I spent the night in a hostel in Lone Pine, California, last Thursday. Lone Pine sits on the eastern edge of the Sierra Nevadas and is interesting in its own right, but let’s focus on the first thought: I spent the night in a hostel.
It was my first. I texted my youngest daughter/world traveler in advance for any advice for an old man, and she replied, “Don’t be one of those weird old men who just stays in the hostel all day.” Quality feedback. So I chose to be one of those weird old men who does not stay in the hostel all day. She asked why I was staying in a hostel, and I answered truthfully: Because I am cheap. It is surprising that this personal trait had not led to previous visits. That could be because I am also an introvert, and the prospect of zero privacy may have overcome my cheapskatedness prior to last Thursday.
Well, I arrived at 7pm and was assigned to Bed #4; thankfully, a bottom bunk in the small room outfitted for ten occupants. There were several men there when I arrived, engaged in a natural hiking/climbing conversation given the mountain location of this particular hostel. I, the Introvert, used our one bathroom and then immediately left for dinner.
When I returned a couple hours later, it was a different story: still several men, but zero conversation. I dropped my backpack, laid down, and got my bearings. Six of my new roomies were around—one tall, Danish-looking young man out on the balcony, and five others in their respective beds with the lights on either reading, snoozing, or on cell phones. Two were older than me (although I’m not sure if either spent the day hanging around the hostel!). The room stank, which is unsurprising when several men, most of whom had spent the day backpacking, take off their boots. There was a mini-fridge and a microwave and a television—none of which were in use. The two older men soon fell fast asleep. One immediately started snoring. Great. Otherwise, there was a lot of awkward silence.
There was one very brief conversation that included yours truly. A young man of Asian descent in Bed #1 dropped his metal water bottle with a loud clatter, and I crawled under Bed #2 to retrieve it. He said several things in a language I did not understand until he said clearly and carefully, “Thank you a lot.” Not a problem, my new friend.
Eventually Mr. Great Dane came in and turned off the lights for the seven of us, and the night that followed was eventfully uneventful. One of the older men had a coughing fit that seemed to last for an hour. There was a bit of a snore fest to which I may or may not have contributed. At one point I noticed a stealth Roomie #8 arrive for the night and when morning dawned I was surprised to notice that at some point apparently a Roomie #9 had claimed one of the two remaining top bunks. And with morning this band of hostel brothers arose one at a time and left in silence. Upon reflection I decided that maybe hostels are actually designed for introverts. I was number seven of nine to hit the road, thirty-one bucks poorer and one experience richer.
I have not formed a strong opinion on the hostel experience. My daughter/hostel fan calls it “an underdeveloped industry in the U.S.” and I suspect that is true. At least I now know what to expect. And if I learned anything, maybe it is that I am not yet too old to try something new.