Hostile Suitemates

Among my experiences with sharing a room at a Hostel, two incidents in particular always come to mind. Both stories involve young couples.

While traveling with a friend, we stayed in a Hostel in Rome that was particularly popular with students and young people. The rooms had two sets of bunk-beds, housing four people in each room. While there, we were housed with a young couple who was traveling through Europe on vacation from the schooling in the city of Chihuahua, Mexico. Now, I call them a couple, but throughout their stay they gave no outward display of affection between the two of them. They were quiet and reserved , keeping to themselves so much that they bordered being downright secretive. We spoke little with the couple, leaving before they awoke and returning after they had already gone to sleep. In fact, most of our interactions consisted of silently tip-toeing around the sleeping pair. Those few times our groups were awake at the same time, they spoke only in Spanish, using hushed tones and shooting furtive glances to either our pair or the door. They never smiled, They never laughed. There was always a somber atmosphere around their serious faces.

Then one morning, my companion and I awoke to an empty room. Evidently, they had departed in the early morning on short notice, surreptitiously gathering there belongings before sunrise. Looking back, I ask myself who these two wayward travelers could have been. Why were they in Rome? Was is something as innocuous as a vacation? They often seemed to be waiting, or watching for some thing. Perhaps some sort of signal? What nefarious business could have brought this humorless couple to the ancient city? I doubt that I shall ever be able to alleviate my doubts entirely.

The second couple was, perhaps, opposite in character to the Mysterious Mexicans. The young couple in question was from Australia. They were friendly and talkative, explaining their journey from Sydney as a quick respite from their university. Unlike the Chihuahuas, this couple had no qualms about displaying their mutual affections. All in all, they seemed amicable tenant; at least, during the day.

 After a long day of wandering, my companion and I returned to our room for a much deserved rest. The two young lovers had not yet returned; but being so tired, my friend and I simply decided to go to sleep rather than awaiting their return. We were, as I said, quite weary. We were awoken somewhat later by something horrible. The young man was crying out in pain, in what was half scream and half agonized moan, like some pitiable spirit bound to wander the mortal world until judgement day. Imagine being startled out of your relaxing slumber by such a horrible sound! Imagine the confusion! Imagine the fright!

What's more, one we were fully awake my companion and I had no inkling what our response should be. What, exactly, are the rules of etiquette for midnight screams of terror? In neither of our collective upbringings could we find any manner of ingrained social response to this situation. Should we help? Perhaps give him something to bite on, as if he were having a stroke. Should we wake him? Perhaps rolling him over onto another side, as you would for a particularly loud snorer. We simply had no response. We were utterly flabbergasted. We were left, staring up at the ceiling, enduring the haunting cries of the young man until the small hours of the morning.

In the morning, we convened to discuss our options. Is this a matter to bring to the management? Perhaps complaining would only make things worse. We imagined confronting the management about the issue:

"Excuse me."
"Yes, hello? Are you enjoying your stay?" asks the manager.
"Yes, but..."
"Everything is working out?"
"Yes, but..."
"Excellent!" The manager returns to his ledger with a satisfied air.
"Well yeas, but we've been having some trouble with our suite mates..."
"Pardon," says the manager, returning his gaze to us  with a confused look on his face.
"The young Australian couple. They're quite lovely, but the young man has been keeping us up all night"
The manager frowns, furrowing his brow.
"The young man seems....to be...screaming during the night..."
The manager look worried, even disturbed by this comment.
"And well, we've been unable to sleep very well. So would it be possible to move rooms?"
"Umm..." the manager appears to be sweating now.
"Like we said, they're lovely. We just can't sleep."
"Umm...What,"  the manager's voice is hoarse, almost a whisper. "...Australian couple?"
"Pardon?"
"There's no one else assigned to your room. You have the room to yourselves..."

So, having decided that the young Australian were in fact ghosts, we decided no to anger these two tragic shades. We endured.

So, hostels are excellent ways to save money and meet new people. Even people who might be spies, or people who might be ghosts.

The Curse of the Traveller

I recently ran across an interesting account of something called the Curse of the Traveler.

An old vagabond in his 60s told me about it over a beer in Central America, goes something like this: The more places you see, the more things you see that appeal to you, but no one place has them all. In fact, each place has a smaller and smaller percentage of the things you love, the more things you see. It drives you, even subconsciously, to keep looking, for a place not that's perfect (we all know there's no Shangri-La), but just for a place that's "just right for you." But the curse is that the odds of finding "just right" get smaller, not larger, the more you experience. So you keep looking even more, but it always gets worse the more you see.

At the same time, the more you travel, the more numerous and profoundly varied the relationships you will have. But the more people you meet, the more diffused your time is with any of them. Since all these people can't travel with you, it becomes increasingly difficult to cultivate long term relationships the more you travel. Yet you keep traveling, and keep meeting amazing people, so it feels fulfilling; but eventually, you miss them all, and many have all but forgotten who you are. And then you make up for it by staying put somewhere long enough to develop roots and cultivate stronger relationships. But these people can never know what you know or see what you've seen, and you will always feel a tinge of loneliness. You will want to tell your stories just a little bit more than they will want to hear them. This gets worse the more you travel, yet travel seems to be a cure for a while.

None of this is to suggest that one should ever reduce travel. It's just a warning to young Travelers, to expect, as part of the price, a rich life tinged with a bit of sadness and loneliness, and angst that's like the same nostalgia everyone feels for special parts of their past, except multiplied by a thousand.

This was paired with an excerpt of a letter that Thomas Jefferson wrote to his nephew on August 10, 1787: 

Travelling. This makes men wiser, but less happy. When men of sober age travel, they gather knowledge, which they may apply usefully for their country; but they are subject ever after to recollections mixed with regret; their affections are weakened by being extended over more objects; & they learn new habits which cannot be gratified when they return home. Young men, who travel, are exposed to all these inconveniences in a higher degree, to others still more serious, and do not acquire that wisdom for which a previous foundation is requisite, by repeated and just observations at home. The glare of pomp and pleasure is analogous to the motion of the blood; it absorbs all their affection and attention, they are torn from it as from the only good in this world, and return to their home as to a place of exile & condemnation. Their eyes are forever turned back to the object they have lost, & its recollection poisons the residue of their lives. Their first & most delicate passions are hackneyed on unworthy objects here, & they carry home the dregs, insufficient to make themselves or anybody else happy. Add to this, that a habit of idleness, an inability to apply themselves to business is acquired, & renders them useless to themselves & their country. These observations are founded in experience. There is no place where your pursuit of knowledge will be so little obstructed by foreign objects, as in your own country, nor any, wherein the virtues of the heart will be less exposed to be weakened. Be good, be learned, & be industrious, & you will not want the aid of travelling, to render you precious to your country, dear to your friends, happy within yourself. I repeat my advice, to take a great deal of exercise, & on foot. Health is the first requisite after morality. Write to me often, & be assured of the interest I take in your success, as well as the warmth of those sentiments of attachment with which I am, dear Peter, your affectionate friend.