I am the oldest person in the room I would say by at least 10 years. I wonder if they can tell?
There is a cosmopolitan group of just about twenty somethings talking about where they are from. Where they are going. Where they have been. The conversation isn't exactly flowing.
We are in the 'lounge' area, which is long, smallish and parallel to the 'kitchen' area, also blue. The 'youth' are lounging on large industrial pale grey bean bags, there is a wide screen TV, two Internet stations and a fantastic view of the Remarkables and the Lake outside.
There is a thin girl from NYC eating an extremely strong smelling burger next to me and it is taking her ages as she never stops talking about herself and her boyfriend back in the states, where they are from, where they are going, where they have been. I remember the first time I travelled …. same old questions, where are you from? How long have you been travelling? Where have you been? Where are you going ? What are you doing today? Have you done a bungee jump? Have you done the jet boating? Have you done a sky dive? Have you been horse riding? Have you been in a helicopter? Do you have any bothers and sisters?
There's posters everywhere and I think they are telling me I am really not meant to be a back packer anymore, the box has closed but I am still stuck inside, I am in the wrong zone, I have taken the wrong train, I am out of my league.
When I tiptoe through the dorm filled with boys snoring, to the tiny shared shower room to brush my teeth there is a poster and pictured is the back of a 'youth's backside' with 100's of 16 year olds below transfixed whilst wildly drinking pints of blue stuff. The poster says ' Get your Rocks off Tuesdays' or something like that! I added a poster of my own the other day. It said ' Would you please keep the shower curtain inside the shower so as not to flood the bathroom. Thank you.' Next day it was gone and there was water all over the floor and the sodden bath mat was hanging over the edge of the sink dripping. I just don't understand.
There are posters all over the fridge swell, one says 'Ginga DUDE? Free drinks vouchers for Ginga Mingas at Winnie's on Wednesdays. SICK!'
There's another poster in the kitchen that says 'Monday Mad for it Moustache Night - Grow one, paint one, buy one! RAD! $25 bar voucher for best Tache!' Maybe I could go to that one.
The girl has left the burger on the table half eaten and I really want to put it in the bin.
I cant stop looking at it … its driving me insane.
She is talking about a man selling pee in Venice Beach and how she thought she should set up her own stand selling pee which she thinks is extremely funny. She says the man she saw was scraggy and had no idea about marketing. I am not quite sure what on earth she is going on about but no one else seems to realise that she is obviously a bit of a twit.
The plate less burger is still sitting there, staring at me.
There's a large group of Irish and Ozzies in the kitchen who are getting pissed .. its the same party dudes that get pissed here every night and no one else in the hostel can hear each other because they are all so constantly totally awesomely hilarious that they laugh constantly, swear constantly and flick coins onto a plate.
The only girl in the group works here at the hostel, her voiced is etched in my psyche as I hear it next to my head in the laundry room behind my bed every morning 'I just don't know why I ….ing did it? He's not worth it!' . She is about 22 tops. She has long dyed black hair, is slightly overweight in a young podgy way but wears her T-shirt off the shoulder exposing her black bra strap and her grey tracky bums. She has lots of kohl liner and a fawn coloured trilby on the back of her head, fringe swinging over one eye. She actually really looks like Boy George, am I in a time warp?
Its like a competition to who can say the F word the most in one sentence.
I have just filled up two hot water bottles round the corner so no one could see me. One for my aching bottom and one for my freezing feet.
I went to yoga again yesterday but I had to go to the BIKRAM class. I have 5 sessions to use up and it was the only one available on a Sunday. It's the hot one, the room is heated to 40 degrees. It is like torturous army training in the top of an oven. I thought it would be nice to be warm. I had to buy a pair of shorts in the 5 seconds before the class as she took one look at my thermal long johns and suggested that i might actually die wearing those. Bear in mind there's no time to pay till the end and she also throws a vile vest top, dominant colour beige with pale pink palm trees on it, at me and I have no choice, my cotton blouse obviously won't do.
I am rushed into the class of insects and have to stand i the only available space directly behind a column in order to avoid being in the front row next to Mariah Carey on the right and Kate Moss on the left. I am slimISH but the room is full of olive skinned, petite rubber bands obediently following the instructions of a fellow stick insect. I feel lardy and unenthusiastic. She shouts repetitive instructions and garbled messages about pushing yourself to your limits except she keeps getting her words mixed up possibly because like a machine this class has NO PERSONALITY WHATSOEVER. The good thing about the column is I cannot see myself in the mirror but soon we start doing side curves and stretches and I am mortified to catch my increasingly purple face above a fusion of beige and skin coloured middle age spread, black cycling shorts, impressively hairy legs and the hint of an occasional pink palm tree looking back at me.
Anyway to cut a long story short, I hated every minute of the 90 minutes! I pulled a muscle in my right hip and the soaking shorts at the end of the class were $49. I couldn't believe it. Theres more fabric in a corn plaster.
They haven't even got a label in the them or on them and they are most definitely made in china and have zero natural fibres. I said 'You are kidding? They are only 20cm long!' Stick Insect said ' You are investing in your healthy future' What!? MY ARSE I AM! But of course … I politely paid, I had to, they were soaked. I could tell that she didn't like me much after that. What a rip off to end a bloody awful class which did as much harm to my ego as it did to my bottom and now i am sitting on a hot water bottle.
Today I have started to repack my case again… I need to do some washing but I cant bear the thought of hanging wet washing in my cold room. God its so bloody cold at night…. theres a white square of laminated wood screwed into the wall, they call it a heater … Theres more heat in a slice of cheese.
What is it about small plastic bags that become so so appealing when you are travelling? I cant bring myself to throw them away, they are like gold.
The smell of washing powder is sadly missing in my life.
Ta Ta for now.
Lucifer Gardileany Boiling Bendy Bandy .