Martha’s post on her drunken debauchery across the globe got me thinking about the hostels I used to seek out in my infant days of traveling. Eager for familiar accents and the kind bonding that 10 hours of drinking will bring, I was drawn like a mosquito to juicy flesh to any establishment my trusty Lonely Planet profiled as “full of drunken American college students.” While those descriptions were probably meant to deter travelers from that type of lodging, they served as guiding lights for me. I’m a little bit ashamed to admit all this now, but at the time I fully embraced being such a cliché. (Although now I’m probably just a different cliché.) But staying at places like these made me feel a little less lonely (and a lot less sober). And I had a great time.
A few that come to mind are Balmer’s Herbage in Interlaken, Switzerland; the Pink Palace on Corfu, Greece, and the Flying Pig in Amsterdam. The photos on the front pages of their websites ought to clue you in as to how you’ll sleep if you’re hunkered down in one of their bunks.
I know these aren’t the only three; where are the other party hostels?