Silly me. When I was in Ireland I should have paid the few extra euros for a trip to the blarney stone so I could get some luck on my side. Sadly, I was too caught up in castles, guinness, shopping, baileys and shopping to remember to pet a stone. As a result, I am now sick. Probably some dreadful disease contracted from the smelly hostel guy.
For those who are backpacking novices, allow me to expound upon the one aspect of hostelling that makes it the most incredible and/or disgusting experience of one's life: strangers. My general theory with regards to backpackers is that they are all cool. I figure that anyone who takes 2 weeks to 4 years off of life to travel the world is sweet. Thus, hostels are an incredible meeting place of these free spirits without a care in the world. They can also be a meeting place for bums without a dime in the world.
Last night, unfortunately, I met the latter. The individual sleeping in the bunk bed above me was dirty, smelly and about 59 years old with stringy, greasy gray hair pulled back into a disheveled ponytail. He wore dirtstained plaid pants that hung off his emaciated frame and his grungy white Hanes shirt was speckled with ketchup stains. When he first walked into the room in the afternoon, my heart went out to him. Then I realized that he was pissed. At 2pm. Later that night, after stumbling back to my room with my lovely new friends (who fell into the "cool hosteller" category) I lost any traces of sympathy for the old man.
As I walked into the room around 4am or so, I wondered whether or not he was still around. Sooner than I would have liked, I got my answer. Drenched in alcohol and clearly in want of a shower, I smelled him before I could see him. Then, I heard him. Talking in his sleep. Loudly. In a thick, drunken Scottish accent.
"Ghrarrhhhhssssh Grashshs grand ghahhah!"
I got into bed as quietly as possible in an effort not to wake up him or the other 9 people in the room. I put in my industrial strength earplugs and hoped for sleep to take me quickly. Despite my best attempts at sheep counting and calming Hershey's/Algebra coffee fantasies, sleep eluded me. Freaking smelly man. I just wanted some shut eye.
Nothing doing. Smelly man continued to punctuate his loud, slurred outbursts with turns so that I was not only faced by a barrage of unpleasant words but the screachings of metal on metal as the mattress springs shifted under his weight. Generally, mattress springs are a welcome surprise in a hostel. Not so this night.
Then, he... I'm almost embarassed to type it... started farting. Continually. Not silently, but most certainly deadly. Worst part is that he kept waking himself up after every outburst. Then, he would clamber down out of bed and go to the loo. However, he didn't seem to know where his card was, so he propped the door open each time he left the room, letting in a floodgate of light for the five or so minutes he was gone. I hate light when I'm trying to sleep, but at least it was a reprieve from the smell.
Then... the piece de resistance...
he fell out of bed around 6:30am. An extremely difficult task when one considers that there were relatively high railings on the bed to prevent such an occcurence. I am absolutely baffled as to how he managed to fall. I think he was a bit surprised as well for he emitted another puff of gas on his landing.
I had to cover my mouth to keep from laughing. No small task when you are also holding your nose. Very awkward all around.
Anwyways... I think I caught a cold from smelly man.
That's okay... all I have to do between now and next Thursday (when I come home) is attend a few barbecues & a bar crawl, have many teary partings, pack, study and take a final.
