Key Takeaways
- Over the years, I’ve had some bad hostel roommates. They’ve been rude, messy, dirty, smelly, drunk, loud, and everything in between. Two girls in New
- As I’ve gotten older, more set in my ways, and have become a lighter sleeper, I’ve often thought to myself, “Why do I stay in dorm rooms? I’m so over
- But that feeling changed when I had the shittiest roommate of all time. Hostel dorm rooms and I are now on an indefinite break.
Originally Posted: 10/30/2012 | October 30th, 2012
Over the years, travelers at Route for Less have encountered all kinds of hostel roommates — rude, messy, loud, smelly, or just plain inconsiderate. Two guests in New Zealand were so disruptive they inspired our guide on hostel etiquette.
As we’ve aged and grown more particular about rest and personal space, many of us have asked ourselves: Why do I still book dorm rooms? Often, it’s purely budget-driven — opting for shared accommodation to save money, even when a private room would be far more comfortable. (Though we’ll happily upgrade to hotels during work trips or when we need real downtime.) We appreciate hostels for their vibrant, social energy — something sterile hotel corridors rarely offer.
But that appreciation vanished after one unforgettable incident. After this experience, shared dorms went from a practical choice to a hard pass — at least for now.
Here’s what happened — fair warning: you may want to pause before reading further:
It began on a quiet Monday morning in Barcelona, September. Still deep in dreamland — alternating between superhero fantasies and nautical adventures — I was jolted awake by persistent banging on our dorm door. Glancing at my phone: 7:30 a.m. The knocking continued. Groggy and reluctant, I dragged myself up, opened the door, and found our Brazilian dorm mate standing in his towel. “Sorry,” he muttered — then rushed past me into the room.
This was just the latest in a string of inconsiderate behaviors over four nights. Traveling with friend Kiersten, we’d shared the dorm with him and his friend — who snored loudly, flipped lights on late at night, returned intoxicated, spoke too loudly, made awkward advances, and left clutter everywhere. We were relieved to check out that very day.
After letting him in, I turned back toward my bunk — only to catch a sharp, unmistakable odor. “What is that smell? Why does it smell like… shit?” I wondered aloud. Confused and half-asleep, I sniffed my hand — and recoiled. It smelled foul.
Now fully alert, I flipped on the lights — and saw it: brown streaks leading from the inner door handle straight to the Brazilian’s bed.
I stared at my hand in disbelief — then at him. He met my gaze and repeated, “I just got in, dude. I just got in!!!” His act didn’t convince anyone.
It clicked: he’d apparently soiled himself (likely while intoxicated), touched the doorknob en route to the bathroom, locked himself out — and left me to open the door. Had a female guest answered instead, the reaction would’ve been… memorable.
“You shat yourself in bed and then grabbed the door handle! That’s not just gross — it’s deeply disrespectful,” I said, stunned and disgusted.
I bolted to the bathroom and scrubbed my hands raw — then grabbed toilet paper and sanitizer to tackle the doorknob. Outside the room, a soiled mattress sat abandoned in the hallway. When I returned, the poop trail had vanished — but the knob remained grimy. He claimed innocence while actively wiping evidence away.
I cleaned it myself, then washed my hands three more times — just to be sure.
Peering into the adjacent dorm, I noticed every bunk was occupied. Back in ours, he’d already passed out on another mattress — somehow procured from somewhere unknown. To this day, its origin remains a mystery.
Lying back down, I tried — and failed — to fall asleep again.
Later, Kiersten (staying in the dorm above) refused to believe me — until she spotted a faint brown stain on the floor and a smudged handprint on my bunk’s curtain (which I’d gripped unknowingly). She gasped, “Thank God we’re checking out today.”
We left the hostel that afternoon — and hailed a cab straight to a hotel. That ride felt like liberation.
P.S. – We’re withholding the hostel’s name because it’s highly rated and well-run. This wasn’t a reflection of the property — just an extreme example of what can go wrong in any shared dorm setting.
P.P.S. – Bunk curtains were provided for privacy and light control, but early-morning light filtered through poorly shaded windows — so waking others wasn’t our concern.
