This is a cautionary tale against Ostello Gioventu (youth hostel), the Hostelling International hostel in Verona, Italy.
I was happy when I first arrived. The hostel is an old villa with a garden to the side, and a view of the local castel, as well as the neon cross, which must have been the inspiration for the quirky movie version of Romeo and Juliet. It is clean. It is old. It is pretty.
And it has no locks.
Last night, when my french roommate, my spanish roommate, and myself had switched off the lights and attempted to drift into our respective dreams I found myself sleepless. The mosquitos were finding ways inside my sweaty sheet to bite my legs and arms and the room was sweltering. I put on my ipod and lay with my eyes closed.
It is amazing that I even heard the long scrape of the door handle turning.
When I opened my eyes a man had entered the room. He was tall and dark and wearing only his underwear and a loosly tied towel around his waist. My mind raced. Why was he here? What did he want? Is he lost? Looking for a girlfriend? Theif? Rapist? Drunkard?
He walked straight to my bed and I gasped and sat upright.
He seemed startled and turned toward the window.
I was too afraid to speak. I should have called out, but instead I watched him frozenly as he gazed out the window and turned to the next set of beds, peering into each one. When he got to the Spanish girls bed she sat upright, what are you looking?
He stepped back and stumbled quickly out the door, while we stared across the moonlit room at eachother wide-eyed.
It was a man!
What did he want?
Was he here to steal?
He wasnt wearing clothes!
Are you certain it was a man?
Yes, yes, I am sure!
Oh my god.
Oh my god.
Oh my god.
All three of us got up from bed and crept to the door. We slowly checked the now-quiet hallway and crept to the open-air bathroom at the end of it. We looked out on the terrace. Nothing.
I said I would go tell reception. The french girl stayed in the room and the spanish girl stood in the hallway. A chain of frightened women, trying to protect our things and get help at the same time.
I walked onto the staircase and almost ran into the man, who was staring out the window on the staircase of the womens floor. I swallowed and jumped back around the corner. Gathering my courage I made another attempt down the stairs. Unsure of what I was afraid of, and yet more afraid because of the uncertainty of his intent.
This time he was sitting on the staircase with his knees up and his underwear clearly revealed. His head was in his hands and I scuttled by and down to reception. The man at reception followed me quickly and came to the man on the stairs.
I can understand Italian most times, but not late at night with high adrenaline while the two men exchange words in our staircase. I just stared at the man and the receptionist.
He says excuse him, he was trying to get his wine.
But his wine was on the terrace.
There is no way he thought his wine had walked from the terrace and jumped into my bed.
That is not okay.
We dont feel safe.
Make him leave.
The receptionist took the man to his room, as if that would fix it. I will watch him, he said. If he comes up again we throw him out.
No, no, the french girl said angrily. You didnt see him come up before. Your desk does not even face the staircase. No! He has to leave. This is not normal. This is not okay. He was on the womens floor and in the womens room.
The receptionist told her to be quiet. Told us to go to bed.
No, we said.
We are going to call the polizia, unless you make him leave.
He threw up his hands, obviously caring less about three frightened girls than about the possibility of creating a scene. He went to the man and came back to us. He is getting his things. He will leave in five minutes.
We watched from the top of the staircase and the french girl watched from our window as he left the premises. Only then did we regress into our room, still reeling with adrenaline and sick to our stomachs.
The spanish girl wanted to blockade the door. None of us were going to fall asleep otherwise. So we moved the empty beds in front of the door and nervously laughed and talked a while before drifting into a shallow and restless sleep.
Apparrently during the night I cried out in my sleep. Both girls woke in terror. I tossed in my sleep. No one slept well. No one slept long.
So this morning at 7 I woke and showered and packed my bag. I told them I wasnt paying for a night of sleepless terror and wrote a letter to the director, who will not be back until tonight.
Even this morning they made light of our terror and the fact that their security isnt working.
You cannot tell what a person will do when you check him in, says the new reception person.
I dont blame who checked him in. I blame whoever decided we did not need a lock on our door. It isnt acceptable.
And so I am gone. I have moved to an all girls hostel with an 11pm curfew in town. So maybe tonight I will sleep.
I would like to, as a final note, ask anyone who knows my parents to please not mention this. I dont want to make them crazy and will tell them when I am safe and sound and back on US soil.
Thank you.
gg
