Here before I arrived...

According to the receptionist at the rather spacey sounding Hostel Argonaut, I am already here.

"Rovina Hardink?" she queried with that lovely Russian drawl that matched her regrowth perfectly. "You are already here."

Apparently Rovina had already checked in on my behalf and my arrival only confused things more. Reluctantly I was shoved into a ten bed dorm. Ahh hostelling, I had forgotten the pleasures of not sleeping for the price of less than ten euro.

My hostel is above the Marquis de Sade "night club", bathed in erotic pink light and throbbing with the sound of sexy toons. Across the road, a buildings alarm has been set off and beep beeps in persistance. The bunk under mine is mating with the bunk adjacent. Kiwis guessing by the silver ferns adorning their backpacks. And intending on having sex tonight, as the sheet strung down from my bunk is the international semaphore for "sex in hostels; privacy please". I do hope they are practised enough to get a good rhythm going in between both the beeping alarm and the thump thump of the Marquis.

So excited was I by my new environment (sporting the flag like tshirt on entry "People's Republic of Cork"), that I left my key in the toilet, forgot what floor I was on, what room I was in and spent a good deal of time wandering the corridors looking for reception again. You know these places, they are rabbit warrens with rooms in every corner of every floor... And I have such a bad sense of direction.

I hope the real Rowena didn't get lost, and is enjoying the 4 bed room I booked for her.