Across Continents

Ken's Blog

One that almost got away

November 26th, 2011

I’d heard endless plaudits about the hostel at San Francisco’s Fisherman Wharf. But I was less than impressed. Initially at least. Single room for a couple of nights whilst I sorted out all my kit. Then decanting to a cheaper dorm bed. A far brighter, more pleasant place than the rather dingy affair I’d started with. And it wasn’t directly beneath the hostel’s cafe. Joked that in Alcatraz at least the cells were en-suite.

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Single rooms aside, I found myself slowly warming to the place. The staff were pleasant enough, patient and helpful. But it was the atmosphere that led me to put aside first impressions. Airy common room, music playing gently in the background, fellow hostellers as varied in their accents as their ages.

I’d also grown to love the hostel’s little eatery. Cafe Franco. Bohemian. Plenty of refreshingly health options and remarkably sensible prices. Sufficiently fond of the place to forgive them for their invariable lateness in opening up for the complementary breakfast. You could set your watch by it.

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Captive audience

November 26th, 2011

I’d couldn’t bear to watch. Truly I couldn’t. She had laryngitis, compounded, she said, by an earlier altercation with a protester at a demonstration in the city. Now a captive audience, able only to nod. Trying my best to sustain a modicum of dialogue with yes and no questions.

What flavour did she prefer, I asked. She scribbled her answer on a plain napkin. Entrusting her with my netbook, I left the hostel’s Cafe Franco for the nearby supermarket. Returning a short time later with a decent sized tub of ice cream.

She’d come to San Francisco for a fresh start. Searching for a job, and somewhere to live. Permitted only to spend a couple of weeks a year in each hostel before being obliged to move on. Motels or hotels far too expensive.

I’d met her by chance in the breakfast queue, suspecting her of trying to jump in and teasing her accordingly. A little sarcastic. Surprised then when she’d asked to join me at my table. Not the greatest of starts.

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Pioneer Backpackers Inn

October 7th, 2011

Pioneer Inn Hostel from Ken Roberts on Vimeo.

Ken finds his hostel in Prince Rupert, but has time to kill before it opens. The joys of a ferry that docks at five in the morning..

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Lost for words

September 17th, 2011

Lost for words, albeit briefly. Finding myself being presented, quite unexpectedly, with a large cheque. In more ways than one. A remarkably generous donation to The Outward Bound Trust from the Bent Prop Inn Hostel in Anchorage.

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Owner Ben and manager John had already been overwhelming generous with their hospitality. A charitable gift, especially one of such magnitude, something I simply couldn’t have foreseen. Regaining my composure, I thanked them profusely, admitting I’d been entirely taken aback, especially given everything they’d already done to help.

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Bent Prop Inn

September 13th, 2011

Bent Prop Inn from Ken Roberts on Vimeo.

His first hostel stop in the US, Ken explores Anchorage’s Bent Prop Inn. Curiously drawn to the on-tap strong coffee…

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In the hostel kitchen

August 9th, 2011

In the kitchen from Ken Roberts on Vimeo.

Marvel at Ken’s creative culinary delights. Made with free food. Maybe not…

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Into the Wild

July 20th, 2011

Today’s Kiwese word or phrase: "Veerjun". Fast footed French lass

Thought I might have seemed a bit abrupt. I’d been late to bed. Engrossed in conversation with Gurnam in the hostel lounge. Retiring close to midnight. Room mate Johanna already in her bunk. Quickly extinguishing the light. Drifting into conversation. Until I’d said I’d really needed to get some sleep. Early morning bus to catch.

Had I heard of a little-known film "Into the Wild" she’d asked? No doubt to her surprise, I explained I had. Brief synopsis of the story. I’d enjoyed it. Brief anecdote. Anonymous friend who’d not been so taken by it. Watching it alone. Save for a bottle of whisky and a handgun. His only companions in an otherwise inhospitable place.

She’d plans to visit London before her eventual return home to Germany. I’d suggested she might like to stay at Holland Park Youth Hostel. Peaceful spot, not too expensive, and well-placed for exploring the Capital. And be sure to pick up an Oyster card for getting around on public transport. Sensed a smile. A fellow hosteller proffering the same two pieces of advice.

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Orwellian nightmares

July 15th, 2011

Dormbed

Today’s Kiwese word or phrase: "One Doze". Popular computer operating system

If the room had been ransacked nobody would have noticed. Contents of the various suitcases and rucksacks exploded. Enough hair products strewn about to make me pray the occupants didn’t smoke. There were supposed to be just two. And yours truly. Sharing Room 101. Franz Josef Youth Hostel. Door quickly closed. Key returned to reception. Another dorm allocated.

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In the woods

July 12th, 2011

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Today’s Kiwese word or phrase: "Sivven Sucks Sivven". Big passenger aircraft

Punakaiki. A hostel like nothing I’d ever seen. Been a few. Te Nikau describes itself as a retreat. Collection of quirky houses squirreled away amongst tame rainforest. Bright. Colourful.

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I’d spent an hour or so wandering in the woods. Following winding, twisting paths. Encouraged to explore by handyman Jesse. Explaining all, bar the one I occupied, were empty.

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Welcome refusal

April 8th, 2011

Turned away. From a backpackers hostel in Innisfail. "I wouldn’t want to errr… put you in with the rest of the clientele" explained the owner. Discreetly. Friendly chap. Early 50s. Trying to be helpful. Instead directing me towards a camp ground half a mile or so away. Best such site so far. Appreciative of the earlier refusal.

The earlier descent from Millaa Millaa back to the Queensland coast slowed considerably by the weather. Sustained tropical downpours so heavy as to render it difficult to see where the road went through my glasses. Peering over the top as best I could. Eyes stinging from the rain. Surface water inches deep in places. Beginning to wonder if a bicycle could aquaplane.

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They’d been respites. Albeit brief. Crawford’s Lookout. A roadside water stop. Passing car tooting. Sue, Simon David and Heather I’d met back in Atherton.

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