I always knew there were going to be times during this trip that things weren't going to go quite right. I didn't, however, think that things were going to go so wrong on the very first day.
Yet here we are.
Let me get right to the point by saying that our hostel in Singapore cost us about £8 a night. Very cheap. Especially for a place like Singapore where everything is expensive. It was almost too good to be true. We scoured the hostel's TripAdvisor page and the majority of the reviews were excellent, the pictures looked good and overall, it looked like a fairly reputable, safe and friendly establishment.
Evidently we were wrong to ever assume that because this particular hostel was THE PITS and I know I use this expression a lot, but it really was rougher than a badger's arse.
We arrived at the hostel at about 10am; we knew we wouldn't be able to check in for another 4 hours, but we hoped we would be able to drop our bags off and come back later. The good news was that we could do exactly that. Thank fuck for the fact we wouldn't have to lug them round the city in 30 degree heat all day. The drop off point was literally a hallway near the front door with a load of other bags in - not the securest, but we had all our valuables on us so we thought we'd take a risk and just dump them with the rest of the bags. The bad news was that as we were waiting at the check in desk, two fellow backpackers emerged from upstairs, grabbed their bags from the mass of bags and literally FLED the hostel without as much as even a glance back. It was almost as if they had taken one look at the place and noped straight out of there.
Obviously this was a bit of an alarm bell, but at this point we hadn't slept in over 24 hours and just wanted an easy life, so we chose to ignore it.
We were also stung by a $40 deposit we knew nothing about. But again, we wanted an easy life, so we just paid it.
After walking round Singapore ALL DAY, we finally made it back to our hostel at about 9pm. No exaggeration, but we must have walked a good 20k that day; needless to say, we were ready to drop. Thank god for our cheap and cheerful hostel, am I right?
The lady took us upstairs and gave us the Grand Tour and it was during this 2 minute tour, that we realised we had made a grave mistake.
The 'chill out' room that looked buzzing, cosy and friendly on the website consisted of one sofa and one bolt-upright plastic chair that may as well have been dragged straight out of a skip for all the comfort it possessed. There was one old man sprawled out on the sofa watching the TV in silence.
Our room was a 10-person dorm full of solo travelers who were all male, all over the age of 50 and worst of all, all silent. The friendly backpackers hostel we had envisaged was being clubbed to death before our eyes.
Callum's bunk had a half-eaten tuppaware container of food on it and mine had an array of suspicious stains, including one that looked exactly like a puddle full of water...except for the fact it wasn't wet (the fuck?).
The lady showing us round scuttled off and left us next to our bunkbeds, jaws fully open. We took a deep breath and decided to check out the bathrooms and showers before judging it any more.
We shouldn't have bothered.
The toilet was fully blocked and almost overflowing with toilet paper. The shower next to it was broken. Nice. We walked to the other side of the hostel, praying to God that there would be more than that one toilet. There was, but there may as well not have been for all the difference it made. They were in equally as bad of a state, if not worse thanks to the overpowering stench of urine that came within a 20m radius of them.
Callum and I said nothing to each other, but exchanged a look that said, "We need to leave."
When we got back to our room, I reluctantly got my MacBook out and immediately started searching for hotels nearby. Everyone else in the hostel room was deadly silent and the only sounds were of me and Callum whispering and the typing of keys. A few of the people in the room were eyeing us up in a way that made us feel very uncomforatable and only confirmed our decision to get the hell out of there.
In the end, I found a hotel about a kilometer away. It was £200 for 5 nights. Definitely not ideal. Definitely not within budget. But definitely what we wanted to do. Click. It was booked. We read no reviews; all we knew it was the cheapest thing we could get.
We scurried downstairs and asked for our deposit back. The woman at the desk offered us an upgrade, but all we wanted to do was get out of there, however, she wasn't taking no for an answer and showed us anyway. The room she revealed was actually pretty decent and nothing like the horror story we had seen upstairs. It also came with functioning toilets. It was tempting...almost tempting enough to make us change our minds, but it was fully booked the next night and we would have to move back upstairs for that.
Absolutely not. I would rather take my chances on the streets.
We decided to leave.
The walk to our hotel was unpleasant in every way imaginable. We were tired from the lack of sleep. We were exhausted from all the walking. It was dark. We had no map. We had no idea where we were or where we were going. The only thing to hand was a very unhelpful screenshot from Google Maps I had taken on my phone before we left; it had no road names, no directions, nothing - just a birds eye view of our new hotel.
*At this point I gave up writing the blog and gave it to Callum to finish. So, the rest of this is him*
The hotel we had booked was named Hotel 81, and after wasting valuable energy walking in a massive loop we eventually found ourselves on the correct road and soon enough we found Hotel 81.
We skipped into the blissfully cool reception and explained we had booked a room online about an hour ago, the man behind the desk checked the booking screenshot on Emma's phone and informed us that the hotel we wanted was a few streets down.
Riiiiigghhtt. Okay, I guess it isn't IMPOSSIBLE that a successful hotel chain might have 2 sites very near each other in a busy and popular city, but it does seem unlikely. Anyway, we headed back out into the sweaty night in search of the correct Hotel 81.
The streets were becoming busier and busier as time dragged on, so much so we had to walk in the road for the most part. Restaurants and bars had sprawled out into the pathway and I had to use about 85% of my concentration powers to avoid smashing someones Thai Yum Yum soup all over the floor with my gigantic bag.
Emma was so exhausted by this point that her brain seemed to utterly shut off when crossing a side road; this resulted in a game of chicken between herself and taxi.
She won.
Finally, we reached another Hotel 81 and once again we were welcomed by an air conditioned lobby and a smiling face.
Once again, however, it was the wrong Hotel 81. Once again we were told that our Hotel 81 was a few roads down.
With clenched jaws, we continued walking down the road and it was at this point that we reached what can only truly be described as the seventh circle of hell.
The heat was unbearable and sickly, the bars leaked out sprawling masses of inebriated people, the street was lit only by the glowing signs of tacky mobile repair shops and fast food restaurants. We walked past a car park filled to the brim of people gambling over everything from card games to dice and there were prostitutes patrolling a strip outside a
This ladies and gentlemen, was the start of the road our hotel was on.
Having turned down the blessed street we reached Hotel 81, AGAIN, and walked into ANOTHER reception.
If they so much AS DARED tell me to walk on I swear to God I was ready to throw my bags down and sleep in the lobby.
The woman behind the desk started to say that this was not the correct one.
My bag was off I was DONE I was staying here whether she liked it or not.
Luckily however our Hotel 81 was over the road. Literally. I am not making this up, but there was a FOURTH Hotel 81, just a stone's throw away.
In case anyone who works for Hotel 81 ever reads this blog, SORT IT OUT. Use something to distinguish between your hotels!! Colours, numbers, A, B, C, the names of Nazi concentration camps - ANYTHING
JUST. DO. SOMETHING.
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