Itineraries change when you’re traveling. The best laid plans and all that. Now I don’t know if it’s me being incredibly lazy, or just every now and again I feel the need to actually not do anything, but this is my fourth day (I think) where I have not strayed further than the burger joint at the end of the road. I am well aware of the big wide world out there, and I know there is so much to see, but travel does take it out of you. It’s nice to have a home again.
I’ve stayed in a few places I’ve happily called home. From my vantage point in the corner of the sofa room, I see people coming and going, folk I’ve hung out with, new faces moving in, old ones moving on. A constant stream of backpacks coming through and going out the door. Weary travelers dumping belongings, and refreshed ones returning to the action. An ever changing wheel of histories, futures and stories. For the most part it’s a lot of fun, especially if you click with new people. Every now and again you get a complete wanker.
Here I sit listening to the nonsense coming out of this guys mouth. He’s Welsh, with an incredibly loud, knuckle-dragging, man-about-town drawl and chat. He’s said the words ‘fuck’, ‘cunt’ and ‘bastard’ with an alarming regularity, to the point of I don’t know if he knows anything else. Apparently he’s going to “glass (his friend) in the face” if he makes that shot at pool. He’s a stereotype of that horrible, brash, obnoxious Brit abroad, and he’s doing it all ten decibel above everyone else.
“Let’s get fuckin’ hammered mate.”
“Awwww mate you shoulda seen this fuckin’ girl man…fuck me.”
“Awwww mate that shit was off the hook.”
“Awwww mate this party is gonna be fuckin fat one, know what I mean?”
“You fuckin’ cunty bastard how the fuck did you make that shot you fuckin’ cunt?!”
“Awwww mate…”
“Awwww mate…”
And so on and so forth. Apologies for the use of such language, but it was required to illustrate the point.
Apart from how horribly uncouth and ill mannered this neanderthal is, he has disturbed me in my home. When you stay somewhere for a while, if feels like the sofa area by the T.V is your lounge, your dorm is your bedroom and the kitchen is, well, your kitchen. Even thought I don’t use it. I frequent the burger place. Hence the spare tyre I’m developing. Anyway, imagine if you will, you’re sitting in your lounge listening to music, maybe watching a film, and in tramps this horrible thing to ruin your nice quiet evening. He knocks your legs as he crashes down onto the sofa next to you, doesn’t apologise, then loudly announces to anyone within ear shot how much coke he’s going to take, and how much weed he still has left on him from a “bangin” night out a few days ago. Welcome to my world.
Of course I’m being my usual cynical, misanthropic self, and I do realise that hostels are communal places and you have to take the rough with the smooth. But hopefully this guy will get arrested tonight for drug use, soliciting a prostitute, racketeering and people trafficking. Then he’ll leave me in peace.
Waster
Itineraries change when you’re traveling. The best laid plans and all that. Now I don’t know if it’s me being incredibly lazy, or just every now and again I feel the need to actually not do anything, but this is my fourth day (I think) where I have not strayed further than the burger joint at the end of the road. I am well aware of the big wide world out there, and I know there is so much to see, but travel does take it out of you. It’s nice to have a home again.
I’ve stayed in a few places I’ve happily called home. From my vantage point in the corner of the sofa room, I see people coming and going, folk I’ve hung out with, new faces moving in, old ones moving on. A constant stream of backpacks coming through and going out the door. Weary travelers dumping belongings, and refreshed ones returning to the action. An ever changing wheel of histories, futures and stories. For the most part it’s a lot of fun, especially if you click with new people. Every now and again you get a complete wanker.
Here I sit listening to the nonsense coming out of this guys mouth. He’s Welsh, with an incredibly loud, knuckle-dragging, man-about-town drawl and chat. He’s said the words ‘fuck’, ‘cunt’ and ‘bastard’ with an alarming regularity, to the point of I don’t know if he knows anything else. Apparently he’s going to “glass (his friend) in the face” if he makes that shot at pool. He’s a stereotype of that horrible, brash, obnoxious Brit abroad, and he’s doing it all ten decibel above everyone else.
“Let’s get fuckin’ hammered mate.”
“Awwww mate you shoulda seen this fuckin’ girl man…fuck me.”
“Awwww mate that shit was off the hook.”
“Awwww mate this party is gonna be fuckin fat one, know what I mean?”
“You fuckin’ cunty bastard how the fuck did you make that shot you fuckin’ cunt?!”
“Awwww mate…”
“Awwww mate…”
And so on and so forth. Apologies for the use of such language, but it was required to illustrate the point.
Apart from how horribly uncouth and ill mannered this neanderthal is, he has disturbed me in my home. When you stay somewhere for a while, if feels like the sofa area by the T.V is your lounge, your dorm is your bedroom and the kitchen is, well, your kitchen. Even thought I don’t use it. I frequent the burger place. Hence the spare tyre I’m developing. Anyway, imagine if you will, you’re sitting in your lounge listening to music, maybe watching a film, and in tramps this horrible thing to ruin your nice quiet evening. He knocks your legs as he crashes down onto the sofa next to you, doesn’t apologise, then loudly announces to anyone within ear shot how much coke he’s going to take, and how much weed he still has left on him from a “bangin” night out a few days ago. Welcome to my world.
Of course I’m being my usual cynical, misanthropic self, and I do realise that hostels are communal places and you have to take the rough with the smooth. But hopefully this guy will get arrested tonight for drug use, soliciting a prostitute, racketeering and people trafficking. Then he’ll leave me in peace.