The Hostile Hostel

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A follow-up to my previous post...

Later on that first night, Rose and I got back to Paddy's Palace International hostel and found the door locked. A very grumpy man opened it and informed us that the front door was around the back (that's Belfast for ye)... so we apologized and tiptoed up the 150-year-old stairs with its 150-year-old handrail that had clearly not been washed in as many years..yecch... We opened the door to our dorm which smelled like the great unwashed masses. Rose threw up her hands and said, "that's it; we're outa here!" She hauled our suitcases back down the 150-year-old stairs, out onto the 150-year-old street. There we were, out on the street at 1 a.m. in a not-so-posh corner of Belfast, with two suitcases in hand and nowhere to sleep. I was laughing and pleading with Rose to think of it as an adventure... to be reasonable--where would we get accommodation at this hour?

Fortunately, there was a guy outside having a cigarette who overheard... turns out he was from Calgary--of all things--and thanks to our fellow Canadian's ringing endorsement of the place, Rose relented and went back inside. (That, and the couple of drinks we had on the step maybe?)

Long story short... we hauled our suitcases back up the 150-year-old stairs and bunked in with other four other girls. In spite of her fears, Rose WAS able to climb up the little ladder to the upper bunk (all the lower ones were taken) we actually managed to fall asleep and lived to tell the tale.

Note to self: just because a place is called a palace, doesn't mean it IS a palace.

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Photos

The Hostel
This is where we slept. Gack. I got the top bunk.

The Hostel
Outside the other front door

On the steps of the hostel
We almost bailed out at 1:30 a.m.