Travel, like life, is full of surprises. Some are delightful — like kayaking in the silence of the majestic mountains rising from Halong Bay, Vietnam, or riding an Icelandic horse across a desolate (but spectacular) landscape in freezing Iceland. Others? Let’s just call them ‘educational’. Allow me to share one of my more ‘educational’ moments.
It started innocently enough. After a thrilling week rubbing shoulders with hundreds of other string teachers at the American String Workshop (2003) in Ann Arbor, Michigan, I’d decided to reward myself with a few days in New York City.
My plan? Fly from Detroit to New York, with a connection in Chicago, check into a budget-friendly backpacker hostel in Lower Manhattan, and dive into the city that never sleeps.
What could possibly go wrong?
The first hiccup came in Chicago, where a delayed flight and endless security checks turned my connection into a sprint worthy of the Olympics. Then being accused of being late to the departure gate so they’d had to delay the flight. Like it was my fault? By the time I landed in New York and found the taxi rank, I was a disheveled mess clutching a violin and dreaming of collapsing into bed.
First impressions matter
The cab driver’s skeptical glance when I told him my destination should have been my first red flag.
Arriving at the hostel, I began to get an inkling about why he’d been dubious — the building was crumbling and dirty on the outside. And inside? The words ‘fire trap’ spring to mind.
“You sure you want to stay here, lady?” (Second red flag). The man at the backpacker hostel looked me up and down, his eyebrows doing the heavy lifting of disbelief. It wasn’t hard to see why. I was in my late forties, lugging a violin and suitcase, and clearly not the usual backpacker clientele. But I’d stayed in YHA hostels many times in Australia and, while basic, they were always clean, comfortable, and safe. Innocently, I assumed this hostel would be fine, too. But it quickly became apparent that this particular New York hostel was not part of the YHA chain.
“You want to look at the room first?” he asked.
“No, it’ll be fine,” I replied, with the confidence of someone who’d searched carefully online for ‘cheap NYC hostels’. (Keep in mind that this event occurred pre-Google and smartphone days — yes, the heady days of dial-up internet).
Well, as you might guess, it was not fine.
From bad to worse
My ‘room’ turned out to be a cubicle with grubby wooden partitions that didn’t reach the ceiling. The bed was a narrow cot draped in odorous sheets covered in nasty brown stains that didn’t need any imagination to interpret. And I won’t elaborate on the condition of the communal showers, but let’s just say my flip-flops worked overtime that night.
As I lay there scratching imaginary and not-so-imaginary itches, and bed bugs and fleas began their feeding frenzy, I cried rather than slept. Tossing and turning, I reached the firm resolve that, come morning, I needed to get out — fast!
New dawn, new direction
The next morning, I used the communal internet terminal in the hostel lobby to book myself into a ‘real’ hotel near Times Square — a gloriously palatial oasis that felt like it belonged in another universe. Walking into that room was like stepping into a cloud: crisp, clean sheets, a bed big enough to host a meeting, and a private bathroom that practically begged me to take a bubble bath.
It was a revelation! Even a mid-budget hotel would seem out-of-this-world after the ghastly night I’d just spent.
Lessons learned
That trip taught me a few important lessons: Not all hostels are created equal. Know when to cut your losses. And sometimes, it’s okay to splurge for the sake of your sanity.
So, welcome to Intermezzo Adventures! Here, you’ll find true tales of travel mishaps, magical moments, and everything in between. Let’s embrace the unexpected together — because, as we’ve learned, even the worst nights can lead to the best stories.
If this is your first visit, Hi! I’m Deborah. Read more about Intermezzo Adventures (and me) here.
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