When we got to the dreary looking building that looked like some sort of Eastern European, Post-communist apartment block, we off-loaded all of our stuff we began to have doubts about this place. The beach was nice, and the air smelled like it should in any coastal city - salty. We walked into the first big room and waited to be handed our keys and meal cards. The whole scene had the same feeling as that of walking into a mental hospital. The floors were old dirty tile, the walls were this ugly off-whiteish paint, and the lights were very dim. The whole building smelled old, like a nursing home, except it didn't make me want to vomit.
We were handed our keys and we each walked to our respective rooms. My first impression of my room was "Hey, this isn't too bad. It has a nice view." This impression lasted all of another 5 seconds until I looked around a wall and saw my bed. Actually, I need to clarify, it wasn't really a bed. It was more like a fold out couch, but instead of being folded out, it was folded up. The couch didn't fold out into a bed like the couches back in the USA do, it folded upwards into a bunk bed. Upon seeing my bed, I believe the first words out of my mouth were "You have got to be s****ing me!" I tossed my bags on the floor next to this beast of Spanish engineering and climbed onto the top bunk. The mattress was hard and uncomfortable, the pillow was so soft that my head risked being swallowed hole if I lay onto it. This wasn't too bad, I guess, but the worst part of this bunk was that it wasn't made for a 6foot 1inch tall body. I pulled myself as far to the front end as I could, but my feet still stuck off the edge. In hind sight, I suppose it could have been worse. The bed could have had a footboard and I could have had to curl up my legs in order to fit, but there wasn't a footboard so I was able to allow my feet to dangle off the edge.
Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose. I guess this round went to the dreary looking building that I'd be calling home for the next two nights.
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