thought of crashing onto clean sheets and have a good, deep night’s sleep. During my check in, the surprisingly friendly (considering it was now 1 am) front desk staff member paused for a bit and asked, “Did you know you booked a mixed dorm?” to which I was like, duhh. Obviously, I was the one who made the reservation, thinking to myself, “wait, is it not normal for solo female travelers to stay in mixed gender rooms? Hmm nahh it’s fine”. So he continued to check me in and led me up to my mixed-dorm room, which I chose because it was the cheapest (are starting to see the theme here?) and upon entering the hot and stuffy room I had the unpleasant realization that I would be sharing accommodation with two of the smelliest men in southern Europe. As the staff member left, he whispered in a unmistakeably foreboding tone, “I’ll be right downstairs if you need anything at all.” It was evident now that his friendliness was a form of compensation for my present situation. He gave me a sort of “best of luck nod” and left.
I realize now that this anecdote is turning it to a novel so for brevity’s sake I’ll just say it was an unpleasant night where I slept with my (fingers-crossed) clean, hostel bed-sheet covering my nose, while body odor diffused out of one of my roommate’s armpits and the other roommate on the bed next to me lit up and had a dance with Mary Jane at 3 in the morning, adding to the sharp, palpable stench in the room. Thereby allowing me to have my first hot boxing experience.
Moral of the story: I probably/definitely should get a job so that I at least have enough money to stay in non-hot boxing hostels while traveling. But where’s the fun in that?!