He has spent quite a few nights in youth hostels. What he enjoys most besides the cheap price, is the “bed and breakfast” atmosphere, without having to be at a bed and breakfast. You know the B&B in the vintage home with the old couple who are out on a long drive to see the leaves change, or the tip-toeing newlyweds who apologize for bumping elbows with each other at the community breakfast table. That won’t last long. All the while, everyone is trying to be so polite while they stuff their faces with the complimentary grub. And don’t miss the over imposing hostess going on and on about the cranberry festival. Blah, blah, blah.
No, he digs the grunge of the youth hostel. There you sleep in bunks with folks traveling far from far, away. People cook in their bunks on small camp stoves, or get by on yesterdays stale bread and peanut butter. The more industrious can use the kitchen facilities, but the bottom line is we are all on our own. This promotes cooperation and sharing, not competition for the one remaining bagel in the B&B wicker basket.
One can only hope that our off-spring gravitate to experience and exploration rather than conformity and acquiescence. So when he heard his daughter, who had been studying abroad for a semester in Australia, had to spend a week in a youth hostel because of a passport issue, he grinned. As she reported back of the travelers from many countries and the gleam in their eyes as they recanted things seen and things done, she was hooked. Only a hostel can provide the richness of the road, and the companionship of our fellow dudes and dames.
So much in our society offers separation and anonymity, when what we really need, is something else. Perhaps.
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