This week I decided I'm too old for my hostel. I'm 32 and sitting in the communal room at Lake Lodge in Istelwald, Switzerland. The conversations in the room include:
A girl and her Korean roommate talking about a tv show called New Girl. Also, about how many cities in Italy it is possible to visit in 5 days (it sounds like 6? Which seems high.) Also, apparently traveling in the summer is more expensive than traveling in the fall but it's okay because you can use a credit card.
A table full of Canadian college boys (young adults?) playing iPhone charades. They actually asked my friend and I to join in and explained they had 'cool, interesting rules'. They seemed sad when I declined. I felt bad.
A detailed small group discussion about how to play Uno that has somehow resulted in applause. Drinks are present.
So, what is the problem, you ask? These conversations sound lovely. Or, excluding lovely, a strong cause for skeptical amusement. The problem is that as I sit listening to all of this youthful banter, my arms are sort of sticking to the plastic, red-checked table cover and I am surrounded by flies. There are 45 plastic grocery bags piled on top of eachother in the fridge covered in tape and permenant marker. Our tonic doesn't fit correctly. Our ice displaced several large bags of frozen croissants, which seemed to upset the hostel hostess. The walls are thin and covered with weird hostel "word-art" (read: large post-its stating ideas like: Elvis is a state of mind). The hallway door starts slamming at 7 AM. The communal shower is full of weird, half-used products covered in other people's hair.
The good news? I am officially too old to do something! I feel very grown up. Most people my age are worried about childbirth and home mortgage payments. I'm launching a plan to stop getting attacked by this family of flies and I'm estatic to be celebrating this monument of adulthood.
Pictures of Switzerland below.
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