salzburg

I needed to pee. Tim, my boyfriend, had asked me if I needed the toilet before we left the train station as I was known to need it at the wrong time. I hadn’t gone mainly because I didn’t need to at the time but mostly because I do not agree with the European way of paying to use the public toilets. We were in search of our hostel and had been for a while now. I had chosen the one with the unpronounceable name, the one on the hill overlooking Salzburg. It did mention in every review - not that reviews should be taken to heart - that it was a pain to find. I guess if the signs hadn’t been contradictory we would have been there sooner and the introduction to this story would have been different. There had been a first sign 200m ago that pointed us 200m in this direction but here was only another one pointing 500m another way. We passed a few of these all pointing in different directions before Tim got annoyed - mostly about hearing me complain - and decided we had to cut through the woods, which we did.

We finally came upon the hostel, a wooden cabin perched on the edge of this mini mountain we had just climbed. It made my muddied shoes worth it. Tim managed to sort out the keys, first being told that there was no reservation for us – the reviews also warned of lost bookings – then being told there were two free beds in Dorm 6. Perfect.

We soon realized Dorm 6 was housing all the lost bookings. We were Peter Pan’s lost boys. The room was located in the attic and you had to go up a very steep staircase to get to it, pushing your bag in front of you. It had a nice rustic feel, a wooden chalet style. Our friendly roommates were two Canadian guys and an Aussie couple, all for which the owner could not find an active reservation. We all thought this was slightly funny and this common anecdote brought on a nice travellers’ companionship.

Salzburg
When he turned around he looked like a backpack with legs in strappy man sandals and thin flailing arms.

Having managed to get the innkeeper to sell us a pint of beer - the whole transaction done in a whisper with the man giving quick looks over his shoulder to make sure his wife didn’t come in as the restaurant was shut and she wouldn’t approve - we sat outside overlooking the city. As we sat chatting about where we had been and what we had done, we saw a puffing backpacker come up the trail with a backpack twice his size. The thing was huge and I guess it made sense as he was moving to Salzburg for university. Nothing makes the discovery of owning so much crap as surprising as moving. He stopped to ask for directions to the hostel. We calmly pointed to it. He had a definite German accent, a fact that he confirmed a bit later. He was from Bavaria. When he turned around he looked like a backpack with legs in strappy man sandals and thin flailing arms. He stumbled a bit on the way to the door and almost tipped over at the weight of his bag but managed to make it inside standing just to come back out a minute later. He was red faced and not from exertion this time. They didn’t have his reservation and the hostel was full. We told him, grinning, that the same had happened to us. The German was still whining when the innkeeper came out scratching his head and said he had an extra bed he could put in infamous Dorm 6. I wondered where. The dorm was already very cramped but I figured the more the merrier.

We drank up and went in search of food. Judging by the horrible food we had – that’s an exaggeration; the average food - we ate in a far from authentic Italian restaurant that offered tables dressed in deceivingly Italian-styled checkered tablecloths. A friendly waiter served us. I don’t think he had a mustache but for some reason I can’t shake the impression he would’ve looked better with one so let’s, for the sake of this memory, give him a mustache, a nice mustache, an Italian mustache. Not that it’s relevant. My point being the good company did outshine the disappointing food and even though it sounds cliché, in this case, it was true. We had also managed to get the German to come along; his complaining was actually very entertaining. The guy disliked everything and for some reason that made me laugh.

Salzburg
A friendly waiter served us. I don’t think he had a mustache but for some reason I can’t shake the impression he would’ve looked better with one so let’s, for the sake of this memory, give him a mustache, a nice mustache, an Italian mustache.

The climb back up gave us a fancy for a drink. Tim and I had a bottle of wine we had bought in Eger, Hungary. We had planned to drink it one romantic evening but hostels are not really romantic venues so it was still untouched. The Aussies had a bottle of schnapps. They expected it to be the sweet peach schnapps used in the Sex On The Beach cocktail but it was pure and foul tasting pear schnapps. We still had a swig of it. The Canadians had a few cans of beer hanging about and the German just lay there complaining about the noise and how tired he was while we passed the bottles around, no glasses necessary. We all fell asleep at different points, with the feeling of contentment you get after a nice encounter.

The next morning everyone packed up to leave. Tim managed to bargain half price for the beds as we had slept snuggled up in the same single bed. We left without taking Facebook names or anything. We didn’t keep in touch. It was just a moment in time.

             

The Writer

I write stuff for fun, if it was for a living I would be homeless.

Find out more about me, Stefanie, here.

Quotes

Venice is like eating an entire box of chocolate liqueurs in one go. Truman Capote