Hostel: Not the Movie

After a very long bus ride to Marbella, we stumbled down some steps and ended up in the front of the Hostel El Pilar. Kind of dirty and outdated, we were a little frazzled and had hoped for a bit more, maybe. One star shouldn’t have implied that, I suppose. The first lady at the front desk was not so friendly or nice. She just demanded our money. In cash. There goes my fat wallet. Weightloss central.

The room was fine. Just fine. Kinda damp, squishy, plain. But really quite adequate. Still not sure what I was expecting for a steal, in an off-season town, in a one-star hostel. 

She warmed up to us, but the head guy, Scottish Michael, was just beyond friendly. Probably in his mid-forties, consistently drinking and sometimes burping, but always apologizing for those burps. He insisted that if I was serious about the hospitality industry, I should know it’s not sitting around with beer (really?). And I should get a wife. Well, I’ll take his advice on half of that.

Spent a solid half hour playing with dinosaur figures.
Forever young?

With a free round of ‘farewell’ beers (mind you, it was only our second night), he imparted several tales of a life well spent around the world with people everywhere. He told us an epic tale of some adventures with a monkey stealing some car keys in Nairobi and fantastic actuation of his impressions of Brits, who he dislikes strongly. 

He very much liked to make bottom-line statements, global truisms, saying ‘all joking apart’ randomly in conversation, and mixing ridiculousness with serious stuff (Canadian travelers writing bad reviews, burning fake passports, and Bernie Madoff? Interesting blend.)  He also happened to be fairly hard of hearing and hard of memory, which made for unpredictable twists in conversations regarding answers to questions unasked, cursing matches, and rants about unrelated topics.

Before we went to bed, Scottish Michael showed us a profound Youtube video called “Knickers Off” and flattered me by saying I have a way of “hitting the nail on the head.” He also said his mother was waiting down the street, that we were rushing him, and we deserved to be spanked. (Ew. You’re drunk. Stop. We’re just sitting here being polite).

Well, I do hope I have given his *unique*character, his commitment to hostel chatter, and his decision to call me 'Amy' justice in this blogspot.