Hostel Takeover

This hostel feels more like a Bukowski hotel. There is a sink and a mirror, a window with a fire escape that looks out over Welton St. - the train passes by here every half hour, I'm surrounded by parking lots, and every couple of hours hordes of Mexicans fill the sidewalks for the bus station downstairs that makes stops in El Paso, Chihuahua, etc. Each room has a big metal locking gate and a second wooden door behind it with a peephole. I've found that hostels in America, unlike the ones I have been to across Ireland, are filled with people who are "down on their luck." A lot of people simply in between housing and employment and also a fair amount of creeps. The key to room 208 was to a 6-person dorm. I walked in and immediately noticed a peculiarity. Something was definitely wrong and when I looked around I noticed other people's stuff; bags, sneakers, towels, t-shirts...boxers - panic set in. This old man started following me around "Let me see your room key! You do not belong here!" in a really mean way, like it was my fault the hostel-keepers gave me the wrong key. I kept saying "I know! Obviously! Jeez!" and he made me try the key in both 208 and 203 (the women's dorm). AND OBVIOUSLY it only worked on the men's dorm, he acted like i broke into it! Like i really want to lay in the bunk next to you and watch you sleep old man. The hostel people apologized profusely, the key number had rubbed off to the point where 208 was easily mistaken for 203, and to make up for it they put me in a 4-person room...WITH NO ONE ELSE IN IT. All to myself.

And so, Denver is really pretty sweet. I could see myself staying here in this room, people watching from my window, drinking cheap jug wine and writing blogs all day (many blogs, all sorts!). There are, of course, sneaky and fundamental reasons why I like it so far:

- A bike ride through a strange city by yourself at night is unlike any other activity. The blood starts flowing and the lights of the city guide you through the streets and it makes all the feelings of loneliness and car travel-induced hysteria melt away. This is one of those types of cities where the tall buildings of downtown cluster in one tiny area, while surrounding it are beautiful old houses and small town-type streets filled with bars and record stores and diners and coffee shops. Everything looks delicious and familiar. It also helps that the streets are easy to bike on, flat and not too crowded with drivers.

- There is a vegetarian restaurant. Yep, it doesn't take much to please me. Watercourse Foods - highly recommended. They have got one of those menus where every single item looks incredible and induces salivation. I went with a reuben. This is by far my favorite sandwich of all time and it is with great pleasure that i order it whenever i see it on a vegetarian menu. I felt just like Rachel Ray on 40 Dollars a Day, except I didn't ask any of the locals where I should go for breakfast in the morning (because I am going right back there today). Oh, and the reuben was fucking fantastic, a very welcome western spin on an old favie - homemade red cabbage sauerkraut, portobello mushrooms, chipotle aioli.

- I spotted a wizard. A genuine fucking wizard. He was sitting on a tree stump outside this coffee shop/restaurant diagonal from the hostel and when I saw him, I nearly lost control of the car. Complete with long white beard and long white hair, he was wearing a robe made of indigo velvet, topped with a wedge cap that matched. The robe was accented with gold piping and his hat bore a symbol on the front I could not decipher.
A fucking wizard.

- Right above the restaurant where the wizard roamed, some old timey music was floating out onto the street. People were coming into and out of the place looking happy so I wandered in and gazed upon a dance floor, ceiling covered in christmas lights and plastic flowers. There were about 200 people, young and old, swing dancing. And it wasn't some revival shit where everyone was dressed like they had just watched Swing Kids. Just regular Denverians, looking really psyched, either watching pepople dance in the middle or fucking SWING DANCING. I stuck around for a minute to watch but high-tailed it out of there, needing a beer in a place where no one was dancing. Now I realize that swing dancing probably exists in weirdo pockets across america, but can you believe that shit?

Tonight was like Denver trying to woo me - it doesn't quite know all the stuff that i like, but it's getting there.

PS I saw a flyer for a local band called Bonerama. Sorry Denver.