My dormies and other animals

A word on hostel living. It's not for the faint hearted but it is full of adventure. You meet the most interesting and infuriating people and...you have to share a room with them. So far on my two trips to Melbourne I have stayed at four hostels, The Nunnery in Carlton, Victoria Hall and The Greenhouse both in the CBD and Collingwood Backpackers, no surprise for guessing where...in Collingwood. My pick? Well for friendly, welcoming character and atmosphere, it would have to be The Nunnery. It is run efficiently by The Nuns and Brother Francis the cat and if you live by the convent rules, it is easy to stay for long enough that it becomes like home away from home.

I believe that The Nunnery was originally built for a doctor but it has definitely done its time as a nun run hostel for single females in the 50s and in the 70s, a refuge for Vietnamese refugees. Religious icons fill its high studded rooms and a comforting fire burns in the fireplace throughout the winter. It is really handy to town and in the most beautiful tree-lined neighbourhood that has become my favourite part of town.

So my worst pick thus far? Would have to be the squalid Collingwood deal. Oh, I could list the multiple ways that this place scored a 'boggie' well under the golfer's par but if I did, my mother would be on the phone straight away begging me to come home. Never fear mama, I'm outta there and well shot of the place. I have to say though that the reception I received from the anaemic-spirited manager, was the worst example of customer service I think I have ever come across.

The moral of the story is that when you share a room you either bond with, or want to strangle your room mates, especially if their nightly snoring registers on the Richter scale. So far I have not had any occasion to throttle the people I have intimately shared a six-bed dorm with but there have been times of isolation and indifference experienced immersed in a strange culture. Last time I bunked with a chaotic model, a down to earth and warm-hearted nurse, a sweet Taiwanese girl who called Melbourne “Morabin”, and some ever-so English backpackers. This time I have made friends with a lass from home. To quote an old Scottish granny, “she's from Hamilton but she's quite nice considering.” Funny how you can cross an entire ocean just to hang out with the girl next door. Other dorm inhabs (or should that be cell mates) include a Tasmanian with a colourful (I'm talking rainbow here) past, and a doctor from the north of England with pastie winter legs that should be left inside trousers until they have learned how to be sociably acceptable. I have not yet been quick enough at looking away to miss the sight each morning of nightie and pants descending on me from the bunk above. She needs some sort of landing warning siren considering the number of times she has fallen yelping from above.

But all in all, times in the hostels have been full of – okay I admit it, material for my books. Oh, the stories I could and will eventually tell, thinly disguised as fictional characters. Watch this space.