More often in cities than anywhere else, backpackers like to party. Chances are, if you take a concrete jungle, add a few shakes of boredom, a dash of home sickness, a good measure of horniness and a whole lot of backpackers, you have yourself a party. Many large hostels have noticed this trend and, in an effort to cash in on the travel inclinations of their clientele, attempt to keep the party “in house” by adding a large bar/nightclub in the basement. Often, the “hostel bar” is not exactly the hip place in town but, thanks to the cheap drink specials, it can draw a crowd. Some hostel bars are so desperate to get the party started they will offer free beer to everyone for a specific amount of time (usually 30-60 minutes). Although the free beer is awful, it does achieve the desired effect of starting a large party.

I am not typically a night club person but from time to time the draw of loud techno music and good vibes will keep me dancing all night. A hostel bar flowing with free awful beer, however is not really my thing. So, like any good culture snob when I found myself at a hostel with the “we give you free beer to keep the party here” night, I showed up long enough to taste the awful beer and confirmed that partying with the free beer crowd was not for me. Then, I headed up to the top floor kitchen to make a sandwich. (Unlike many people, I really really like sandwiches. I enjoy experimenting with different tastes and flavors in order to find out what combination of ingredients bring out the best tastes. Some people find it disgusting. I think of it as art.) If a hostel bar is giving out free beer and everyone in sight is bumping and grinding their neighbor, chances are an alternative gathering of minds is occurring somewhere else in the building. In this case, that location was the kitchen. Now, this “alternative” gathering was just as drunk as the free beer party (in fact, most participants probably drank several free beers and than wandered away from the bad 80’s music and scary girls) but instead of riding each other around the dance floor they were eating and talking and laughing about everything.

The extroverted Texan busker belted out song after song, acapella, to laughter and jeers while hostel staff workers complained about their jobs and passed on rumors (I hear the free beer is so bad the company could not even sell it to the Australians. So, their giving it away here). Meanwhile the Canadians were telling Natalie and I we sounded Albertan (from the province of Alberta) and a Mexican guy, who did not look Mexican, introduced himself as “Senior” while putting jalapenos in his Corona. Eventually the Texan left and returned reporting that the free beer line was to long. In his jolly disappointment he started singing the American National anthem. Natalie and I joined in with gusto while everyone else appeared confused. Soon enough, the lone German in the room (an oddity in itself as New Zealand is practically bursting with German backpackers) started singing in German. I assume it was the German National Anthem. This was rather funny, until he started making the “Heil Hitler” arm motion of the 3rd Reich. Then it was just awkward.

Given the opportunity, I would prefer to spend an evening with a group of locals  instead of a gathering of hostel rats,  but both groups can provide valuable insight into different cultures.

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Tags | hostels, New Zealand