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The ferry from Puerto Chacabuco to Quellon (southern Chile) arrived about 8 hours late, and it was late evening, pitch black and absolutely tonking it down with rain when it did. The only hostel I could find in the dark (there weren't many lights in Quellon - it's only a small village) only had tent space left, but I really didn't fancy putting my tent up in that weather. The lady owner said I could sleep on the floor in a corner on the landing, which was possible without passers-by kicking me, which seemed to me to be a much better option than putting the tent up, so I said thank you, and I was charged 100CH$, which was about US$0.30 at the time. I think that remains the cheapest ever paid-for indoor night I've ever had. As the 26hrs on the ferry had not facilitated much sleeping, I was soon oblivious. But it had a hidden cost. A kitten snuggled up with me, and gave me fleas.
Another hostel story. I first stayed at the old Mountjoy Square hostel, now closed, in Dublin in summer 1988. I remember there being a sign in the basement eating area saying "Please stack the chairs on the other side of the wall." This was difficult to comply with, as one would have had to climb the stairs out of the basement, exit the front door, knock on the next door property, and ask if you could stack the chairs in their basement. There was this Indian guy there, a mature student, who told a long tail of woe about the misdeeds done to him by the Irish university system and Irish society in general. He had a little dossier on it of several pages of closely typed prose, which he would give you if you were interested. If you weren't interested, he would tell you in great detail what it said anyway. I returned to the hostel, just before it finally closed, in autumn 1990. The sign about stacking the chairs was still there. As was the Indian student with his tale of woe and little dossier.
The most interesting person I ever met in a hostel was Mårten Ringbom, the professor of ancient philosophy at the University of Helsinki, one of the Swedish-speaking minority in Finland. He was a kind of Finnish Alastair Cooke, having his own regular spot on Finnish radio telling anecdotes, and thus very entertaining company, as well as exceedingly erudite. The hostel was in Papeete, the main town of Tahiti. He very kindly took me out for a drink on my birthday, as I was travelling at that time for an extended period and didn't have money to spend on drinks at Tahitian prices. I don't know quite why such a person was staying in such a simple a hostel, maybe he just liked to travel simply. Although expensive like everything in Tahiti, it was a very simple hostel with bare rooms, cold shower and cockroaches the size of mobile phones. I read Ringbom died earlier this year, he was quite old.
Alojamiento Sola Cama in La Paz. £2 for a private marital room where the wall doesn't quite meet the ceiling and the door is locked by propping the chair against it. The shower and toilet looked like someone had a prolapse in there. The view out of the window was an amazing bit of grafitti. The word BLOW in huge letters with a Llama sticking its head out of the O smoking what appeared to be a herbal ciggarette. Sat underneath this was a local fortune teller whose only customer appeared to be a young scally (Ony customer over the course of 3 days). The guy would tip water from a bottle of Viscachani in to a plastic bag of Coca leaves and tell the lad his fortune, that the rest of his life would be spent shining shoes in the Plaza Murillo.
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What about the cheapest hostel you've stayed in.... Anyone got any experiences to share
The ferry from Puerto Chacabuco to Quellon (southern Chile) arrived about 8 hours late, and it was late evening, pitch black and absolutely tonking it down with rain when it did. The only hostel I could find in the dark (there weren't many lights in Quellon - it's only a small village) only had tent space left, but I really didn't fancy putting my tent up in that weather. The lady owner said I could sleep on the floor in a corner on the landing, which was possible without passers-by kicking me, which seemed to me to be a much better option than putting the tent up, so I said thank you, and I was charged 100CH$, which was about US$0.30 at the time. I think that remains the cheapest ever paid-for indoor night I've ever had. As the 26hrs on the ferry had not facilitated much sleeping, I was soon oblivious. But it had a hidden cost. A kitten snuggled up with me, and gave me fleas.
Another hostel story. I first stayed at the old Mountjoy Square hostel, now closed, in Dublin in summer 1988. I remember there being a sign in the basement eating area saying "Please stack the chairs on the other side of the wall." This was difficult to comply with, as one would have had to climb the stairs out of the basement, exit the front door, knock on the next door property, and ask if you could stack the chairs in their basement. There was this Indian guy there, a mature student, who told a long tail of woe about the misdeeds done to him by the Irish university system and Irish society in general. He had a little dossier on it of several pages of closely typed prose, which he would give you if you were interested. If you weren't interested, he would tell you in great detail what it said anyway. I returned to the hostel, just before it finally closed, in autumn 1990. The sign about stacking the chairs was still there. As was the Indian student with his tale of woe and little dossier.
The most interesting person I ever met in a hostel was Mårten Ringbom, the professor of ancient philosophy at the University of Helsinki, one of the Swedish-speaking minority in Finland. He was a kind of Finnish Alastair Cooke, having his own regular spot on Finnish radio telling anecdotes, and thus very entertaining company, as well as exceedingly erudite. The hostel was in Papeete, the main town of Tahiti. He very kindly took me out for a drink on my birthday, as I was travelling at that time for an extended period and didn't have money to spend on drinks at Tahitian prices. I don't know quite why such a person was staying in such a simple a hostel, maybe he just liked to travel simply. Although expensive like everything in Tahiti, it was a very simple hostel with bare rooms, cold shower and cockroaches the size of mobile phones. I read Ringbom died earlier this year, he was quite old.
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#16Alojamiento Sola Cama in La Paz. £2 for a private marital room where the wall doesn't quite meet the ceiling and the door is locked by propping the chair against it. The shower and toilet looked like someone had a prolapse in there. The view out of the window was an amazing bit of grafitti. The word BLOW in huge letters with a Llama sticking its head out of the O smoking what appeared to be a herbal ciggarette. Sat underneath this was a local fortune teller whose only customer appeared to be a young scally (Ony customer over the course of 3 days). The guy would tip water from a bottle of Viscachani in to a plastic bag of Coca leaves and tell the lad his fortune, that the rest of his life would be spent shining shoes in the Plaza Murillo.
