Hostel Hell

Whomever decided to move us from the sweet, amazing, lovely, heavenly hotel to this hostel deserves to be shot. Or incarcerated. Or shot and then incarcerated. Because to go from the hotel to the hell hole I currently am residing is nothing short of a crime.

I am not even kidding. First of all, the place we're in looks NOTHING like the picture on their site. At all. The site made it look like it was a pleasant Bed and Breakfast-type house in the middle of Cambridge. The reality was that it looked like a brick project from 1960s downtown Detroit.

And the beds. Oh my GOD the bed. It would have been healthier for me to sleep on pavement or cobblestones than the two-inch mat they call a mattress. When I woke up this morning I felt like a 95-year-old with debilitating arthritis, I was aching so badly. I hurt.

On the bright side at least now I can say I've experienced a hostel. And I can say that I hate it. But at least I now know. And at least now I know that I will pay the extra money for a hotel. Because my inner 95-year-old can't handle this type of place.