One of those times was in Lisbon...with hippies.
I still don't know where we went wrong. The plan was perfect. Kirsten (expired license), Azza (license not valid in Spain) and I (more with a theoretical knowledge of how a manual car goes and less of an actual making the car go knowledge) decided to drive across two countries twice in five days and four nights. This wasn't amateur hour*, so we decided to drive straight through the first night.
From the outside, the hostel looked inviting to three weary travelers. We couldn't wait to trudge in and throw our bodies onto whatever ten euros a night buys you in Portugal. The tribe, however, had other plans for us. The first tribeswoman we encountered smiled widely, checked us in, told us our beds wouldn't be ready for another six hours then went through the checklist of things we weren't allowed to do. She was one of the saltiest, earthiest people I've ever met except for the intense amount of dental work going on in her mouth that hypnotized me every time she smiled (often) and said something mean (more often). The one thing we were allowed to do was sleep in the garden.
The garden was beautiful, but we had no shits to give about that. Azza passed out in the hammock, Kirsten draped herself over an old armchair and I started in the tire swing but ended up on some wood pallets infested with ants. We explored the city after our quick nap then returned when our beds were supposed to be ready. They weren't.
João was the chief of what he called the Biotribe**. He was also the chief of not getting our beds ready, just okay looking dreadlocks and assholes. Braceface had explained earlier that we would be locked out of the hostel if we didn't return before midnight which was clearly a stupid Cinderella rule that had João written all over it. However, she gave us a wink and said she'd leave the back door unlocked if we gave her a heads up. Unfortunately, we couldn't find Braceface before we went out for the evening, so we left our fate in the hands of the chief who was clearly lying when he said he'd keep the door open.
We crept back through the garden at 12:30 nervous that we would startle the dog that we were told would definitely bite us. We were rabies free when we got to the locked back door. Thankfully, a tribesman was still up watching TV.
In Biotribe, the words private room translate to one room with several twin mattresses on the floor separated by bed sheets. Each "room" has a homemade (very dangerous) lamp*** and fruit crate that is color coordinated with a bigger fruit crate nailed to the wall and called your "closet." A bottle of shampoo is too heavy to go in your "closet", but you can definitely put some socks in there.
The next morning, Nancy woke me up from what I have to admit was a deep and comfortable sleep. Azza and I found some tarot cards in the Bioethics Holistic Meditation Quinoa Namaste Room and brazenly started playing with them while we waited for Kirsten. Braceface heard the commotion we definitely weren't making and came upstairs. She flashed a metallic smile and said something like, "This is not a playroom for children. You are not allowed to touch those. If you would like to learn about them, you can ask Tribeswoman Other Lady." We'd spent a day and a half trying to avoid learning anything from these people, so we declined and checked out.
I'm just kidding! Tonya Harding is the chief of assholes.
*Yes, it was. Kirsten was talking nonsense and holding her blinks for a scary long time. I could only do highway driving because I'm a dainty, kept princess who possesses no useful skills and contributes nothing to society and Azza was pukey.
**The Biotribe practices bioethics and other uninteresting things. I have no idea what that means despite several attempts by the tribes people to educate me. Kirsten thinks it's just a rehab. I agree.
***Kirsten was like, "Emma! Come check out my awesome blender lamp!" Her lamp was definitely the coolest.
Thanks, Emma, for another installment of your adventures!
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