Crap Hostels - Your worst travel stories...

Originally submitted by misscat

Showed up in Milano on a whim between visiting friends in the Uk and Germany. Arrived at Bergamo airport, took a shuttle to Milano, and hopped on the Metro to try and find the hostel I had booked online. The online description had looked decent and at 20 Euros a night who was I to argue? besides, it said it was 2 stops on the Metro from the Duomo. "Great! I can walk EVERWHERE!" I thought. Turns out, 2 stops was a typo and it was actually 12. An extra hour and a half. When i got off the metro and fought my way through Italian people-traffic and made my way past Italian men trying to sell me fake Versace and yelling "Ciao, Bella!", and finally found the right steep million-step staircase up to the street, I realized I had no idea where I was or where I was going. I stood on the corner staring at my now-tattered map of milano under a streetlight, and trying to read the faded street signs on the sides of the old buildings, while nearly getting run over by half a billion vespas and little buzzing european cars.

It was quickly made clear to me that I was not in a desirable area of Milano, to say the least. I started walking quickly...just picked a street and prayed it was the right one. Eventually I found a little delicatessen still open, and I went in to ask directions. The owner sent his son with me to walk me to my home for the night. With Massimo not speaking a word of english, and me with my brand new Italian language skills allowing me to say hello, thankyou, you're welcome, street, and pretty much any kind of coffee, it was interesting.

All of a sudden, when I thought the neighbourhood couldn't possibly get any worse, Massimo stopped. And pointed. I followed his finger and shuddered. An old building that looked like it could topple over with the slightest breeze stood in front of me, it's bright orange paint peeling off the sides, and a bright pink neon sign that buzzed on and off erratically flashing the words "Hotel Edy". I thanked Massimo, held my head up, and went inside. Vito greeted me at the front desk, very friendly, spoke decent english...I thought it couldn't be too bad...Might turn out okay, already he was offering to show me the city the next day and take me to the disco that night. I was about ready to accept his offer when he took my passport and between kissing my cheeks in tradition tried to stick his tongue down my throat. No lie.

I then got the room next to the front desk, that had a bed that every spring stuck through the padding on, a window that looked out onto what could have been (and perhaps still is) mafia killing grounds, and a door that didn't lock. Great. Fabulous. I was in Milano. Completely terrified, but in Milano nonetheless. Only when Vito told me that if I slept with him, my room would be free. Yeah right. I decided to leave Milan a couple days later, and as I was checking out, had Vito tell me I should stay, be his girlfriend and marry him because he is an "Italian Stallion". I told him that was just one more reason for me to leave RIGHT AWAY.