Hostels and Homes pt. 1

“By all means, go out into the world and explore. Kiss strangers, kiss friends, fall in and out of love until your hands and heart are libraries of all the people they have touched. Before long we all learn, right down to our bones, that some people are hostels, and others are homes”- Beau Taplin // Hostels and Homes

*Part Two is about shitting where I eat HERE.

*Part Three is a tribute to my friends HERE.

Hostel

Living in a hostel is great. Until it’s not.

I lived in a hostel for about five months in Melbourne, the Nomads at St. Kilda Beach, July-December 2019.

I didn’t have much of a plan for my working holiday in Australia aside from 1. Find a place to live and 2. Get a job/ Make money. I chose to live in Melbourne because: easy to get around with multiple forms of reliable public transit, a lot of people my age, plenty of job opportunities because of the city and it came highly recommended.

I arrived in the height of winter where it was bitingly COLD. Something I learned about Melbourne weather: It doesn’t make up its mind. You’ll experience all four seasons in a day so you should dress in layers, bring a jacket and an umbrella. Being the off season, there were a handful of us at the hostel and we slowly became friends by hanging out in the TV room watching movies.

I chose to stay at this particular hostel because of two big reasons: 1. All the beds have curtains and their own power strip. And 2. Luke C. The former are rare luxuries which truly make a difference in comfort and privacy. The latter is a 420 Jesus looking fellow with a calming demeanor and good advice. I was considering switching hostels to save some money and feeling indecisive.

Luke: Did you come to Australia to make money or have a good experience?

Me: Honestly, I came here to make money, but I like the vibe here at the hostel. People are chill and it’s nice to come home to familiar faces. I’ve been on the move the last few years and I haven’t had that in a while. I’ve never felt “at home” at a hostel.

Luke: Home is wherever you are. Heaven is where you rest your head. How much would you really be saving anyway? Is it worth it?

Me: No. You’re right. I’ll stay.

Rooftop

The first three months were the glory days. It was winter and the hostel was at partial capacity so pretty much everyone knew everyone. We would all hang out on the rooftop after dinner, play shithead (card game), smoke copious amounts of weed, drink, listen to music, talk about our days, get to know each other, or just sit in the midst of everyone while staring at a phone or reading. It would be cold and rainy but we’d be huddled together, warm enough, having a good time.

Evenings on that rooftop were truly some of my highlights in Melbourne. And one warm Sunday afternoon in winter, we planned an impromptu BBQ by the beach. A handful of us had taken mushrooms too.

We were all in the same boat: Here is Australia doing working holiday visa, working or trying to find jobs. Some people tried harder than others- those others being the ones who would stay on the roof all day and just smoke. Oh well, people find their way in their own time.

Part of the social atmosphere was smoking weed, particularly spliffs (weed and tobacco). Some of my friends would go through a bag in a few days. I didn’t do nearly as much but I got into a bad habit of smoking more than I usually do, too frequently and I felt the negative affects over time. I felt depressed and my gums started to bleed which freaked me out.

After about four months, I abruptly weaned myself off and don’t have much desire to do it anymore except socially every two weeks or so. Pro tip: I know people smoke spliffs because it stretches out the weed and some like the taste, but I recommend just doing away with tobacco. It’s terrible for you, but you do you boo.

When the rooftop would close, people would move to outside the front door of the hostel to finish smoking. It was nice to come home from work on a Friday night and see my friends all chilling outside like an unofficial welcoming committee.

Kitchen/ Dining Hall

Sometimes I’d eat by myself and watch videos on my phone. Sometimes I’d sit with people or they’d sit with me. Strangers easily became friends because of sheer proximity.

I learned how to meal prep: Carbonara and Spaghetti Bolognese. If I had just finished cooking and a friend walked by, I’d offer them a taste or a bowl. Some individuals partook in the outcome of my cooking quite frequently. It felt nice to take care of people.

