I barely slept on my first night in the hostel. I fell asleep past 4 and was woken by the clamor around the room just past 6:30. I went downstairs for breakfast only to find, to my disappointment, that they served only coffee without mugs, orange juice that tasted more like fanta than orange, cereal with milk (which I couldn’t have as I’m lactose intolerant), and plain, white pieces of square supermarket bread with packets of butter and marmalade. I had some toast, some orange juice and some coffee in a glass before I left for the day.
I returned early that evening exhausted and desperate for sleep. For once, my bed was unoccupied. I curled up in it and drifted off. Less than an hour later I was woken by a pair of girls chatting as they entered the room and found their beds. Soon enough they recognized my presence and their voices quietened to a whisper, but I still heard them giggling at the notion of someone already in bed. Nevertheless, half an hour later one of the girls was curled up in the bunk next to mine.
I slept in bursts, attaining a cumulative 8 or so hours of sleep over the 16 hours that I lay in bed (with occasional trips out of it for hydration or the bathroom). By morning, I was sufficiently well-rested and in a cheerful mood. When an alarm of piano music and birdsong woke me around 7 and continued to ring for half a minute before its owner put it on snooze, I was unbothered. I simply rolled over and opened my book. I remained unbothered when the same alarm continued to go off every five minutes for the next hour.
I breakfasted on toast, coffee (for which there were now mugs), juice, and cereal with soy milk that I had bought for myself. My mood was high as I left the hostel.
Unbeknownst to me, it was the last good night’s sleep I would have for nearly a week.