Long Night

So, today I am leaving, and having met the group and after only a few short hours (6?) on "The Truck" (Don't call it a bus!) yesterday I am anticipating more adventures/experiences/bizzare-goings on than I shall have time to record.

I will be next be online, Africa willing, on the 18th.

But in the mean time...

My roommates last night the other night was enough to talk anyone out of hosteling, forever. Well that's not quite fair, I had 6 roommates, and only one of them was worthy of that peculiar honour. It started like this...

I was sitting on my bed (top bunk), about 10 o'clock at night, writing in my journal. The door opens --rather, I listened while someone in the hall fiddled with the keys, it's always a process-- and in come this couple, chattering away to each other in German. Now, I was quite surprised because I had actually seen this same pair on the street earlier that day; I wouldn't have remembered him, but I certainly remembered her. She was, for lack of a better word, spectacularly ugly. The thing that stood out about her were her eyes, one of which was as round as a dime (though much, much bigger); this gave her a rather lop-sided appearance, and she seemed to be permenantly squinting. The crowning touch on all this was the fistful of eyeliner she was wearing: large, uneven circles of black and what seemed like bright neon blue.

But SHE was not the problem. Since they seemed to be paying no mind to me I kept on writing, and they began to unpack. After about 20 minutes, however, the man suddenly marches over to my bed and says "So... this is how a young lady spends a Saturday night in Cape Town?" I am surprised to find he has a strong English accent, despite the German. He was less than satisfied with my answer that I had a cold and thought it was better to enjoy the comfortable bed while I had it. Once it seemed that conversation was over I went back to my book, and he said something to his companion --who didn't speak English-- and then all of a sudden, pacing around the room, beer in hand, he tells me his life story. Which was really not as interesting as he seemed to think. He and his "very close friend" were staying in South Africa for three months, but didn't know what they were doing, so long as it wasn't working in a bar in Germany, which is what they had been doing.

I believe I listened to this beer-stained monologue for about 45 minutes, quite often nodding and saying I thought it was fantastic that they were just picking up and trying something different (to some degree I did, however...) and then slowly, deliberately moving my eyes back to my book, only to have him start back up again. He finished off by saying that another reason they had to get out was that it was far too easy to drink when you worked in a bar, and he needed to get away from that. I didn't wish to point out that he was roaringly drunk at the time, and that no sooner had he left the room, and his close friend and I exchanged meaningful, who-needs-words glances, he bursts back in with a "Forgot my beer!" and then resumes the story... the same story... again...

I went and sat outside for a while. It seemed less exhausting. However when I did return to the room they were both asleep, and I crept into bed as quietly as I could. I shouldn't have bothered. The man snored like -- I don't know what? an engine?-- you wouldn't believe, and I spent much of the night tossing and turning because there was no way anyone in that room was resting with that foghorn in the next bed. Not only that, but he was wearing very small, very revealing underwear (oh yes, I know this!) and chose a dramatic pause in his roaring/snoring to fling the blankets aside and scratch his arms and legs (in his sleep!) as if they were covered in mosquito bites. This was not a view I wanted. I mean, I really, really didn't want it!

The next morning everyone in Room 16 (except him, of course) looked a little the worse for wear, and the rather sardonic Aussie who slept nearest the door catches me with "So... sleep well...?" and we both laughed so hard the Portugese girl in the bed beneath me woke up, and gave us a dirty look.

I'm told he was drunk the next night as well, but I have managed to avoid him ever since!

Ta.

N.