Morning in the Hostel


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Europe » Germany » Bavaria » Nuremberg (aka Nürnberg)
September 28th 2010
Published: September 28th 2010
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MorningMorningMorning

Rainy Day at City Hostel
I woke up slowly from a dream that receded as fast as I ran after it, then faster. Soft light filtered through the curtains and delineated the sink, the red locker, the blue-painted door, and the floor lamp that had a paper shade in the shape of those extraterrestrial pods that take you while you sleep.

The hostel was quiet for once. Warm under a thick feather comforter, I hated the idea of moving, of breaking the spell.

But I had to pee.

As quietly as possible I slipped out of bed, and looked out the window. As far as I could tell from the narrow airshaft/courtyard, the light looked good, the sky a pale morning blue. I made sure I had my little electronic key nub in my pocket—I checked twice because I’d really hate to get locked out of my room in my jammies with no mascara on. As I walked down the hall and into the bathroom, motion-sensing lights clicked on in my path: I felt like Captain Kirk.

The bathroom vent windows were open, and I was surprised to hear rain falling. Damn these super-efficient European windows—I never suspected rain!

When I finished, I studied the handle that flushed the toilet. I knew it wasn’t just a flush—it was a torrent. With these thin walls, I was afraid I’d wake the entire three-story hostel. But I sure as hell wouldn’t not flush. I pressed the handle, then walked quickly back to my room, cracked the window open, and dove under the covers.

But it was too late. Soon I heard someone cough. Someone opened a locker on the landing. Across the hall, I heard the Australian guys laugh. I don’t know how a laugh can be Australian—spacious and sunburned—but it’s true. The bathroom door slammed and someone else peed, then coughed. The door to the shower room closed and I heard the shower come on, in soft counterpoint to the sound of the rain.
Downstairs, it sounded like the flatscreen TV was now on. The Japanese girl said something to her British friend, then giggled.

I’d done it—with one small act, I’d set the world back in motion. I pulled the covers back up to my chin and rolled over, for another 15 minutes of denial. The rain had thrown my plans into disarray—taking the tram to the outskirts of town, the site of the huge Nazi Party’s Rallies, wouldn’t be as pleasant in the rain. Maybe I’d grab my umbrella and wander the parts of Nürnberg’s Altstadt I hadn’t yet seen. Or maybe just grab some more sleep.

I could swear I smelled sausage frying.


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