It’s just your average hang over day coughing my lungs up, sweating out booze and wasting away watching movies from the comfort of the sofa. The same hot sun in the same blue sky that I can just about see out the window. The same topics of conversation by people too tired to move, cracking the same jokes, killing time until we can have the same night again. Nothing was out of the ordinary, nothing unusual, everything in its right place.
Then she walked in.
I’ve occupied my usual corner in the TV room, tapping away on the keys, not doing anything remotely productive. My head is raised from the screen when quite simply one of (if not the most) beautiful girls I’ve ever seen floats past wearing the kind of summer dress you see on a siren dancing in a sun kissed corn field as part of an advert to encourage tourism. The laptop is cast aside, and as shabby and smelly as I look, I give chase to ensure my eyes have not deceived me. They hadn’t.
I’m not ashamed to admit I turn into a stalker. You would have too. A friend is ending herself laughing at my attempts to check out the mystery girl with my hood up incognito. Who is she? How do I talk to her? Is she talking to her boyfriend via Skype? Why am I lurking behind a pillar?
Of course as ever when any attractive girl walks into a hostel populated with penis, it isn’t long before she’s aggressively surrounded, accosted, smothered and flirted at to within an inch of her life. When you see a girl of this calibre however, it’s a whole new ball game. But it isn’t mine. I step back and watch the masses assemble at her and her friends table. “Let the games begin” quips one. You can play them my friend, but I’ll just tell it like it is, be myself, and see if I can obtain the unobtainable. For most at the table, she would simply be a smoking hot girl to try to have hostel sex with. Not for me. Not this time. This time I’m interested.
A few casual passing comments and I’ve ascertained her name is Ali, she’s Australian (damn) and she is every bit as beautiful close up as she is from a distance. This is what angels look like, and looking into her incredible eyes is almost spiritual. I’m struggling to speak, like a dentist has injected my tongue with anesthetic. I can’t spend more than a few minutes there for fear of totally fucking it up. I opt instead to go and see The Avengers. My competition declines:
“Are you coming to the cinema?” I hopefully inquire. “Errrr…naah…” he slurs back. “I think I’ll wait it out here.” (Wink). You little Machiavellian bastard. I know what you’re up to. He’s got 90 minutes plus trailers on me to do some serious spade work. I stick to my guns, and head into town, praying he overcooks it and peaks too early. Hot girl or not, it’s the Avengers damnit!
The queues are too long and we can’t be bothered to wait. It’s probably a good thing as all I’m wittering on about is this girl. For the entire walk home, I bore my companions stupid with my anxious ramblings about how Mr Stud has probably already had her in the shower. Twice. It comes as welcome relief to discover he’s taken himself off the field by smoking too much weed. Things are somehow working in my favour.
She is nowhere to be found as folk are getting ready to hit the liquor again. I wander to their room, Dutch courage building after a couple of beers. The door closed, I don’t want to barge in in case they’ve all gone to bed, so I enter the bathroom to the right to see from that window if their light is still on. Yes I know it sounds creepy but I genuinely thought it was courteous. At least until I’ve thrown the toilet door open to discover them putting make up on in the mirror.
Stammering some kind of stupid apology and beating a hasty retreat, I’ve enough time to notice she is wearing the most incredible pale lilac pencil dress. I proceed to regale my sighting to friends, stumbling over my words at just how incredible she looks with “you thought she looked hot before; wait till you see what she’s wearing!” I’m bitterly disappointed to discover she’s changed into jeans, and with a boozy boldness I suggest she changes back into what she was going to wear. She then tells me it was a towel.
Somewhere in my idiotic error there is a compliment. She’d look good in a bin liner. The lesson learned from this is she really needs to buy herself a lilac pencil dress, and I need to get my eyes lasered.
Along with her lovely friends Sib and Courtney, the four of us stay up the whole night putting the world to rights. They have a flight to catch to Costa Rica in the early morning, so they decide no sleep is the best option. With no other guys around and my awkward flirting seemingly making an impression, I’m not going to miss my opportunity. She likes Radiohead. We dance on the bar to Idioteque. She’s into intelligent horror films. She’s fun. Wonderful to talk to, with not a trace of inflated self worth. Did I mention she has the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen?
It looks like all I’m going to get is a stunning smile and a peck on the cheek goodbye. The other two girls have gone to pack, and I’m left to lose myself in the kind of moment you only get in movies. She could make me do anything with one glance. I walk away towards my room and consider myself lucky I’ve met her. Then something takes over. I stop. Turn. Walk with purpose, and with a confidence I’ve not had in a while…well…lets just say for the very first time; I’m really looking forward to Australia. I just need to get more comfortable with having my shirt off on a beach.