I'll Sleep When I'm Dead

Hostel people are the most hard core people I have ever met. They never sleep. They never stay in a city longer than a week. They live out of a suitcase or a backpack. They have the craziest stories. They hold their alcohol well. They make fast friends and know someone in every city. One minute you’re talking to them, the next night you are best friends, and the next morning they are on to their next destination.

Hostel life is a thrill. Fleeting and ephemeral, not a minute is wasted on not making memories. There is a drive to see everything, try everything, take a chance, make a mistake, have an adventure, and meet a ton of people along the way.

But me? I’m here for a year. I’m in no rush. I’ve got time to sleep and time to see and time to have lasting relationships. However, there is something thrilling about these people that it is hard not to get sucked in. Hence, lame excuses like, “I’m tired, I think I’m going to stay in tonight,” are magically changed with some grand speech about youth being wasted on the young and “Noooooo it’ll be fuuuuunnn!” Coupled with a cheeky grin, it’s hard to resist.

While at the hostel, I never quite got jet lag because I never did much sleeping. It took a bit to catch up to me and when it did, I took some brilliant siestas.

Would I do it again? Absolutely—those few days in a hostel were some of the most exciting and memorable of my life. However, I really don’t think I will ever get used to boys just dropping their pants while I’m in the room and walking around in their boxer briefs. Or drunk girls giggling on the floor at 6 am.

Pues, que será, será.

My first night in Gràcia (Thursday the 18^th) was a whirlwind adventure. I pushed away my exhaustion from having gotten lost in the old city and stumbled upon some graduated Gauchos from UCSB. With our charming Santa Barbara party mentality, we were sure to have a great time. In fact, the festival of Gràcia reminded me a bit of an Isla Vista Halloween, minus the costumes and complete belligerence, plus charming decorations and live bands. The streets were packed with people and each street was decorated with a theme; bar doors remained open and everyone had a beer or mojito in hand; music blasted from the plazas and the night was hardly over when my group left around 3 in the morning.

Strangely, I love this picture because it is blurry instead of liking it in spite of that quality.

This street was decorated with masks

So many people!

We even met up with one of our native friends at the festival and his friend taught me some valuable phrases:

• Patada en el cullo = kick in the ass
• Golfo = man whore/player
• Zorra = slut

I know, this will come in handy one day.

We got a ride back to the hostel from our friend around 4 and I woke up with a start around noon the next day. Was my Friday already half way over? Had a languished away my precious time? Was this real life???

As it turned out, I did not waste my time and I got to see a rare moment in the life of the hostel people species: they rested. It was truly a shocking affair, but Gràcia seemed to wear most people out and someone put on Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King on the DVD player, and who can resist the power of LOTR? My plans of going to the beach or a museum quickly stumbled to a halt when I realized how tired I was. With exhaustion as I had, I could not fight the persuasive abilities of the extended version of Lord of the Rings. My dorkiness paid off and I actually met a number of people by sharing our favorite parts of the movies.

It was good I recovered then because I was in for a night of laughter with the majority of the hostel. Having met people from a few corners of the world, we decided to combine our rules for the drinking game King’s Cup and create an international version. We were about to get started when the table next to us said they were about to play, and that’s how I ended up playing this game with about 30 youth from all over the world.

Needless to say, chaos ensued. We pulled together most of the tables in the kitchen and drank an obscene amount of wine. I was quite content to call it a successful night, but I got cajoled into going out to Gràcia for a second night. We went in a large group and couldn’t remember everyone’s names, so we called each other by our nationalities.

“Australia!”
“Dubai!”
“Germany!”
“Netherlands!”
“Italy!”
“Canada!”
“Sweden!”
“CALIFORNIA!”

Yep, I got to be a state.

The next morning (Saturday the 20^th), I was quite sad to leave the hostel. It had opened my eyes to such a different culture of young people who seemed like they had seen and experienced so much while still maintaining a joie de vivre and an endless sense of adventure.

Then again, I was headed off to my next adventure: my stay at the Collegi Major Sant Jordi with my fellow exchange students.