Beware her saucy wink, traveler. O, beware. |
I’ve stayed in my fair share of hotels, hostels, and bed and breakfasts over the past five years. And, considering my friends and I travel by the mantra “Sleep cheap and eat well,” we’ve had delightful, unexpected luck in the places we’ve stayed.
Well, except that one time in Amsterdam …
During our last evening in the Netherlands, Michelle, Molly and I decided to head out of Haarlem and stay in the town proper. (Mainly because our Haarlem hostel was unable to accommodate us for our final evening, but also because we were fabulous young things wanting to try a taste of Amsterdam nightlife.)
After thumbing through our dog-eared Let’s Go! Europe, we landed upon an entry that looked promising: Durty Nelly’s. Right in the heart of town, situated over a happening Irish pub, and (particularly nice) only twenty Euro a night.
We found the bar on a side street off one of the main roads, with a cheekily winking maid grinning from the sign swinging above the entryway. It looked like a typical Irish pub: dark wood paneling, slightly grimy walls with touches of green and Celtic flair, and bartenders who spoke English. After finding they had rooms available and handing over the appropriate fee, we shouldered our backpacks and hiked up the winding wooden staircase to the dormitory.
As we stepped into the room, Michelle exclaimed: “Oh, holy God.”
Oh, holy God was right. It was like walking into the orphanage in Oliver Twist, except that all these orphans were in their early twenties and in various stages of getting high. Yes, not only had Let’s Go! failed to mention that the sleeping arrangements were co-ed bunk beds, but that smoking (of all sorts) was allowed in the rooms.
(And I won’t even get into the bathroom and showering situation. The less said about that, the better.)
I tried to console myself with the fact that I had stayed in worse places. Really, though, I hadn’t, so the thought didn’t help much. But, short of heading out and spending half our day trying to find another hostel instead of enjoying our last few hours of vacation, there was nothing we could do to improve the situation besides spend as little time as possible there.
So, we dropped our luggage into the bedside lockers, and went out to take advantage of the town. And take advantage we did, staying out until 4 a.m. Upon returning to Durty Nelly’s and getting ready for bed, we discovered Molly’s keys to her locker … were locked inside her locker.
There are few things more amusing than watching a burly barkeep wielding a large pair of pliers, his muscular arms flexing as he cuts open a metal lock while all around you, the snores of forty twentysomethings fill the stifling room. Eat your heart out, Charles Dickens!
We were up the next morning at seven o’clock sharp, filthy and bleary-eyed. Yet we’d slept, which is an accomplishment in and of itself, and there was a free breakfast waiting for us in the bar downstairs, which was edible.
In retrospect, it was quite funny. Even during the whole ordeal, it was highly amusing. But take it from me: when you decide to visit Amsterdam, skip Durty Nelly’s. She’s a nasty lass.
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