The Cambridge Lodge in Stanmore bills itself as a budget hostel, which, to me, immediately begs the question of what a luxury hostel would be. Nevertheless, on the hostelworld.com website, the Lodge rates 86%, a score derived from guest feedback that evaluates cleanliness, value for the dollar, fun, etc. I was a little concerned about the nearly average rating, but was assured by the pair of American women I met who gave me the info about the place that it was clean and well-run.
    When I looked at the price of a single room, it wasn’t much different than the Devere Hotel – and even in a single room, I would be sharing a bathroom. So. I went for the new experience and made it a double. (I couldn’t bring myself to do a four- or six-bed dorm.) First time in a hostel, first time rooming with a random stranger.
    I packed my bags and, in another effort at thrift, rolled down toward the Kings Cross train station. The closer I got, the more I dreaded dragging my things down the escalator, on the train, wondering where to get off the train and, once I disembarked, finding the address of the lodge. I stopped, weighing the options.  While weighing, a cab pulled up and the driver got out and started to load my bags in the trunk. Fate would have me take a cab. But I stopped him before he got both bags in and asked how much he would charge me (the nice boy at the desk, after I berated him and his hotel, told me it was a $30 cab fare). The driver promised a fare of $22 because it wasn’t busy right then. Done and done.

The neighborhood reminds me of where I lived in Kansas City.

    The driver, like all taxi drivers, appeared to have a death wish and proved constantly that the brakes did indeed work. While he was endangering both our lives, he managed to provide a run-down of all the Sydney neighborhoods: stay away from Redfern (it’s full of drunks and drug addicts); Newtown has any ethnicity of food you could want plus a cool theater with live music acts; Stanmore is nice, full of cute houses and flats and rents are about $500 – $600 a week; Double Bay is expensive, that’s why people call it “Double Pay”; Elizabeth Bay is where Nicole Kidman and her parents and Russell Crow and just about anybody who is anybody live; Kings Cross is rough, don’t live there. By the time we arrived at the Lodge, I had a comprehensive overview of the Inner West and Inner East suburbs.

Dining area on enclosed patio.

     When I had booked the room, I requested to be paired with a female if possible. The manager, Zorica, brought me ’round to room 4, opened the door and introduced me to … Scott. A very attractive male. American. From Boulder, Colorado. (Everybody sing along: It’s a small world after all …) Scott and I chatted for the better part of an hour. He is a huge fan of hostels (great way to meet people, save money, see the landscape in a different way – and he rated this one about an 8 out of 10.) He had been in Australia for only a couple days, working his way down the east coast from  north of Brisbane, and planned to fly back to Colorado the next day to see his ailing grandmother and check in with his family. He had been on the road for about four months, and I would tell you where he was before he got to Australia, but I lost track. Maybe South America? Antarctica? (Not kidding. He went both places, I’m just not sure when.) Once I settled in and he showered up, we went in search of food. (Sultan’s Table on Enmore Road, the kebab roll for $8. Real food – good food. I highly recommend.) Then we took off for Circular Quay, the Opera House and the Royal Botanical Gardens, where a white cockatoo landed on my head. Once I removed him from what I found an  inconvenient perch, I offered him parts of the yoghurt and strawberry granola bar that Scott had with him. We sat for a good 20 minutes letting the birds use us. Then we found a restroom and washed our hands thoroughly.

After being accosted.

Well, I got through my first night with a male roommate just fine, was informed that I snore (which I still refuse to believe) and Scott and I wished each other luck, safety and success on our travels.*
    Then I had the room to myself for about a week. It’s a simple space, no frills, just bunk beds (my god, bunk beds), a wardrobe with warped doors, a little refrigerator, a sink and a shelf. There’s a little table/desk-type thing, too, two chairs, and an ether net cable for direct online access.
    Once again, I realized that I have a different standard of clean than other people do. The baseboards, windowsill and shades were dirty; the carpet full of lint and stuff; the door smeary with fingerprints; and it smelled like a dorm. For a while, I sat and stewed about some people. Then I noticed a bucket of cleaning supplies across the hall by the bathrooms, flung open the door and the window, and cleaned the room myself. If it’s that important? Do it. The upside of hostel living: Paying $40 a night for a double room, free breakfast and free wi-fi. The bathrooms and kitchens are kept clean, most people tidy up after themselves, and it’s fun to hear Scottish, German, Australian and New Zealand accents and get to know the people who speak them. The downside: I don’t like fluorescent lighting, sharing a bathroom is inconvenient, having random strangers in and out of intimate quarters is a bit disconcerting, and I yearn for my own bed. I like my privacy, and here I have precious little. I’m on my third roommate now – an Asian girl named Tiffany. She’s adorable. Kind of like a toy. (Nothing like a delicate Asian girl to make me get in touch with my inner heifer.)

My god, bunk beds!

Cambridge Road runs in front of the Lodge, all the way down to the train station (only a couple blocks) and up to Enmore Road, the main drag in Newtown. The walk up Cambridge to Enmore is lined with brick houses of a late 19th and early 20th century vintage. In fact, the neighborhood reminds me very much of where I lived in the Brookside/Waldo area of Kansas City, Missouri.  Enmore Road is full of small businesses and restaurants. During lunch at the Blue Fig the other day, while wolfing down a mango chicken salad that was ab fab, I saw from my vantage point Chinese, Thai, Mexican, Mediterranean, Chinese, Indian, organic and seafood cuisines, as well as a Vodaphone store, a convenience store, Traditional Thai Massage, the Cat Protection Society of New South Wales office and thrift store, Happy Idea Boutique, another Thai Massage place, and Do It Yourself Invitations. Each retail space is narrow and deep, and each has a sign out front hanging over the sidewalk. The effect is just about overwhelming. I get to the point where I can’t see anything because I see everything, and walk right by places. But that’s also because I’m directionless, which I will address in the next entry.

Montague Place park.

    Right across the street is a pretty little park with playground equipment and picnic tables. The other direction down Cambridge, toward the Stanmore train station, there are a couple schools –public and college preparatory. Right across the street from the station is a chemist (pharmacy), quick take-away food, an IGA grocery, a liquor store, and a coffee place called The Paper Cup. Since arriving here, I have developed a coffee habit, maybe because these people make really good coffee. Forget Starbucks. Baristas there have started to recognize me and remember my order (decaf flat white, one sugar), and continue to tease me with the spelt banana bread, which is particularly good toasted with butter. Then again, most things are good toasted and soaked with butter. At any rate, it’s a cool little place that the Mums (mothers) like to go after they’ve dropped the older kiddies off at school. The babes, of course, come to the coffee clache with them. While it’s amusing to watch the varmints, it’s not as entertaining to hear them, and the Mums, god bless ‘em, appear oblivious to all but the most shrill cries.  Why is it that mothers are oblivious to kids’ rambunctiousness, but can hear the sound of a cookie jar lid being removed at 50 feet?  I asked one of the employees, who lives here at the Lodge, what the pre- or post-Mum window is. She shook her head. There isn’t one.

Miss Darcy, the hostel cat.

    I keep thinking that I will eventually upgrade my accommodations to a short-term rental where I have my own bathroom and a double bed, but now I feel like part of a little family. I even gave the Lodge’s address to Commonwealth Bank so they can mail my debit card. While it’s not what I envisioned, it’s not half bad.

*Scott and I discussed at length the difference between travelers and tourists, including discussion of Paul Bowles’ 1949 novel, “The Sheltering Sky,” which I will do my best to recreate or summarize for a future entry.