A heartbroken monk, a Nazi, and a backpacker walk into a hostel...

Most of the posts on this website are a celebration of the positive experiences that happen when travelling; they are tales of experiences that range from the mundanely pleasant to the fascinatingly unique. Whilst I hesitate to define this as a negative experience, it was certainly different. I share it for two reasons: one, because I think it is simply an amusing anecdote that I can look back on without the uncomfortableness I felt at the time; and two, because it is always important to recognise and remember that travelling is not just one constant positive experience after another. Particularly when spending long periods of time moving around, one experiences many negative experiences and emotions, including loneliness, homesickness and exhaustion.

This tale takes place in Aachen, a small city in the east of Germany. Within walking-distance of the city you can visit a spot where the borders of Germany, Belgium and the Netherlands meet and stand in three countries at the same time.  Was simply passing through for a day, breaking up a long bus ride by stopping in the historic city.

Before I begin, I would like to first testify to the joys of staying in hostels as I do not want this story to deter people from their use. I know many people have a negative preconception of hostels as dirty and even unsafe places where one will find sleep difficult to come by in the noisy rooms. Having spent a lot of the past few years in hostels I will always argue that this could not be more false. In my experience hostels often have the same standards of cleanliness and comfort as many hotels, often with more facilities such as a fully-equipped kitchen, They are a paradise for travellers, particularly solo-travellers - where one has both a cheap place to rest but also a social-hub to meet like-minded people. Even in the remotest of areas one can find a friendly hostel, often owned and run by travellers, in which one has experiences equally enjoyable as the exploring of cultural landmarks.

Arriving in Aachen I immediately headed to the nearby hostel to leave my bags before checking-out the surrounding areas. As is common in hostels, upon entering the room I instantly struck up a conversation with one of my roommates for the night, Klaus. (I do not remember the real names of the people in this story so will be using pseudonyms.)

Klaus was very quick to invite me for a beer, clearly desperate for company and an ear to listen to his woes. I eventually gave in to his persistent invitations and agreed to join him for one drink at the hostel bar. He proceeded to tell me of how he, a middle-aged man, had come to stay in this accommodation. Klaus was a German from another city whose Ukrainian wife had recently left both him and the country. He waxed lyrical about the beauties of both Ukraine and it’s women and declared his intention to follow his ex-wife there. His desire was not to win her back but simply to find another.

With me yet to have contributed a full sentence to the conversation, Klaus changed topics to tell me about the religious nature of his upbringing. Recent events had seemingly brought him closer to his faith once more and he made another bold declaration: he was to become a monk. He had no doubt that he possessed the necessary faith and patience for the lifestyle and saw no issues with his plan. I chose not to question whether his next-Ukrainian wife would be allowed to join him in the monastery and instead quickly finished my beer and made my escape.

Upon my return to the hostel Klaus was back in the room and we were joined by another intimidating looking man. The latest inhabitant of our room was an extremely tall and skinny man with a shaved-head and scars on his face, I shall call him Dimitri.

Klaus immediately wanted to resume our conversation, this time even allowing me to participate and asked me about myself. I was in the process of telling him about my studies in which I specialised in how the Holocaust is remembered in different countries throughout Europe. We began discussing this and the Holocaust more gnerally when Dimitri spoke for the first time. He disagreed with what we had been talking about and began a long spiel in which he aimed to educate us that, in summary, “the Jews deserved it and the Nazis did not do enough.”

Normally I would strongly defend against such accusations, however when faced with a man who clearly was willing to defend his views physically and had the scars to prove it, I confess that my conviction failed me.

The room filled with an uncomfortable silence for the remainder of the night; it seemed a prospective monk, a Nazi and a backpacker had little in common to discuss. I departed far earlier than necessary the next morning to avoid any further conversation with my two roommates.

Posted: 13/04/2021

Written by: Tom Taylor (@tomtayloor)