An Oldie but a Goodie

So I was talking with the Lush about how boring life is. I think that's pretty much the main reason why this blog thing hasn't been working out so well. In that spirit, I'm reposting an entry that I wrote last year, when I was in Istanbul. I can't believe my life used to be this exciting:

The Hostal of the Damned

For other people, the hostal I'm staying in may be considered hell, but for me, I just like to call it home. In the hostal are many colorful characters, although they have basically all fallen on hard times. There's a ton of Peruvians who are staying there for a few months to make money because 1) It's hard to make money in Peru and 2) Their Peruvian passport won't get them into any other country. It's somewhat sad if you start to think about it and develop the horribly condescending emotion of pity, but they're all amazingly friendly people who love that we get to use our broken Spanish with them. Last night, they tried to give us free hot water for our tea, but the grumbling night manager made sure that we payed for the use of gas since gas and electricity are very costly in Turkey.

Also living in our hostal is a long-haired Syran political refugee who I've come to believe is a nihilist, based on the fact that he likes to use "fucking" when describing power structures, the media, government, and especially the "fucking garbage" that is television. Also adding to his cv of the damned is his long, straggly hair and evidently useless, bluish/cataractic right eye. Quite the card.

Adding to the atmosphere of the inferno is that there are numerous passing souls who are extremely friendly, but abruptly leave. The first night in the hostal we spent chatting with a Kiwi, a Brit-Kiwi, and an Aussie, Oh My. They were great fun--primary school teachers on vacation, bemoaning their inner city students, especially the seven year old with a buxom rack, and another kid who likes to imitate sexual moans when they're learning vowels and is sure to impregnate every girl around him once he reaches puberty. Of course, these figures were too good to be true and vanished quickly. Another purgatory-like figures were the Germans who bought a bus ticket and were just waiting in our living room for the bus, before they were kicked out by the crotchety night guy who charged us for gas. The exception to the rule is this supremely awesome Spanish couple who we've spent a lot of time talking to, but are never around when we just want to hang out. They're like the Vergils of our Inferno, guides who can wander into the inner circles of hell, but really are confined to the upper realms and don't much socialize with the people below them. Oh, right, and there's no heating and it's freezing in Istanbul at night, so we've got that going for us. The Peruvians told us they'd smuggle us in a space heater. God, I love the hispanohablantes.