Sleeping My Way Through Europe

68. That’s my number. Impressive, huh?

I was sleeping around like there weren’t enough beds in Europe.

Things quickly got out of hand – I’d go through two, maybe three beds a week.

I didn’t want to admit it for so long. I was ashamed of what people might think, afraid of what my family might say.

Because there’s no classy way to put it – I’m in love with hostels.

68 hostels in 10 months wasn’t enough. I needed more. I needed to see every dorm in every city to satiate my hunger for hostel living.

I found myself sleeping my way through all sorts – floor mattresses, bunks 4 beds high, individual sleep pods, luxurious double beds, bed-bug ridden sheets, rooms with 11 roommates, others with no people at all. Rooms with snorers, strangers, old people, young people, drunk people, people in love, people making love (not my favourite type of roommate) – I mean, I feel like I’ve experienced the whole hog when it comes to low-budget accommodation.

Some find it hard to understand my love for such a unique form of lodging. And sure, I can admit it hasn’t all been sunshine and rainbows – between the bag snatching in London, falling off a three-levelled bunk in Milan to my near death (I’ve still got the scars), to sharing a room with an Egyptian guy who thought it was okay to leave miscellaneous bodily fluid in places one should not leave bodily fluid *shudders* – I still can’t deny that hostels are truly magical places.

It isn’t just the fact that hostels are brimming with youth, or smack-bang in the middle of a foreign city, or even the matter that a litre of wine will cost you the change in your back pocket.

I love hostels because of the people you pass in the halls. Or the person a few bunks over from you. Because at one point, they’re just another someone. Two days later, they’re your new best mate. A few months later, and you’re meeting up to travel someplace else together. Next thing you know, you’re staying with them in their native country, sharing dinner with their loved ones in their family home. And you realise that you’ve met someone so incredible and so inspiring, and it’s all because this place, this cheap little hostel, has brought you together. And it keeps on happening, over and over again, in a different hostel with a different someone. The girl cooking dinner in the kitchen. The group of students checking in beside you. The receptionist who carries your luggage up the stairs. The lady who lends you shampoo. The security guard who opens the door for you. Everyone. Anyone. Hostels bring people together. That’s why I love them.

That’s what made me go through 68 of them and still want more.

Because you never know who you’ll pass in hall.