Stuff that Happened in Europe: The Hostile Hostel

I really don't know how to write this post without sounding like a overpriveliged, sheltered, boring, spoiled American, because I'm getting ready to complain about minor inconveniences. After some brief contemplation, I've decided I'm just going to go ahead and write the post and sound like all those things, better judgement be damned. But I'll include a warning, because I'm considerate like that:

Warning: If you have a low tolerance for first world problems, do not proceed beyond this point. (I will totally understand.)

SO, at the end of our harrowing night train experience, we arrive in Trento, Italy. Trento is a smallish town in the northeastern part of the country, and although it gets its fair share of tourism, it is not exactly on most people's Must See lists. Morgan and I put it on ours because it is the town that our paternal great grandparents are from, and we are not immune to that pitiful white American desire to get in touch with our ancestoral heritage (even though I pretend that I am, and I will probably secretly mock you if you have a celctic knot tattoo).

It's really early when we get to Trento, and I'm sleepy and overwhelmed. Tento feels tiny compared to Vienna, and I think to myself that maybe this is one of those places where everyone knows each other. I have this feeling--the same one I get when I go to parties and bars now, the one I used to get when I went to church or family gatherings with my friends when I was small--that I don't belong here, that I have no right to be here, and that everyone knows it. I feel like someone may walk up to me at any moment and demand to know what I'm doing here. I have no idea what I'm doing here. I want to leave, badly.

We search for the hostel (the Ostello di Trento,* if anyone is planning a backpack trip) and find it without much issue. As we wait in the lobby, a group of maybe 20 blonde children emerge from the hostel. For some reason I assume that they are Russian orphans, probably because the girls are wearing little triangle shaped kerchiefs on their heads. A man and lady appear behind the lobby desk, and we ask them if they speak English.  They tell us that they do. I explain that we have reserved two beds and thrust my reservation confirmation forward.

They seem sort of confused, but eventually allow us to pay them. They explain that we can't check in until 2:00 pm. I feel like they are smirking as they say this. I'm sure that they actually weren't.

I am hungry and tired and wondering why I decided to come to this place, and I really really want to go somewhere where I don't have to interact with anyone and just read blogs or something for a while and regroup. Instead, I sleep on a bench until 2:00 pm while the Russian orphans play soccer  in a nearby park.

We go back to the hostel and get our room keys. The hostel is pretty huge, but I assume that they only have a couple rooms open because my dorm is pretty full but there are never very many people mulling around the building. There are four sets of bunkbeds in the female dorm. Two girls who appear to be younger than me occupy one set. I'm not sure what language they are speaking, maybe Romanian? Another set of bunkbeds contains two older Asian ladies. They are both napping. One is naked. A third older lady of unknown national origin sleeps on the bottom bunk of the last set of beds. We share one bathroom, which really isn't a big deal except that I can't communicate a bathroom schedule with anyone. I basically just resort to getting up really really early every day to ensure that I would be able to get in.

I guess the weirdest thing about this arrangement is that my doormmates are always in the room. Always. The Asian lady who was napping naked when I arrived naps naked a lot. The older lady of indeterminate national origin occasionally does exercise videos in front of her bed.  The only exception is that the Romanian (?) girls leave every night wearing clear high heels and tube tops. Probably, they are going to Italian nightclubs, but I imagine that they are hooking because it makes the story more interesting.

Morgan didn't bring an alarm clock, so I have to go to the male dorm and knock on the door every morning. One morning, I learn that one of his roommates has stolen his damp towel. Probably a mix up? Fortunately, Trento is absolutely packed with high end outdoor equipment stores (serioulsy, it is), so it's not hard to get a replacement.

More of an inconvenience is the hostel's single washer, which requires nine freaking euros for one load of laundry. If the desk guy and desk lady were not smirking before, they definitely are now. As we wait for our laundry to dry, we read in a lounge-like room, accompanied by more old people. Seriously, there were so many old people in this hostel. And orphans, so many Russian orphans. I hope they were all adopted.

*Hey look! My review is on there!

By the way, Trento is seriously beautiful. You should definitely go there, but maybe just stay in a tent or something.