Romania july 2011
So, we got pissed. The 2 British girls, the 2 British boys, the british owner of the hostel, Dutch Boy and me. We gathered around a thing called The Beer Tower. Whenever the beer level receded, the group started to shout ‘BEER TOWER BEER TOWER’ to which a new beer tower was ordered. The boys, tormented British ‘writers without a novel’ discovered they didn’t have enough money to fly home and were hungry. The girls left early because they wanted to go to the Delta early in the morning. Kebab was ordered and shared with a stray kitty on the table and the hungry boys. Dutch Boy stayed in the hostel for free, and in return had to get the guests pissed every night, and doing a great job at it. He had studied in Bucharest, we spoke a bit about the budget cuts in Holland, and about how to get unemployment benefits in Romenia. ‘You can get them, but it’s not unlikely you will die in the process.’ he tells me. ‘In Romania there is a saying; ‘You can die with justice in your hand’. Anyway, let’s not talk politics, let’s get pissed.’ He chanted BEER TOWER BEER TOWER, we drank some more and the boys all agreed I was the coolest girl at the table, even though at this state I was the only girl at the table. But nevertheless, I was happy with the compliment, and being called a girl. The British boys were beating each other up, ‘just for fun’, at which state I waggled of to the hostel. The air bed in the basement was half empty, and a giant black roach was running around it. Nervously trying to sleep, morning arrived already. I decided this should officially be the last day of backpacking-experience in my existence and quickly found my way to the train station, back to Bucharest.
