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| Burnt. |
Is that because since then our lives have turned upside down and writing about your travels from 7,858 miles away in-between your 9-5:30 shifts is pretty depressing? Partly.
But mainly it's because only now am I calm enough to really explain to you the immense hideousness that pounced with an unparalleled savageness to leave us desperately F.U.C.K.E.D.
*Exhales deeply*
From the top then...
We had just arrived on Langkawi island after this journey form hell and to say the hostel that welcomed us was poor would be an understatement. In fact it would be an utter fucking lie. This place was without the worst hovel I have ever had the misfortune to lay eyes on, let alone sleep in.
Now I know you're probably thinking that Emma and I must be a right couple of flowery wimps that can't even stand a single night roughing it; that no one can have SO much bad luck. I really don't know what to tell you but that the universe does really just hate us that much.
Still don't believe me? Let me paint you a picture, and in the interest of fairness, I'll paint it in my best Homes Under The Hammer voice:
The entrance to your main street hideaway begins by picking your way through the forgotten rubbish and cigarette ends still present from the once popular restaurant situated on the ground floor.
The stairway is gated for safety but will forever be unlocked for the easy access of guests, stray animal and possibly murderers. The stairs themselves are narrow and steep but the rough concrete and graffitied walls give a feel of authenticity and rawness, which in my experience is a rarity outside of public toilets.
At the top of the stairs you'll find another large wooden door which is also - you guessed it - forever unlocked. The reception desk is staffed with a relaxed, Caribbean attitude where someone might come and speak to you or they might just sit in the chair opposite you on their laptop and ignore your presence until they are ready. Who knows!? The possibility of it all is exhilarating.
Once you've finally been acknowledged, you're in for the grand tour. Firstly the washroom facilities: two showers and two toilets between about 30 guests. One great thing to note is that one of the toilet cubicles also hosts a shower, so if you ever need to shit mid-wash, you don't even need to towel off. The other shower and toilet are regrettably separate but they do have a little bonus of their own: they are plastic porta-cabins.
Now you might not initially think that is a great bonus, but I'll let you in on a little secret; we all know that when you turn the water off after a shower the first thing you notice is how cold you are and how you wish you could just stay in the warm water. Not a problem inside the porta-cabin. The plastic design keeps every ounce of heat inside and creates a miniature
A 24 hour self-service buffet is on offer: all the toast and jam you can eat, unfortunately neither of these are vegetarian due to the colony of ants which has infested the bread that has been left by the properties one and only window, which is jammed open permanently for the fresh air coming off the alleyway behind it.
The common room maintains the Devil-May-Care attitude towards design, comfort and general appeal by teaming old shipping crates and thread bare rugs with tattered cushions and a sticky concrete floor, which you really get to feel the benefit of as you're not allowed to wear shoes inside.
The common room also comes with free to use dog eaten board games, one out of tune guitar and warm beer, which is only 250% more expensive than the ice cold variety you can get in the shop 30 yards from the hostel door.
The common room and bedroom are separated by a thin cloth, meaning you can rest your head at night to the steady sounds of commotion and the quiet theological debate of other young and opinionated guests for which hostels in general are so well known. The separating cloth however also represents a change in decorative themes as the stairs, common room, kitchen and washrooms are rough and ready, with a pinch of the underworld.
The bedrooms, however, take on an entirely new vibe; behind that thin hanging fabric lies without doubt the best imitation of a disaster struck poverty ridden hospital I have ever seen.
It is truly outstanding.
The eight bunk beds are situated within arms reach of one another to promote conversation, awkwardness and disease through the large corridor that houses them. The lighting here is dim and dingy evocative of a New Orleans Jazz house, or the inside of a coffin with the door left a crack ajar.
Whilst there is no air conditioning in this room the owners have thoughtfully glued high powered desk fans to the walls and above each bed, and ceiling to turbo charge the musky air directly at you at all times.
You know what I think of when I walk around this place, potential.
The potential to be the worst fucking experience of my life, and it did not disappoint.
Unfortunately I'm just too livid to tell you what happened next right after thinking back to this place. You'll just have to keep all of this in mind when you process the next sequence of events, which when you add it all together is truly horrifying, or truly hilarious, depending on your sense of humour and how much you care generally for human life.
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