Last night, I arrived to Nantes in an attempt to escape from my weekly routine in La Rochelle. I’ve always wanted to getaway for a weekend all by myself since I came to France. Lately, I don’t feel like socializing too much. That’s why I thought this weekend would be the best chance to travel.
I arrived to a youth hostel where I got (I think) one of the worst dorm rooms. Besides the fact that I didn’t have a wardrobe on my own to lock my stuff, the heat inside the room was awful, plus there was only a small window. There was a single bed and a bunk bed, and obviously the upper bed was left for me. Until now, I was taking things relatively in a positive attitude. But when my new roommate (a woman in her late fifties) arrived and started tidying up the things, I didn’t feel at ease at all. In an attempt to be polite, I told her I would do that myself, but she kept on talking about why she was asking me this. I just kept listening, trying not to argue (there was no reason to do that). All of a suddent, she stopped her diatribe and dropped: « Well, aren’t ya gonna pick up your stuff from the sink or not? »
I was startled. Wasn’t she asking for my permission to do that herself less than 30 minutes ago?
Later in the night, when our second roommate (a woman in her forties) got back around 1 am, I had been sleeping for an hour. The first roommate, let’s call her Lady 1, got up and started washing her clothes in the sink. Now I understand the need for both of the sinks… And she kept coming back and forth, ignoring the complaints of Lady 2: « I don’t mind doing this while you’re sleeping, you do the same when you wake up every day at 6 am ». In a nutshell, Lady 1 liked to wash her clothes in the sink at 2 am every evening, and Lady 2 liked to wake up and get ready at 6:30 am every morning. Before falling asleep, I thought of Vincent and how he must had been having fun with his friends at the festival, while I was strugling with two old ladies in a youth hostel.
Thus, the next day started at 7:30 am. After shower, I headed with all my stuff (because, oh surprise, I didn’t have my own locker in that room) to the breakfast room. The hostel was quite empty, and 90% of the guests were in their late forties. I kept telling myself that I should’ve booked an AirBnB, considering that there wasn’t such a big price difference. How can that be called a youth hostel when my two roommates are retired?
Breakfast room, Auberge de Jeunesse Manufacture. 27/08/2016