Overseas Surprises

Hostels...such a study in contrasts. I have been so pleasantly surprised by the youth hostels we have stayed in thus far. Two down and two to go!

The first hostel was in Haworth on our journey to the home of the Bronte sisters. It was such a contradiction to be staying in the house of a mill owner whilst (that's how they say "while" in England) making a pilgrimage to the home of those authors who wrote of the social evils of class exploitation and the evils of industrialization.




I expected hostels to be boring, dirty and crowded with low-life. Wow, that sentence would have put me in the class of the elites of the Brontes' time! Alas, the hostel was lovely inside and out. The entry way, the stairs, and the common room lounges and meeting rooms were elablorate, to say the least. During our time there, we had the place almost to ourselves, as a large group had just left and another wasn't coming for a few days; we even got to stay in the same room like a big slumber party.

In reality, we lived as if we were "to the manor born." Someone supplied us with clean, folded bedding, cleaned our room whilst we were on a walk, cooked a nice, hot breakfast for us in the morning, and then washed the dishes! And we only paid them a small fee for this. It was almost as if we were exploiting the working class. Comical to think of, in a way.




The next hostel was a similarly impressive building right up next to Edinburgh Castle.











I foolishly expected it to be similar to the previous hostel. After all, in the States, mid- priced hotels are all pretty similar (with some exceptions, of course!) However, my pre-trip expectations were much more accurate here. It was loud, I was in a room with perfect strangers, I had to sleep on the top bunk, and the bed was already made when I got there. Did that mean they hadn't really changed the sheets? The hostel was described by a member of our group as "gritty" and I couldn't agree more.






It was also very hostel-y inside, but I was surprised at the sheer silliness of the place! The rooms all had theme names. Some of my group stayed in a Snow White room, and the beds were named dwarf-style; Thelma's was Touchy-Feely. My room was the Latin Room, and the name of my top bunk was Gluteous Maximus. Appropriate, huh?


And now the big surprise; I didn't really care about any of this! I was too tired to care if some stranger had slept in the bed before me. The loudness cat-calls right under my window as a parade of women against breast cancer marched by dressed in breast-appropriate clothing did not keep me awake; I didn't bother to get down from the top bunk to watch. Sleeping in a roomful of strangers did not rattle me; I even invited the Finnish girl in the bottom bunk to dinner.

And the biggest surprise of all? I was not surprised that I did not care. I have always been a confident woman, but this trip at this stage in my life has allowed me to be independent and self-reliant in a way that even I have not experienced before. I felt perfectly at peace leaving the group of younger girls and branching out on my own in order to experience all the sites of Edinburgh that I were important to me. I have come to terms with this alone-ness and accepted Professor Benander encouragement: "Embrace the old lady-ness. It is freedom!"