Last time I backpacked and stayed in Hostels I was “doing Europe” with Husband The Second using a Eurail Pass. However, as we were over twenty five we could only buy a First Class Pass and what with our new designer backpacks, it didn’t seem quite the real thing, especially as we would stay in “married quarters” in hostels or alternatively stay in Pensions.

So I guess in reality its been thirty five years since I did the real stuff and after enjoying years of luxury travel I had no idea how I was going to adapt back to hostel life.

I was therefore feeling somewhat apprehensive when “Baloo” dropped me off at the Hostel and took in a huge gulp of air to settle my nerves before entering.

I found the Morty Rich Hostel online, both through Bookings.com and Hostel International.  It had really good reviews and was described as being “One of the coolest hostels; a posh historic mansion in the vibrant Montrose District.”

This felt right for my first hostelling experience and sure enough even before entering, the wide leafy street and handsome buildings including the Morty Rich reassured me that I might have made the right decision.

Check in was friendly and I was already getting the hostelling “buzz”

I soon found my way to my dorm “Room 3, Bed 8” and as soon as I walked into the room I knew I was back in hostelling world!

The room was spartan but attractive with polished wooden floor like the rest of the hostel; four white iron bunkbeds, lockers and one ensuite bathroom. Quite good standards compared to my experiences in the 70’s and 80’s and it even came with bed linen and a towel, albeit you have to make your own bed and strip it when you leave.

And there it was in front of me – the typical hostel scene -Suitcases and backpacks had clearly exploded – their contents strewn all over the room; clothes, towels, footwear, toiletries, hair straighteners etc……..just STUFF everywhere!

I was relieved to see my bunk was on the bottom.  I’d spent frequent sleepless nights leading up to the trip worrying about whether I’d manage to climb on to a top bunk if I were to get one and what kind of fool I’d make of myself in the process.  But I have to say that most of the top bunks actually had a rather refined staircase leading to them anyway so it was an anxiety, like so many which was uncalled for.

As I expected, no one was in as hostels are rarely occupied during the day.  So it was pleasant being able to get myself sorted out with my bed and locker and navigate the workings of it all without looking like the rusty backpacker that I am.

Obviously you never know who your fellow occupants are until everyone turns up at the end of their day of exploring, usually just in time to sleep.  But I was intrigued to see who the owners of the exploding luggage were.

I was the first to return to the dorm after dinner,  but within a short while a lone girl arrived.  I remembered that it is easy to break the ice in hostels by asking the basic questions “where are you from? where have you been? and where are you going?”…and so we were quickly exchanging “travel stories!”

She was my second Australian encounter of the day and I  was delighted to have another kin!  However in the spirit of a true Aussie she was only changing clothes before heading out again to party with some new found friends!

And then the gaggle of giggly, girly chatter started making its way up the stairs before the noise and mayhem burst into the room all at once – and there they were!  The Cheer Leaders!! The Sitcom/Hollywood All American Teenage Girls.  A group of them all travelling together!

They were polite enough to acknowledge me in American English before resorting back to their own high pitched Teenage Language, which I simply could not understand, except for the few little words here and there like (and you must read this to yourself in an American accent):

“It’s like OH MY God!” “That is soooo cool” “Whateeeevvveeerrr“

The ablutions went on forever and when I tried to engage and ask a few simple questions their only communication ability was to part answer me:

“So what time are you leaving tomorrow?” I asked my bunk mate, just trying to make conversation…. “Oh I think we’re leaving at……..”………(her face then went blank for a second before she re-engaged with her friends…”I’m like OH MY God….……” (Rest of conversation indecipherable………)

But they were sweet, polite girls and soon we were all settled down for the night.

Much to my surprise, considering the strange conditions and the time difference for my body clock I actually slept like a log………infact I suspect I might have sounded a bit like a log being sawed given my bunk buddie’s  glower the next morning when I tried to engage a bright “Good Morning” with her.

A help yourself basic continental breakfast was also included in the cost and the canteen style dining room  and kitchen were more than adequate once you got your bearings.

One of the Cheerleaders joined me for breakfast; she seemed too young to be backpacking, but  she was a lovely chatty young girl who did have the ability to finish a sentence.

So I discovered that they were a  chaperoned group of young people who had been drafted in from their school in New York for work experience to help out at the Super Bowl.  I imagine that will remain an experience of a lifetime for them for evermore.

While overall, my first hostel experience in twenty or even thirty-five years was very pleasant and exceeded my expectations, I did note with sadness that, while in the old days strangers, having a common interest in travelling communicated easily with each other over breakfast or in their dorms, and indeed that was part of the charm of hostelling.  Now, we all have our heads buried in our smartphones or laptops and barely lift our eyes to acknowledge each other.

Nonetheless, I chuckled as I passed the lounge room on my way out to get my Super Shuttle back to the airport.

There they were……..the true backpackers who genuinely do rough it!…..Maybe the hostel had overbooked or maybe it was a modern day moment of Xenia with Zues taking care of his homeless travellers, but the lounge room was filled with bodies; sleeping bags pulled over their heads, stretched out on sofas, chairs and the floor!

And my wanderlust was at last being fed once more…