Grungy hostel, Great View (15/100)

San Sebastian, SpainI left Barcelona the day my good Catalan friend got on a plane to visit her  boyfriend in New Zealand (these are the kinds of sentences you get to write when you and your friends are travelers -it’s pretty great).

Her family dropped me off at the bus station and I was on my way north. Except I missed my bus because I was trying to meet up with a cute Columbian boy who I ate tapas with for eight hours in Granada. Yeah… We didn’t meet up or fall in love, or anything interesting like that, I had to wait a few hours for another bus AND I didn’t get into San Sebastian until one in the morning.

But sometimes that happens on the road.

When I arrived, I was surprised to see my destination was a tiny station -essentially just a curb with a place for the bus to stop -with nothing open around it. No information desk. No indoor benches to curl up on for the night.

I knew I had to find a cab to get to my hostel but even that was a challenge. I saw them coming around across the street but couldn’t catch their attention. Imagine me running – with my backpack and big, rolling suitcase – from cab to cab. This went on for about about 15 minutes without avail before a woman came up, said something in Spanish and pointed behind me.

That’s where a flock of taxis were waiting to pick people up… Ashley’s embarrassing euro-trip continues.

The cab driver took me to the address I had for the hostel and I found myself in a completely residential area. No signs. No obvious hostel. Before he could leave I darted back to the cab and asked him to help me find what I was looking for.

He eventually spotted a tiny hostel sign propped up in the garage window. I rung the bell and an Argentinian guy leaned out out of the second story window. He said if I had been any later he would have been asleep.

Casualty of staying in a surfer hostel run by travelers working for a bed.

I had a bunk in a room with about eight Argentinian guys – as far as I knew I was the only chick in the whole hostel – in a cinderblock-walled section of the garage.

The next morning I woke up to find a dingy, broken bathroom and a toilet seat in the the kitchen trashcan.

toilet seat surf hostelEnjoying my misadventures? Check out a few classic Traveling Ash posts like:

Getting Screwed in a Granada Taxi (where I got epically lost with all my gear- per usual)

Spain Travel Recap (where I was thrown over the should of a Spaniard trying to take me home, peed on by a dog, and played chicken with a bus)

Journalist on the Run (where broken plumbing and a burnt tortilla prompted me to run away from home)

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