Topic: Europe
There was nothing particularly outstanding about ‘The Green Door’. As far as youth hostels in the UK went, it was mediocre. The building was old, the sheets were drab, the rooms smelt musky, the kitchen and TV room was cluttered with mismatched crockery and ancient furniture. The place wasn’t unpleasant but there was little character in its obvious age.
It was by sheer chance, a string of insignificant events that had conspired to throw me into a four night stay in The Green Door, a town with the unpronounceable name – Drogheda. I arrived 1am late night Friday, 24 hours after setting off from Singapore with 17kg worth of luggage, no address, no phone number, no fucking clue. The bus pulled up somewhere on Dublin road, a couple of miles from Drogheda and I decidedly leapt out of the coach despite not knowing where on earth I was. It was dark, the streets were quiet but there was life lurking in the pub across the street.
Strapped with my 2 backpacks I marched into the pub and announced my quest to find The Green Door. Half of the folks there were intoxicated, not quite expecting a Chinese girl with a giant bag that time of the evening that part of the world asking for directions without an address. I was stanchly ignored.
A taxi was parked outside.
Fortunately the driver had heard of the place and happened to be picking up a tipsy couple from the pub into town and was able to take me there. I squeezed myself with my massive two packs into the tiny passenger seat of a mid-sized sedan and the couple at the back couldn’t stop giggling. The three of them were genuinely intrigued by the peculiarity of my presence and bombarded me with questions in our short ride into Drogheda.
When the taxi dropped me off at the corner of where he thought The Green Door was located, it crossed my mind briefly that I should offer to pay him. However, given the short distance of the ride, plus my European cash were stashed deeply in some remote corner of my bag, then noticing he already had 2 other passengers but most importantly of all I was completely buggered after 27 hours without sleep, I just climbed casually off the taxi and gave him a moneyless “Thank you”.
“You’re welcome,” he said, “and don’t worry about the fare!” he said, part amusedly part sarcastically, then drove off into the darkness.
It was a good thing I didn’t pay him anyway, for he had actually dropped me off at the wrong place. The accommodation place he left me had a bell but no one was answering the door. Perplexed, I circled around the block and found nothing that resembles a youth hostel. It was dark, everything was shut and the only folks left on the streets were but drunk groups of locals.
I had to stop 4 people in their tracks and walk around town for the next 20 minutes before finding the hostel. When I finally found it, I was surprised that anyone would even know of that place. While it was situated on a main thoroughfare, the signage was modest and there were little commercial facilities immediately around the hostel that distinguishes it from other apartments in that block. I checked in at 1.26am, 4 minutes before my estimated time of arrival. Triumph is mine.
