Category: Travel Humour

Last week we found ourselves in Barcelona attending a workshop for entrepreneurs. We had become familiar with the Centric Point Hostel last summer and, since we liked it, decided to give it another whirl. Perhaps when you’re not in travel mode, staying overnight at a hostel is not your best option. Following is a minute-by-minute account of a rather complicated night:

23:37 We enter our room. It has six beds. In one of them, a girl from Hong Kong is sound asleep. Mikel, Jokin and myself unpack our bags and get into our respective beds. It looks like it’s going to be a calm night, as it should be, given our meeting-filled agenda tomorrow.

23:45 I set the alarm for seven a.m. and shut off the phone. I’m exhausted and waste no time in closing my eyes and falling asleep.

23:52 Two new roommates enter. Though respectfully quiet, they still manage to wake me. I should have no problem resuming my blissful snooze, it’s just a matter of waiting for them to fall asleep and have silence pervade the room once more.

00:03 Our new mates fall asleep. But my prediction is off the mark. Far from silence reigning, double-barrel snoring commences unabated, with no end in sight. Were a noise-meter placed in the room, I believe it would register 140 decibels. I’m not kidding.

00:16 I don’t want to get teed off. I give my new mates the benefit of the doubt, believing that The Revenge of Thor will soon pass. I cover my ears with my fingers, though I doubt I’ll be able to hold this positiion very long. I try covering my head with the pillow, and though it does muffle the noise some, it’s still impossible to get any shut-eye.

00:29 This is now torture. Mikel and Jokin are equally desperate and awake like myself. We have no choice but to take action. We start making “nac, nac, nac” sounds, which supposedly quiet the most determined snorers. No matter how high we raise our “nac” volume, there’s no way of shutting these guys down and making them realize our problem.

00: 46 Suddenly, we hear angry fists banging on the wall that separates us from the adjoining room. We’re not alone in our fight, though the results are the same.

01:45 Nearly two hours have passed since this calvary began and these two incessasnt snoring machines continue working in overdrive. Despite our own-noise-making efforts, a nuclear alarm wouldn’t wake these two up.

02:06 Just what we needed. Finnish teenagers running through the halls, showing unequivocal signs of post-partying madnesss. Slamming doors. Screaming, Shouting. Welcome to Hostel Hell.

02:35 I’m desperate. PISSED OFF. Nervous. Feeling aggressive. At this rate, I’m not going catch a wink. And tomorrow promises to be a long, intense work day. The time to take drastic measures has arrived. My most impulsive side emerges. I grab my sack, wallet and mobile and head for reception to reserve a room for myself. Whatever it takes, whatever it costs.

02: 40 I start walking downstairs. When I hit the first landing, I see there’s a group of girls at the front desk. I check myself out in the mirror: I see my pajama, a sleeping bag wrapped around my head and my wallet and mobile in hand. I think. I take my time. I see this group has no intention of leaving. Despite my desperation level, I don’t want these girls to see me this way and think I’m crazy. I return to my room and abort the mission.

02: 57 My final strategy is to fall asleep to the sound of music. Jokin follows suit. Simon & Garfunkel’s Greatest Hits has worked for me in the past since I was a kid. I bet on the sure thing. As the songs advance, my anger dissipates and sleep takes over. Paradoxically, “The Sounds of Silence” is the last song i hear. What a classic.

07:00 My alarm goes off. I’m dying from sleep deprivation and, to worsen matters, my head is about to explode from listening to Simon & Garfunkel for four hours. It’s a new day. Cést la vie.

P.S. I want to go on record as saying: People who snore should have the decency and common courtesy to NOT share rooms. For the good of society. Amen.

Meeting a member of the opposite sex should never be among the main reasons a treveller embarks on a new adventure; on the other hand, being a traveller shouldn’t require you to give up flirting either. I’ve decided to pass along five sure ways to make a connection while on the road:

1. Stay at cheap hostels and sign up for every evening jaunt, pub crawl, …. The right mix of alcohol and youth increases your chances, no question. Of course, check beforehand to see that the cheap hostel you’ve chosen has free private rooms that night. And if there are none, you can always follow the advice I gave you a while back when i discussed sex in hostels.

2. Avoid trendy discos. If you’re looking for pretty sights, smart dress and drinks at 15 euros a pop, going to the most “in” spots is probably your best bet. Personal experience tells me, however, that the people who frequent these places are more hung up with being seen there than having fun or meeting someone new.

3. Separate yourself from the “competition”. Take advantage of the fact that you’re on holiday and go out on a weeknight. There’ll be fewer people, reducing your chances of success theoretically, but in reality, you’ll likely meet quite a few interesting sorts without having to “fight” others for your dream target’s attention.

4. Don’t fret over your linguistic limitations. Don’t think that because you know the right line in someone’s language and repeating it over and over ad nauseam that you’re going to appear more witty. And don’t even consider uttering “voulez vous coucher avec moi ce soir” to male/female French speakers. Trés boring. What wins people over ultimately is a compelling conversation.

5. Lastly, wear one of the first 100 T-shirts designed by the Trourist team. Who can resist succumbing to all that the Route 66 Trourist Tee represents? ; ) ; ) ; )

Even though all of us at one time or another has been guilty of being a tourist or acting like one, allow me to dedicate a few lines to answering the question: What in heaven’s name is a tourist?

1) Anyone who’s ever ordered an “authentic” serving of sangría or goulash. You know the type, he or she feels they’re getting down with the locals cos they stopped off somewhere to sample the most typical dish at the most typical place. Truly “authentic” dishes don’t advertise, they sell themselves, and don’t serve as a pretext for opportunists to charge more and offer less. Do your home-based favorite haunts –regardless of which city you come from– ever announced their authenticity? Do they put out flyers or people on the street to draw you in? The question is a rhetorical one. We know the reply: Of course they don’t!

2) Anyone who treats those places visited as if they were monuments, part of the landscape, or interacts with others as if they were hostesses hired by the local tourist bureau. Tourists love to stroll and act/react surprised. They will observe: “Look at that half-naked, undernourished child. Poor thing! Let’s take a snapshot OR “Look at that smartly-dressed exec. I’m sure he’s the director of some top bank.” Living a city for this kind of tourist is no different than visiting a zoo.

3) Anyone who hits the ground running — and heads straight for the local souvenir shop to pick up his “I was in Lanzarote”, “J’taime Paris” or local football team T-shirt. Regardless of what you think of someone who falls in love with a city he or she has just met, a T-shirt does not denote your kinship with a city; on the contrary, it has the opposite effect. You’re sending signals to all who see you, informing them that you’re a tourist which is how they’ll treat you.

Photo by: Sebastían-Dario

4) Anyone who would never list photography as a hobby, but suddenly fancies his or her natural talent for capturing the most touching and tender moments on film, including grass growth at some public garden. This kind of toruist is so busy leaving no stone un-photographed, posing before/beside/behind any monument as proof of the good time he or she is having, that they never quite get around to even knowing which city they’re in.

5) Anyone who when meeting up with a local, say a taxi-driver for instance, asks the same two questions (usually after having knocked back a few). First on the list is: What’s your favorite team? And should the listener play along, follows up with a second question that usually centers on: “Hey, just how pretty and hot are the girls around here anyway?” When this unsuspecting tourist gets hit with a fare three times the going rate, seismic shocks take over. Then again, he may be too tipsy anyway to consider the fact that perhaps a local might not be up for chit-chat which debases the resident female species.