welcome to hostival hilton

   

This is where we spent two nights in Munich. I know what you're thinking: There is no way Kelly and Ann paid 44,- euro a night each to stay in a tent in a gravel parking lot out back of a clubbing area, particularly not with the added information that this was an establishment run by a bunch of drunken 25-year-old boys dressed in scrubs who would, without prompting, tell you that they'd drunk at least seven Maß (one-liter beers) at Oktoberfest during the day, and point to the seven hash marks on their wrist to prove it. "There were more," I was solemnly informed, "but the ink absorbed into my skin. That's what ink does." (Generally I thought that was only what ink did when a needle was also involved, but hey, who am I to argue with a drunken murse?)

I would never want to stay at Hostival again, but at the same time, after the initial first hour of "what in the world are we doing here?" and subsequent extreme lowering of expectations, we actually had a fabulous experience. Maybe I'm not getting too old for hostel culture after all?