Barcelona hostel

An Argentinian guy talked to me on the balcony in Spanish. He had a nice scarf and didn’t fully fit the scene.

A drunk—“I’m twenty-three tonight! Yeah!”—American kept cutting in, insistent on pronouncing the “h”. A-HOR-A…wait, wait…A-HOR-A YO…”

Laurence the Australian came to borrow my alarm clock, as he was flying early to Paris to see his sister and her Parisian boyfriend. He would be staying in a hostel, because the apartment was emotionally cramped.

Also on the balcony were Michael and his girlfriend, both from Duluth, Minnesota (Michael originally from Wisconsin). They loved studying in Prague, talked about the clubs changing at a certain hour and all the E-tards coming out to play. Michael offered around hash, which was not strong at all. The girlfriend told me about dressing sluttishly to get free beer. When guys wanted more than to give her beer, she would hail Michael. Michael at some point threw up off the balcony.

Two half-brothers from Kelowna, fresh from beer pong, could be heard in the room. They discussed pot, pot legalization, and the pot legality differences between Canada and the U.S.

Dan from Calgary had been traveling for two months in Europe. He asked me if I wanted to do some coke. He talked about meth destroying some town north of Calgary. He said Red Deer was nice, though. He said that people selling coke in Spain mixed white powder with Novacaine, so that it numbs your nose when you sample it. He said it lacked the coke smell, though. He said I was the only sane and normal person he had met.

Two girls from Melbourne slept through it all. We had breakfast together and they asked me about Morocco.

The receptionist was from Dublin. He was too old to be as eager a hostel employee as he was. He got drunk and said I secretly wanted to be Quebecois. He asked Laurence about being over the bridge or under it, and neither Laurence nor I understood. I left before he explained.

Alex from Florida worked the hostel bar. He asked several times how I was doing and how Morocco was treating me. I couldn’t tell if it was sincerity or habit.