Bondi, Sydney, Australia

If you walk up the long road from Bondi Beach, past the rickety bus station and the rows of faintly bohemian houses, you will find our hostel. Perched on the side of a hill, the large yellow building looks like many others in the area, plain with little aesthetic appeal. Slouched on the doorstep, smoking and chatting, we find Kev and one of the girls that works at reception. Kev’s hands are black from time spent as a joiner – cigarette in one, beer in the other. Inside, through the sliding glass door lies the reception room. There are generally two people behind the desk, trying to cope with the avalanches of backpackers and their luggage that blocks the hallway. Perched on the stairs, incredibly tanned and cool looking, are the Brazilians. No one wants to be caught looking at the Brazilian girls though, and for good reason. Most of the Brazilians here are traveling by themselves and have found that the hostel is a safe haven for their type, a big family of South Americans that are very protective of each other. Wherever you walk you hear shouts and whispers in a dozen different accents.

“What is this?” Felipe shouts as he reads this essay over my shoulder “We’re not South Americans, we’re different! What is this about “their type? Are we half breeds or something?” Felipe is one of the Brazilians, a small wiry guy who has looked like he’s on drugs since he was ten although he says he hasn’t been. This doesn’t annoy him any more, adding, “girls love my crazy face!” Then there are Vitor and Joao who are from Rio and San Paolo respectively and are traveling together, causing trouble and invoking the wrath of Australians by getting too close to their daughters and wives. Hugo is their best friend, and the three of them, his girlfriend, and her brother Mike, all party together. When those guys get together you know there will be chaos.

Then there is team Coolabah, so named because of the filthy $10 dollars a box wine they consume in huge amounts. They have gone to lengths to show their appreciation of this wine and now wear tee-shirts with their gang name stenciled on. There is Shawn, a giant Yorkshireman with a mad streak, Ben a leering, slightly psychotic sports coach and Dave, a confused looking Canadian. They are really pleased with themselves for discovering Max Powers, the “strangest fish” at the hostel. Max is a forty-something computer programmer with milk bottle glasses and a massive bush hat. Shawn decided that anyone called Max Powers must be included in their gang, which made things interesting for a while because Max didn’t want anything to do with them.

Being clean is important: In a hostel environment things get lost or broken, mice eat your power cords or your laptop gets stolen. It is vital to lock your possessions up, keep everything clean and tidy. To do this I have to fold up by bed so its neat, clean up my floor and put my stuff either under the bed or in my locker.

Its good to meet new people: There are so many different people that you see but never talk to – many of whom are worth meeting. It is important to take the leap, step out and make new friends. In a hostel you are in a room with so many other people and they are on schedules so weird that you have to try really hard to get to know someone really well.

Laughter, smoke, light, heat, sleeping bodies, couches, mess, clutter, music, drink, empty bottles, peace, crowds riveted to the television, coming and going, voices, shouts, happiness. This is the Beachouse, Bondi Beach, Australia. My home.