Low-cost midlife crisis

As it turned out, we spent the whole day in Berlin and spent a second night – in a youth hostel. Even in my own head I’m not actually a youth (I think I’m about 35 in my head, rather than the 56 that the rest of the world sees, and which is born out by the evidence of the actual number of years I’ve been alive). Well youth hostels have changed…

Firstly, they are just hostels now. They cater mostly to youths, but they are not age restricted. Though, as a fogey, one does feel a little out of place.

Secondly, and most obviously, they have sprouted like mushrooms. There used to be one or perhaps two in a city, and were usually affiliated to the IHYA. They tended (at least in my experience) to be fairly basic places, run on a shoestring and sort of a service. They may even have been run as charities or NGOs (I presume the YMCA in the US kind of fit this model). Now they are big business, with bars and cafes, where large numbers of people can stay and meet up and get wasted. And, they are not exactly cheap either. A dorm bed is about €40 in most places. Some even run the kind of scam that low cost airlines run, drawing you in with a low price offer and then whacking charges on top. “Want to breathe air, while on board? That’ll be extra”. One of the hostels we located promised a bed for €27, but then added “you are not permitted to use a sleeping bag in our hostel, and you must rent sheets for €7”. So, that would be €34 then.

Anyway, the plan had been that in most places the members of our party who actually were young, would stay in hostels and the old folk among us would stay somewhere else. Our first night in Berlin, that’s exactly what we did. The unanticipated second night we all ended up in one. We managed to get one room for 4 to ourselves, while B, my older daughter, volunteered for a bed in a bigger dorm with strangers.

After we put our bags down we went out to be tourists and when we came back her stuff had been put on the floor and clearly more people had checked into that dorm than there were beds. This kind of confirmed my suspicions/prejudices about the level of organisation at hostels. But they did manage to locate her another (unoccupied) bed. The bar didn’t seem like my kind of place. Or rather if I had sat in it I’d have been assumed to be a narc, or simply a dodgy old bloke leching after people young enough to be my grandchildren. There was a big sign down in the bar reading “Please respect our neighbours, be quiet after 10pm”. I have to say that the neighbours didn’t get much respect. It did get a fair bit quieter after midnight though and it was Friday so perhaps the neighbours are a bit more tolerant then.