Acclimating to a hostel life

Assuming you aren't married or living with your significant other, most people haven't shared a bedroom with another person since the time honored slumber party as kids (or more probably college).

I guess you could consider a Hostel living situation as a slumber party gone bad. Like the one where the annoying kid gets homesick or starts puking up Peppermint Stick ice cream and keeps everyone up all night, only to be all smiles at the breakfast table while absolutely inhaling a bowl of Fruity Pebbles.

In similar form, Hostels are conclusively unrestful. I have been moving around from hostel to hostel and thusly, switching from one snoring roommate to the next, with the occasional Sleep Apnea victim thrown into the mix. If you have ever heard a person with sleep apnea sleep, you often feel mounting pressure to jump in and perform CPR or the Heimlich to prevent the nasty noise maker from choking on their own tongue/cud/whatever scientific bodily part is responsible for the condition. (Perhaps the amount of body hair and/or belly size).

Speaking of CPR; the night before my friends (Tim and Ryan) left South America, we were dining at a "Libre Tenedor" (free fork. ie: all you can eat) BBQ restaurant (with lamb carcasses roasting over an open fire prominently displayed in the front window). While we were enjoying some mid-20's male banter, Tim started coughing and pointing to his throat. Thinking Tim was joking, Ryan and I started pointing at his throat too. These points were accompanied by jovial bursts of laughter.. until I heard a gurgle come from his throat and he mouthed that he wasn't joking. Having been CPR/Heimlich maneuver certified at some point in my life (mid to late '90's), I jumped up (inadvertently drawing the attention of every restaurant goer and employee) and got behind him preparing to administer the Heimlich. I had no idea what to do, and looked to Ryan for help. This proved to be of little help as Ryan was still trying to confirm whether Tim was being serious or not.. "Wait, Tim, are you joking? are you serious right now? you're such a baby.."

Tim rejected my advances to perform the heimlich, believing that he could remedy the piece of lamb stuck in his esophagus by taking several healthy gulps from his 1 liter Argentinean Beer. This didn't work either, and he ran to the bathroom to seemingly use the plunger or some other medical method vastly superior to the clench of my arms.

In the end, Tim was able to breath, but the lamb was a nuisance for the remainder of the night. As was Ryan's snoring.