Tonight the Mosque was full. Men spilled onto the sidewalk to pray, while merchants sold trinkets from blankets nearby. On the block near my hostel is a hamam, a shop selling couscous and kebab, two jallaba stores and an Islamic bookstore. Shabab selling cigarettes crowded us on every corner.
No, I’m not in Morocco. I’m actually in Paris. It turns out that Chev and I booked a hostel right in the middle of the Algerian/Moroccan/North African district of Paris. It’s nice to feel at home in the scent of familiar foods and spices, the sight of hijabs and jallabas, and even the sound of Darija.
We’d read reviews of this hostel which had warned us of “sketchy Libyans selling cigarettes”, suggesting that solo women travelers avoid the area. Chev and I viewed the possibility as humorous, in that it was both oddly specific and the presence of Arabic speakers promised, to me at least, that there would be at least some one in Paris I might be able to communicate with. When we got off of the metro and literally saw Libyans selling cigarettes (I wouldn’t go so far as to call them “sketchy”- they seem all right as far as shabab go,) we both burst out laughing.
Paris is a laugh. After a surprisingly delicious breakfast on a flight we otherwise slept through entirely, Chev and I landed in ORY and found the subway. On board, 4 kind Irish women asked how I was managing such a heavy bag and we got to chatting. They seemed as amused by our youth (I suspect they mistook us for much younger girls- one asked me if I’d had the tattoo on my foot when I left home as though implying I’d run away to rebel a little) as we were by the sight of 4 women older than our mothers traveling abroad together. We found our comically small hostel and enjoyed a few cafes before exploring the neighborhood and trying to repair my (sadly, hopelessly broken) shoes.
A note on hostels: I love them. Usually youth hostels are the best way to travel, the cheapest and most social. I’ve met some great people this way, helped and been helped by others about whom I know nothing more than age, first name and country of origin. Sadly getting stuck in a room full of inconsiderate, prissy girls really takes the fun out of the whole setup, and that is where I find myself tonight. While I’d still recommend hostelling to any student traveling abroad, tonight I have to acknowledge that there is some downside. Perhaps the last few days in hotels rooms with only my friends has spoiled me on sharing an 8x8 space with 6 (very loud, very inconsiderate and very odd) strangers.
Anyway, Chev and I have a full day of walking, exploring and eating planned for tomorrow. Photos of us being dorky in black and white will certainly follow once I get time to upload them. I hope you are all well and that my classmates who read this have made it back home (or on to your next adventure) safely.
As you get older, hostels will lose much of their charm. The cheap will still appeal, but everyone will be very young and very loud, and you will hate them all and just want to sleep, even if it's in a room the size of a loveseat, so long as its all yours.
ReplyDeleteOr maybe that's just me?