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Writer's Block: Bad trip.
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Road trip around parts of Canada, down the East Coast, and then back to MN. Most of it was awesome – Vermont was beautiful, Niagara was great, had our fill of the goodness that is Tim Horton’s and more. Then we reached Boston.
Apparently there are two hostels in Boston on the same road. One is very cool and is on a ship in the harbor. The other… is the one we chose. The bouncer-like security at the door should have been a warning, the smell from the kitchenette another, the fact that there were rooms with no windows whatsoever or working locks another. We got a “private” room with two tiny beds that looked less than hygienic, and took turns standing guard at the bathroom to communal sink/shower area because the lock didn’t work. Outside our window at night we heard gunshots and drug deals in multiple languages. We left at 5 am like bats out of hell, drove through a town made up solely of retirement homes, attorney offices, and cemeteries, and basked in the joy that was Salem instead.
That beat out the time we reached the coast at around two in the morning to the smell of low tide, had two friends try to book a hotel room while the rest of us sat in the van and watched a man emerge from the mist dressed like an old-time fisherman a la Stephen King’s nightmares and tell us that we did not want to stay there. We took that advice and drove on.
Road trip around parts of Canada, down the East Coast, and then back to MN. Most of it was awesome – Vermont was beautiful, Niagara was great, had our fill of the goodness that is Tim Horton’s and more. Then we reached Boston.
Apparently there are two hostels in Boston on the same road. One is very cool and is on a ship in the harbor. The other… is the one we chose. The bouncer-like security at the door should have been a warning, the smell from the kitchenette another, the fact that there were rooms with no windows whatsoever or working locks another. We got a “private” room with two tiny beds that looked less than hygienic, and took turns standing guard at the bathroom to communal sink/shower area because the lock didn’t work. Outside our window at night we heard gunshots and drug deals in multiple languages. We left at 5 am like bats out of hell, drove through a town made up solely of retirement homes, attorney offices, and cemeteries, and basked in the joy that was Salem instead.
That beat out the time we reached the coast at around two in the morning to the smell of low tide, had two friends try to book a hotel room while the rest of us sat in the van and watched a man emerge from the mist dressed like an old-time fisherman a la Stephen King’s nightmares and tell us that we did not want to stay there. We took that advice and drove on.