Oh Lordy, What Ever Happened to the 1940s?

I’ve used the term “old soul” before but I’ve begun to realize recently that that phrase is more indicative of my oldness than I originally thought. Orientating everyone my age or ironically older last week has been an eye-opening experience as I discover my true potential for old-person behavior. But don’t let this post fool you: I am in no way looking to change my ways. I just find it humorous to share my idiosyncrasies with the world.

As orientation week came to an end, I began to overhear many conversations about people’s plans out on the town. Of course, they were all excited to see Paris and the nightlife, as I’ve heard, is quite invigorating. I had several people come up to me to ask me questions about bars which I honestly could not answer outside of the one bar experience I did have… and choosing that bar was more spontaneous and convenient than based on it being good. Luckily, another orientation assistant always seemed to be standing near me at the point of these questions, so I would just shrink back into my boring shadows and follow a more wholesome conversation. I am in no way a prude when it comes to drinking in Paris. Everyone who knows me knows I love my wine and have no shame about it. It’s just that I drink differently than many other people. My idea of a fun night is sitting at my cafe table in my apartment drinking a glass or two of wine over dinner and several episodes of “How I Met Your Mother.” My idea of a fun Friday or Saturday night is a “cooking lesson” over wine and good conversation with a friend. And once in a while going to a cafe for drinks can be nice. But particularly last week, when the early waking, tasks, and constant smiling of orientation left me pooped beyond belief, all I wanted to do was crawl home into my warm bed, wine in hand to clear my thoughts. No bar-hopping for me. And that’s exactly what I did while everyone else was exploring Paris nightlife.

Come to think of it, I never even did the bar thing when I first got to Paris. It has never appealed to me. And I’ve been lucky enough to find people who are like me. I don’t care at this point if people do want to go— I just have my own alternative. Staying in my London hostel, I came across other people who weren’t too far from me. I’ve found out that hostels are known as big party places that actually encourage heavy drinking through karaoke and bars in the immediate vicinity with deals on drinks for guests. The hostel I’m staying in, however, is the all-girls section of a typical party hostel. It’s very quiet and comfortable. I’ve come back relatively early each night with the exception of when I went to the ballet (it ran until 10:30pm) and everyone’s always already been in bed on their laptops or reading. It surprised me on my first night on Saturday when I came back around 9pm. I expected everyone to be out since it was a Saturday night. Nope. It was kind of comforting knowing not everyone is the party animals down the street. I don’t care what some people joke about it being the lesbian hostel… I like it here :)

When my old lady-ness REALLY came out, though, was last night when the WiFi in my part of the hostel went down. I desperately was in need of communication with the outside world and also needed to fix my schedule for this coming semester, so I went down the street to the main building that always has consistent WiFi. I was told to go to the “Hang-Out Room” to work on the computer as that’s where everyone goes. I don’t know what I was expecting, but I should have had lower expectations than whatever it was. There was a group of young people with their guitars, tambourines, and other instruments playing loud music and singing and then a REALLY loud movie theatre behind me. All I wanted to do was Skype with my parents, but I basically needed to shout to talk to them. Half of the conversation I spent shouting to my mother about how annoyed I was at everyone, as I looked visibly pissed, not caring who heard me. I wanted so badly to tell everyone to shut up but I knew better than that. The loud music lasted the entire 2 hours I was there, from 11pm-1am. After 10pm is quiet time for me, and I don’t want to hear any loud music, especially from semi-drunk college students. I’m definitely staying in the right hostel, I thought to myself as I walked back to my quiet room to climb into my top bunk and drift into sleep. At least I learned one thing: I will ALWAYS research hostels before booking them. Because, unlike those other teenagers with their beer in hand and blasting karaoke in background, I am actually an old lady with a glass of red wine and an eye-mask for sleeping instead.