Hostel Life

One word that incites a myriad of mixed emotions out of travelers. 

Dirty. Unsafe. A hot bed of bacteria.

Cheap.

Convenient. Sociable. Easy. 

Cheap.

The Hostel.

Hostels tend to get a bit of a bad wrap. And occasionally a good one. It's all rather ambiguous. 
However no young traveler, backpacking their way across Europe can complain about a warm bed, albeit a bunk bed, for less than twenty pounds a night. 
I certainly didn't.    

Across the UK I stayed in multiple hostels all with varying degrees of cleanliness. Some extremely clean and some...well.

But for those traveling alone the cleanliness of your accommodations doesn't always seem to matter when a lonely soul meets other lonely patrons. 

The bunk beds were always my pet hate with hostels. Some missing ladders, squeaking with every shift or turn and some just plain unstable. And for some reason I was, of course, always assigned the-you guessed it-top bunk. Every. Single. Time.
I would say you get used to it, But you don't.
I remember the excitement as a kid when the opportunity to sleep in bunk beds occurred. They were they greatest nights. Not anymore though. Don't be fooled. In a hostel it's just plain inconvenient.  

Bathrooms. A place to be alone. To unwind and a place of privacy. In a hostel? Not so much.
It does take some getting use to. Walking from your ten bed dorm down a couple of corridors to the communal bathroom. Toilet stalls and curtained off shower stalls. You need to get comfortable quickly. 
The term 'co-ed' can scare potential travelers when in conjunction with the word 'bathroom'. When you put it together you get 'the co-ed bathrooms' also known as heaven. I was lucky enough to stay in one hostel that was completely co-ed. Never mind the co-ed dorms, they are everywhere, its the co-ed bathroom you want. That's right. Boys and girls all using the same loos. The term co-ed bathroom means one important thing. Locks. Locks on the shower stalls. No flimsy, translucent-esque curtains. Actual wood and actual locks. It was paradise.      

Two of the best. In my humble opinion.

The Generator Hostel London. 

I loved it so much I stayed here on two separate occasions. Now yes, the entrance is rather creepy and foreboding. Located down a poorly lit alley, and the facade of the building doesn't look all the promising either. However as with most things in life, you shouldn't judge a book by it's alley ways. Inside it's bight, colourful and whimsically decorated. With a bar and live entertainment, movies and hot food made to order, the Generator is definitely a good choice. It won't rob your wallet either. And the selling point? Each floor allocated a whimsical theme. James Bond. Dr Who. I stayed on Mary Poppins. Twice.      

The Generator Hostel

Castle Rock Hostel Scotland, Edinburgh.

Nestled away, right behind Edinburgh castle, the Castle Rock Hostel was extremely pleasing. And contained those all important co-ed bathrooms. The hostel was decked out in a medieval theme to reflect the view that hits you as you step out it's doors while the old style layout and decor makes you feel warm and cosy. Comfortable. Welcomed. I slept in a ten bed dorm filled with a few American guys and men and women of a nationality that has still remained a mystery to me. (While hostels are a great way to socialise, people traveling in packs aren't always the chattiest.) 
Just a moments walk from countless pubs and the Royal Mile, this hostel is in the perfect location.        

Castle Rock Hostel

You can find hostels located in the most convenient places all across the UK, right in the thick of it or a simple five minute walk to the nearest tube station. Some with bars and live entertainment downstairs or common rooms to socialise and cheap breakfasts and other meals. Hostels especially save you a chunk of money better spent on the essentials: clothes and nick-knacks. Good food, good people and a good time.

The towels aren't free though.    
   

A Little Town Called Bedford

Bedford.

Never heard of it?

Neither had I until my sister decided it was high time she moved to the other side of the world and live their.

Having heard in long, laborious details about the extensive nothingness of Bedford I still visited. For a couple days at that.

She lied to me. My sister that is. Bedford may be a very small town but it was picturesque as all hell. A beautiful embankment with a plush pub (The Embankment) right on the water front. Cobbled streets and ancient buildings, night clubs and fast food open at three am. What more could a person ask for? 

And it was Christmas, which in England means decorations. Everywhere. That's one thing they do right, their Christmas decorations. 

Sitting, drinking in a beautiful pub surrounded with people you don't know all that well is surprisingly enjoyable. Especially when you're waiting for fireworks. Fireworks to celebrate the turning on of the Christmas lights. Nothing more then in the honour of flipping a switch. Or a button. Or leaver, depending on their turning on methods. It was a beautifully loud sight while shivering in the beyond brisk air.    

 Magic.

Everything in England seems to be tainted wonderfully with Magic. But maybe That's my Rose tinted glasses talking.

One thing I know about small towns, they do their clubs right. Good booze and good music are always the combination for a memorable night, that is if you do indeed remember it. It's not the scale of the club that's important. Though admittedly it does help. 

I had a good night in a town called Bedford. Drink. Dance. And cheesy chips at three in the morning. Drinking games back at the apartment only to see the sun rise and break through the drawn curtains that morning.

Fuzzy Duck. Ducky Fuzz. Fuzzy Duck. Duck Fuzzy...Drink.  

A Town Called York

A good train trip will consist of good music, good company, hot tea and tickets sticking haphazardly out of the backs of the seats.

And a really excellent train trip will end at the town of York.

Everyone at some stage in their existence has wanted to live in a castle. I have. And what a better way of grasping at this childhood fantasy then tasting just a touch of the medieval town of York.

The outskirts are rather deceiving with their unimpressive buildings and monotonous streets. Completely misguiding.

When you hit the walls you'll understand what I mean. The moment i saw the large medieval walls encircling the entire inner city of York I was enchanted. When I hear people describing things they 'love' I tend to listen out for the embellishments, for signs of those rose tinted glasses, but while donning my own pair of metaphorical rose glasses I cannot critique this city.

Within the entirety of my trip, and I do say this a lot and it will be said in the future, York was one of the most magically enchanting places I visited.    

The York Minster itself was on a scale too large to be wholly captured by camera.

Navigating York can send you 'round the twist though, every which way we turned we somehow ended back in the same place and not where we were hoping to be spat out. Makes for an entertaining adventure however frustrating.  

Wandering around a place like York makes you perpetually happy and suddenly through this happiness logic is seen where insanity was previously. Like the logic of eating ice cream during an English winter. It's so cold it won't melt and therefore you are able to savor the taste much, much longer...while your fingers slowly become frostbitten. Logic at its finest.  

Medieval walls surrounding York