"Adventures in Hostelling" Writing Contest

Winning Stories

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I, Caballo

Starting the Camino, we were told that if we reached a hostel and the rooms were full and we had to sleep on the ground, we'd do it because we're pilgrims. If the way was rainy and cold, we would keep going because we're pilgrims. If we had to walk without food, we'd do it because we're pilgrims. Peregrinos to the locals, and so we were. My friends and I were some of the few who stopped a mere 10 km from the end of the 750 km journey. We were tired.

We were dirty. After check-in, we found the showers in a unisex bathroom. They had no doors and sat across from the mirrors. This meant that anyone glancing into the bathroom would see straight into the showers. The Camino had inculcated a cut-throat response to hostel services, so we showered anyway with one friend watching while two of us stripped down and hopped in.

A woman entered. Our lookout, who knew the most Spanish, began shouting "Caballos! Caballos! (Horses! Horses!)"

He was trying for caballeros, or cowboys, which was a bit closer. He did at least succeed in distracting the woman while racking his brain for a better word. Chico? Muchacho? They seemed like latino(a) slang from the U.S.

Frustrated, "Caballos!"

Finally she glanced over at two naked pilgrims blushing in the showers. "Ah, muchachos!" And she left.

If we shower naked and get seen by women, we do it because we're pilgrims.

by Spencer L. Green
Provo, Utah
HONORABLE MENTION

Surrendering to Sichuan

Jean, Mary, and I -- all mid-life travelers -- recently eschewed the predictability of modern hotels for our first hostel stay in unpredictable China. A month prior to the May earthquake, Sichuan was famous for spicy cuisine, Giant Pandas, and three World Heritage sites, including the birthplace of Chinese Buddhism. In April 2008, my biggest concern is that the tension in Tibet has trickled into Sichuan's large Tibetan population. My other concern is Mary's sprained ankle and impressive air-cast. Landing in Chengdu, I am feeling a bit old for hostel life.

But Sims Cozy treats us like favorite grandchildren, with a perpetually full candy dish at reception, plastic shower shoes tucked beside the bed, and a plethora of companions for the pet-deprived traveler. Each morning, we enthusiastically embark, our tummies full of oatmeal, our minds loaded with meticulous advice from our hosts. In the evening, Mary ices her ankle and we share a $6 bottle of Great Wall Cabernet and our memories, most delightful of which is ballroom dancing with grandmas in People's Park. At midday, I retreat with Milk, a kitten whose wailing halts in total abandonment to our catnap. A Buddhist truth revealed: Grasp at nothing. Resist nothing. When I depart Sichuan, I have fallen in love with it.

When the devastating earthquake unleashes mind-boggling destruction, I try to recall this: Grasp at nothing. Resist nothing. I am once again reminded of the necessity of living in the present, and the blessing of doing so among friends.

by Holly Davis
Bloomington, Minnesota
HONORABLE MENTION

Well-Aged Whiskey

The wind outside is howling and the stinging rain of Inishmore is slapping the window panes, begging to get in. It's been too nice outside for too long, three straight days of warm sunshine, and now the island is making up for it with a vengeance. The clouds pound on the door as if saying, "I want some 30-year-old whiskey, too."

But this whiskey, it's all for us. The kitchen-dining room area is an oddly calming mix of old suburban domestic and cinder block bomb shelter, but the five of us in the middle, we're an island of style and panache. There's a Scot, an Italian, and me, the token American, all under the age of 24. Across from us, two Irish high school principals, all white hair and tweed and good intentions. The questions come from us, the free-flowing whiskey and answers come from them.

Why didn't we need to introduce ourselves? When I sat down and joined in the conversation, there was no shaking of hands, no exchanging of names. Just an offer of whiskey and friendly smiles. Do we ever need introductions? Of all the laughs and inquiries we shared, that one went unasked, unsung.

We sat there in the harsh fluorescent lights while the beast of an isolated Irish island wailed around us. The hours ticked by, and five nameless men from four nations across three generations answered what was, for me, a new question.

Do we ever need introductions?

Maybe not.

by William Jones
Asheville, NC
HONORABLE MENTION

Christmas Arrives in a Box

Christmas can either bring out a person's inner Santa Claus or trigger melancholy. A year filled with the emotional tsunami of my father's death due to pancreatic cancer, relationship challenges with my partner, and health issues had left me completely drained. My partner had agreed to travel to the Redwood Hostel over the Christmas holiday with the hope of revitalizing our spirits by hiking in the old-growth redwood forest.

When I made the reservations I asked if the hostel had a Christmas tree or decorations. The hostess indicated that they did not. In spite of my spirit being weary, I wanted to enjoy a festive environment and I felt the urge to make a small contribution to help brighten the holiday. I decided to purchase an artificial Christmas tree for the hostel, and instead of eight tiny reindeer, our car delivered the tree four days before Christmas.

We set it up with a few lights but it was still pretty bare. It was a humble start to creating a festive atmosphere. Over the course of the next few days we noticed that other guests had added their own decorations. A strand of "popcorn pearls" appeared. Polaroid pictures of hostellers became ornaments. A giant plastic starfish became the tree topper.

We brought a copy of It's a Wonderful Life and on Christmas Eve, everyone joined us to watch the movie. Someone even made Christmas cookies. While simple in manner, each little contribution made that Christmas one of the most memorable.

by Lindamarie Guardado
Redwood City, California
HONORABLE MENTION

A Middle-Aged Hummingbird in China

I might never have gathered the courage to travel China alone in 1988 if it hadn't been for some hardy travelers I met in a hostel. What a loss that would have been, since China and students turned friends have been the most remarkable part of my life for the last 20 years.

Curiosity drew me to China the first time. I had traveled alone before, but not to such a difficult country with such an inscrutable culture. I timidly entered Guangzhou with a tour from Hong Kong and stayed after the group left. I shared a hostel room with two young women who had just finished independent travel in China. I picked their brains rather desperately, but the helpful hints they gave me were not as powerful as just seeing that the two of them had actually survived the experience.

I don't remember who they were, but knowing they had done it encouraged me to put my backpack on and set out on my own adventure. I wish I could thank them for being that initial inspiration that led me to get a job teaching English in China, change my life's career to teaching after that experience, and bring me back to China 15 times since then.

I was a witness to the stunning metamorphosis of China in the last two decades, wrote a book about it, and am forever attached to China because I became the honorary grandmother of six Chinese grandchildren.

by Suellen Zima
Laguna Woods, California
HONORABLE MENTION

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