“Two Danes walk into a hostel room” or “a Ukranian walks into Vatican city and takes his shirt off” sound like the beginnings to jokes in the Polish-priest-piano player variety. Alas, these are some fo the characters I have met thus far in three days in Rome. In Rome I stayed at the M & J Hostel near the Roma Termini. I was in a co-ed dorm room with nine other people, very nice people, sober people. Late the first night, two Danes walk in pissed—one is late 40s, the other is late 50s. They are stumbling and still drinking.
They are discussing in sloppy drunk speech how the younger man will get into the top bunk without a ladder usually provided for the top bunks. While they are discussing the matter, the older guy passes out while sitting straight up. The younger one, left without company in a room of nine other people, leaves, presumably to find more drinks. I fall asleep. During the night, I hear this THUD and I startle awake thinking there is going to be a bloody skull on the floor and wondering how we will get back to sleep if maintenance is in here wiping up. What I see instead is a man in black speedo underwear crouching as if he has just landed an Olympic 50 yard jump. His arms are stretched out in front of him and he is perfectly still and still drunk. Finally realizing he had reached the floor, he stands up to go to the bathroom…in the bathroom, thankfully.
This THUD happens three or four times though out the night, and continues in the next two nights. The room is agossip with things to say about the two pissed Danes. I point out that it makes for a great story to take home.
I never did see them sober, by the way.
Vic, on the other hand, is quite sobering. He is on my radar from the moment I see him across a crowded room (no, it’s not that kind of story). He is talking with little response to Jess, who sits two chairs away from Vic. He talks and talks and talks. I don’t hear much of the conversation but I think “I do not want to get trapped into a conversation with this guy.”
Needless to say, I do.
We are in the kitchen together and he is giving me travel tips and telling me how much better Turkey is than Syria, which as many of you know was a sore spot for me. As I am fixing my tomato and brie sandwich, he relates his day. Know that Rome is hot with 77% humidity. Unless you are in a museum, it is hard to escape the heat. So Vic, in Vatican City, decides to find his own way to cool. He takes his shirt off and sticks his head in the fountain, like a homeless person bathing, I imagine. As he is telling his story, he is more and more adamant that this was the appropriate thing to do, and he is shocked when the Polizi come to reprimand him.
I couldn’t help myself. I asked him “Where are you from?” I meant it as in “what planet are you from that you think stripping in Vatican City is going to be okay because it is hot?”, but it is a fairly common question among travelers. He answered, “Ukraine.”
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