When I was 9 years old, my sister and I had pet rats. My dad was allergic to cats and dogs were ‘too much responsibility.’ So obviously, rats were a great pet choice. My sister and I were charged with the job of cleaning out the rat cage every two weeks. As we were 9 and 12, two weeks could sometimes mean three or four and so the rat cage developed an odor. We’d drag the cage to the backyard, dump the poo laden wood shavings and sawdust, dawn our rubber gloves and get to scrubbing with old sponges and pinesol. The smell this job produced is a very specific smell- one I thought that could not be replicated. But if you subtract the pinesol from the equation of wet woodchips and rat excrement you have the smell of the bathrooms at the Funny Farm Hostel of Interlaken, Switzerland.
When I arrived at the Funny Farm, I was excited to see a grand ski lodge with a beautiful old lobby with velveteen armchairs, a piano and pool table. However, after informing the woman at the desk that I was there to check in, I was directed to a barn behind the gardens, picnic area, river rafting office and pool.
The barn had to have been either a stable or employee housing for the lodge at some point but had been converted in recent times to a giant shit-hole filled with empty beer bottles and cans and chandeliers covered in toilet paper. My 2 nights staying there were not completely unpleasant. However the entire time I couldn’t help but feel like the Saved by the Bell crew during the Malibu Sands episodes- employees of a swank resort living out back not allowed to mix with the guests.
“Sure, we’ll provide breakfast…
But you have to eat it on the patio where the real guests won’t see you…
And we’ll only give you bread that they didn’t eat, coffee water and tea...
Oh yeah. And could you try and make sure they don’t see you on the way back to your room.
Thanks”
My room the first night was a 6-person dorm room filled with 5 kids from Laguna Beach. We shared a wall with 6 Irish boys who were perpetually drunk and belligerent. That was possibly the worst night’s sleep I’ve had. Yelling Irish kids, dumb oc kids egging them on, and horrible skater-emo-mall-punk-shit music coming from travel speakers full blast trying to drown it all out.
“This song is sick, babe.”
The next night was a bit better as I moved to the spare bed in the
yes team room. We had an impromptu dance party in the common room, hit up happy hour at the better hostel down the road, swung on the chandeliers, and watched the Swiss day fireworks where we sang the US, Canadian, and Australian national anthems (as they were all we knew-sorry, Switzerland). So really it was just like Fourth of July Special episode of Saved by the Bell at Malibu Sands.
Now onto Paris with the
yes team (where there’s talk of Disneyland) so we can get our flight to Dublin so I can get a flight to Valencia where I will catch a train to Madrid so I can catch my flight to San Francisco. It seems a bit out of the way, but it is the cheapest/least complicated way to get there as all the frenchies have reserved up all the trains from Geneva to Montpelier- the gateway station to Spain.
The barn had to have been either a stable or employee housing for the lodge at some point but had been converted in recent times to a giant shit-hole filled with empty beer bottles and cans and chandeliers covered in toilet paper. My 2 nights staying there were not completely unpleasant. However the entire time I couldn’t help but feel like the Saved by the Bell crew during the Malibu Sands episodes- employees of a swank resort living out back not allowed to mix with the guests.