After the rooftop would close at 10p, I’d be in my special spot in the dining hall having munchie time surrounded by a ring of food and snacks, eating. Cheese, noodles, pasta, chips, milk w/ Ovaltine, cookies, chocolate bars, fish and veggies etc.

Friends would join, especially my fellow hospo warriors coming home from work and we’d talk on a more intimate level before going to sleep around midnight. Or we’d do kitchen karaoke.

My Bed

After the first two weeks of being shifted around, I slept in the same top bunk bed in the same 14- person dorm for the entirety of my stay. I might have been more comfortable in a smaller dorm and a bottom bunk, but I got used to my place. I wasn’t uncomfortable.

As far as noise, it was pretty standard with exceptions. Of course, I’d wake up to people’s early alarms. For a while, I was unlucky enough to have a guy sleep below me who SNORED terribly. Sometimes I would climb down, shake him a bit and then climb back up. I told him to his face a few times, “I don’t hate you as a person. But I don’t like your snoring. It wakes me up. Yes, I did shake you last night.” Eventually he moved rooms. I’d still smile at him and say hi if I saw him.

Being on the top bunk, it was pressed against another unit so I was right next to another top bunk. I became friends with a guy named Hugo because of a misunderstanding/ cold war with his luggage. He had the worst spot in the room because he could not readily access his locker without simultaneously blocking the door. At night, when the other would get into bed, we got into a habit of peeking over our dividers and chatting with each other before saying goodnight. I’d also put his sweet nuts in my mouth. He worked at a nut cart which sold cinnamon sugar nuts and he’d bring some home =P

Overall, not much happened in my bed except sleep, watching YouTube and trying to stay warm. I also had my organized chaos pile of stuff at the foot of my ladder.

The Gym

A coworker recommended their gym to me: South Pacific in St. Kilda. It’s a 10 min walk from the hostel and I went EVERY DAY. It had a gym full of equipment, tons of classes, a huge swimming pool and a steam room. I bought a 6 month contract up front and it cost me about $120 per month which breaks down to about $4 per day.

I would do 1-2 yoga classes (barre on Wed), 30 mins in the steam room (and running into the ocean in between rounds), shower. That’s 2-3 hours every day…and I loved it! My yoga skills and flexibility have greatly improved and I’m proud I pushed myself to diligently focus on this activity every day.

It was my happy place, a convenient escape from the hostel, my decompression from work and eventually…the best part of my day. But that’s not a good thing.

I realized I wasn’t happy in the rest of my life and I needed a change.

Beginning of the End

The last few months of my stay, the hostel had a massive influx of new people and the gradual leaving of fond friends also became more abrupt.

I’d go to the rooftop and it would be crowded, most of the faces I wouldn’t know by name. I’d walk into the dining hall and wouldn’t see a single familiar face. We used to have free pancakes in the morning and then they stopped making them.

I started to feel trapped but also without an anchor. I didn’t look forward to coming back to the hostel in the evenings and became less social. I had too much free time and not enough happy moments. I wasn’t growing anymore; I was just getting by.

A huge factor in my desire to leave was because I shit where I ate, and it finally shat back. More on that here.

Mid-November, I went to the travel agency. Met a girl named Amelia first thing in the morning and it basically went like this:

Me: I’ve been here for too damn long and I need to get out of here.

Amelia: You could go up the East Coast. Do you have an idea what activities you want to do?

Me: No, but I’m open to all of them.

Amelia: Great! You can do these and go to these places. (She whips out a map and calendar, starts drawing stuff up). Two month trip, with everything, will cost you about $3000. And there’s an outback trip I think you’ll like, costs $1500.

Me: Sounds great. Take my money. (Hands over card).

The two weeks leading up to my departure were great. I truly believe that knowing there is an end to everything makes life sweeter and misery more bearable. Good things aren’t meant to least forever and sometimes it’s only in hindsight we realize how good it was.