When the cab dropped me off in in Brooklyn, right in front of the hostel, I noticed something: the neighborhood was chock full of Hasidic Jews. I don't know how most people would interpret such an observation, but in my book, it's a great thing. First, it seems pretty unlikely that a gang of Hasidic Jews would mug me and set my pants on fire. Second, I'm a big fan of Judaica. For proof, I point to my local Half Price Books. In it, you'll find absolutely no Saul Bellow, Isaac Singer, or Woody Allen; I absconded with all of these works long ago. Third, it seems distinctly New Yorkish to stay in a hostel in a Hasidic neighborhood.
I thought all of this as I walked up the steps to the hostel, and a fourth thought even slipped in there. It was, "How could I ever have called this place the Hobo Dungeon? Boy, was I way off!" Five minutes later, after seeing the clientele and being shown to quasi prison-cell, I had changed my mind entirely. Hobo Dungeon? Yeah, that was pretty much a nail-on-the-head situation.
No matter how cool the neighborhood was, it didn't change the fact that the hostel itself was dirt cheap with incredibly little adult supervision. That's roughly equivalent to placing a blinking, neon sign on the roof that says, "CRAZED DERELICTS, WELCOME HOME." The way other hotels advertise their continental breakfast, this place basically advertised the guest's ability to poop the bed without getting into any trouble. Add to this the fact that the rooms were basically prison cells, maybe 6 by 6 by 6, with only a bed, a dresser, and a padlock for the door. If you're following at home, the elements add up like this: Hobo + Dungeon.
The great thing about it was, absolutely nothing dangerous happened to me while I was there. If anything, the people were actually pretty friendly towards me. I think that's because they took a look at me, Mr. White Bread, and concluded as a group, "That'd just be too easy." Or maybe they all thought I was some sort of communal hallucination; whatever it was, it worked. The only disturbing situation was on Sunday morning when I was getting ready to leave, and I was greeted in the bathroom by an obese, dripping, nude man, singing Steve Wonder and looking for a towel. Even that was more amusing than scary.
In the end, it was more of a Hobo Dungeon Summer Camp. Yes, the settings were correct, but I was never in any real danger. Sadly, I didn't take any pictures while I was there. Perhaps I was a little afraid that the flash would set the locals off. I did take a lot of other pictures, and you may view them right this-a way.
Posted by Cody at June 13, 2006 5:45 PM