Settling in - Madrid's cheap hostels

I had forgotten why I tend to stay in the smaller hostels when I go backpacking until this morning when I had to get through the bathroom of Cat Hostel at eight o'clock with about forty other people coming through the system at the same time. It wasn't something that I'd tried to do since I'd been in some of the larger hostels in Auckland and Wellington in New Zealand. Being in the larger places in Australia struck me as a bad idea - the number of backpackers passing through the turnstiles in a place like Sydney is vast. I don't know what the underbelly of the backpacker scene in London is like though I imagine it's very similar to the Ozzie and Kiwi scenes, I can't imagine that it's very different to this place.

I was sleeping in a mixed dorm with very mixed people one of whom looked a little like Lucy Hurdman, a girlfriend from Birmingham many years ago. She had a summer dress on and had falled asleep on her bunk when I was pottering about trying to decide what to do after finding out that both of the art galleries that are meant to offer free entry on a Sunday, the Thyssen and Prada, were both closed looking like they were being subject to extensive refurbishment. I didn't want to tell her that one of her breasts had fallen out of the side of her dress and was visible to me and the other five men who were staying in the dormitory. I sometimes wish the etiquette of helping someone was a little less cloudy. I presume she would have wanted to be informed of what she was doing - hopefully she won't find out through this blog. Maybe I shouldn't be that bothered when lots of men wander around in a mixed shower block with their knobs hanging out. What's a nipple after all?

It was pretty strange falling asleep last night at about seven o'clock after having stayed awake for as long as possible. The jet lag didn't affect me at all until then, apart from going a little light headed when I was wandering the plazas in the afternoon. Everyone else did seem to head out about midnight and not get back until the small hours.

Passing through the doors of the hostel did feel very much like a sardine - to say things were impersonal would be putting it mildly. Still, I guess if you want personal treatment then you don't necessarily find yourself heading to the budget end of accomodation in a capital city. Today, to find an open art gallery or two and to find something in the way of life that I should make me feel that Madrid is the vibrant capital city that everyone seems to tell me it is.