Well I made it to my hostel in Sydney in one physical piece, although I think I left my sanity at the airport. Flight ended fine. I was one of the first off, and then it was straight to the toilet before a detour to maccas for some much needed sustenance and then on to baggage claim.
I devoured my mcchicken burger as I watched my case go around the carousel a couple of times. I was too starved to bother putting the burger down even for a second. A quick phone call to the hostel informing them that I had arrived and it was off to the shuttle meeting point to get picked up.
That’s where the problems started. Now I’ve always found that when traveling in a new place the best way to not make a bunch of mistakes is to ask a bunch of questions. That policy didn’t work this time. Not at all.
The first shuttle driver I met I asked if he was the one who was supposed to take me to the Funk House Hostel. “Oh yes they just called me” he replied. Then my massive case was loaded into the back of the van, I was loaded into the front and there I remained in the shuttle bay for the next 2o minutes. The next thing I knew my case was back on the ground and I was told that I had to wait another few minutes for a different shuttle. “Do I go back to the terminal meeting point?” I queried. “Nope stay here.” And that’s what I did – for another hour. I asked every driver what was going on. No one knew. I called the hostel, and they were less than helpful.
Finally I made my way back to the meeting point. There I waited for another 45 minutes. And after another 3 calls to the hostel my driver finally arrived. I was fuming. Two hours waiting all because a shuttle driver from a different company had thought he could make a quick buck off of me and confused the hell out of me. I was not impressed.
On the up side the hostel is decent. Cleanish, and not too noisy considering it is on what is basically the sex strip of Sydney. Only for a few nights, I keep reminding myself, and hardly any time will actually be spent at the hostel.
After somewhat settling in I started on the task of making my bed – not fun when it’s the top bunk. Why does the shortest one always end up on the top bunk? It just doesn’t make sense. I then made my way past all of the glowing signs for gentlemen’s clubs, VIP rooms and lingerie shops to the Coles, where I purchased my dinners and lunches for the week.
So now I have once again returned to the security of my top bank to chow down on rice crackers and canned chicken. It really isn’t as bad as it sounds. I’ve met my bunk mate Kyle, and he seems decent.
Now to go about planning the next couple of days so that I keep myself busy and not get too homesick before Saturday rolls around.
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