When I woke up this morning, only Lucca and Andrea were still in the hostel. Judging by the contents of my wallet, I asked Andrea if we went to Milan yesterday. The drinks were quite expensive, and we didn’t exactly drink a little. Well-spent money, as we had a wonderful time. I asked Andrea if he had ever stayed in a donation-based hostel, where you pay whatever, you want, or nothing at all. His answer was no. Since Andrea is from Milan, it was crucial to take him there so he could better appreciate things when he returns home. Lucca complained in the morning about having some problems with his ligaments and wasn’t sure if he would be able to follow us. We agreed to stay in touch and set off on our journey. Utterly boring, we walked all the way along an avenue of trees. To pass the time, I counted the trees. By number 5000, I was exhausted and texted Andrea saying I was going to the first bar on the way, or else I might just shoot myself in the head. This year, I didn’t bring any problems on holiday, since they don’t need a holiday. So, just fun and carefree living. Because I’m in good physical condition, I can afford to do more than the others. Not even a blister. When I stop walking, I’m not tired, my legs are light, not stiff like a rock. It’s a good feeling, as at first, all I wanted was to last until the end of the trip without pain and just enjoy. Blisters are nothing for me, but torn ligaments are a whole other story. After a nice beer, which is almost the best doping, I walked 4 km a bit more cheerfully in my brain and the boredom faded. When I arrived at the town, which was completely drained of energy and was also my point B, the final destination for the day, I thought I was going to die of boredom here. It was still early when I arrived. I walked to the first bar and waited for Andrea so we could walk together to the hostel. You can’t expect much from a donation-based hostel. When we arrived, Andrea just looked at me in disbelief. I smirked and winked at him. His look: "You’ll suffer today." Well, in the end, it was just me who suffered. But more on that later. They put us in a room with six other hikers, in a 3x3 meter space. It was musty and hot, and not everyone had arrived yet. What would it be like when they did? After washing off all the dirt of the day, I started sorting things out from my backpack in the garden under the shade of a tree. The clock didn’t seem to move at all. So, Andrea and I decided to spice up the rest of the day with golden laughter – a joint in hand. It didn’t take long for my brain to spin 45 degrees. We went to the bar, and on the way, we saw all the trees dressed in crocheted artwork. Apparently, the people who live here fight boredom like this. The grumpy old man in the bar was working, probably around 50. I asked Andrea if it was just me, or if this guy seemed grumpy and miserable. "You wouldn’t be either, if you lived here," was his answer. Because we were both quite soft in body and mind after the joint, we decided to lie on the grass under a tree in front of the hostel. A little later, a volunteer from the hostel came, dressed in a short skirt, and apologised for disturbing our zen, but she was there to free a bird. We didn’t understand anything. At that moment, my brain was floating on a white cloud, and I told her that the bird was free if it’s in a tree. I didn’t get what she meant. Well, she explained that a few days ago, a young bird had fallen from a tree, and they had given it shelter in the hostel until it was strong enough to fly. A lovely gesture, I thought. A few minutes later, she returned with the bird in a cage. She had a chair in her other hand, which she climbed to reach the first branch, preparing the bird for its first jump to freedom. As I said, she wore a short skirt, and, of course, she placed the chair directly in front of our heads, which were looking up at the sky. You can’t help but look when she climbed onto the chair. I was "concerned" about our safety, if he fell off the chair onto us, we'd be in our asses (literally). I asked Andrea if he was acting like a gentleman and winked. He said with a smile: “Of course”. Yes, of course, that's as true as if I said I was the Blessed Virgin Mary. Then came the laughter we couldn’t control, so we retreated to the upstairs area where we were sleeping. We didn’t want to be around people because they wouldn’t understand us, and we wouldn’t understand them. There, we could laugh ourselves silly and enjoy it. Later, we heard that the other hikers were preparing dinner, and I was afraid they’d eat our bread, which was meant for breakfast. We’d left it on the counter, and since it was a donation-based hostel, we were worried they might use it for dinner. But neither of us dared to go among the others, as we both kept forgetting what we’d said and what we had to do. We even bet if our bread would still be there when they finished dinner. Since I trust people, I said it would be. Well, Andrea finally mustered up the courage and went to check. I told him to take a photo of the Wi-Fi password. He confidently said he didn’t need his phone, that he had a good memory. Well, it didn’t take long before he came back for the phone. He also managed to bring the bread. Which meant I won the bet. I then realised that the other residents would be coming into the room later. It was already too hot. The plastic mattresses promised we’d be sweating all night, and they were also loud, more so than some very excited woman. Andrea and I had beds in the lower part of a bunk. Above me was a guy who was longer than Monday and at least half as wide. I’ve been wondering for a while now, what’s the weight capacity of these old bunk beds? One can only be scared for their life. It would be quite an ironic death if such a mass fell on me and buried me forever. I hope the Slovenske Novice ([1]) wouldn’t disappoint with the headline. What would the headline be, if I asked you readers? I already have one in mind, but I’d like to hear something more original. Just for fun. Anyway, when the other hikers finally came to bed, one Italian decided at 10 PM to prepare his backpack for the next day, which was full of rustling plastic bags – a trauma I still carry from my first Camino. I thought he’d be done in a few minutes. Nope, it took forever. With some Slovenian curses, I made it clear I’d throw his backpack out the window if he didn’t stop. The Camino code is that after 10 PM, there must be total silence. If you’re packing your backpack for the next day in plastic bags, do it in a space where no hikers are sleeping. He wasn’t happy when I went at him, and neither was I. Then another Italian came, who didn’t have a sleeping bag, like Andrea, and dared to close the only window, which was our only chance to survive. I asked him if he was missing a clue. He said he was a bit cold since he didn’t bring a sleeping bag for the Camino. I told him I couldn’t care less if he froze, as it was his own fault for not bringing a sleeping bag on such a trip, which is a MUST here. If he even tried to close the window, I’d kill him. For one person, we wouldn’t all suffer. I said the same to Andrea. He didn’t touch the window. But my biggest problem was the person in the upper bunk above me. He kept tossing and turning on the mattress, making it impossible to sleep. I went to sleep in the lower area, on the stone shelf, and in the morning, I felt broken, as though five ravers had danced on me. In the end, I didn’t screw Andrea over, but myself. HAHAHA... karma’s a bitch. As for the contributions to this hostel, in the morning, I only left my poo in the toilet.
[1] Slovenske Novice - Slovenian tabloid daily newspaper, main topic: crime news
