h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

One of my best childhood friends had moved to Oostende in Belgium, to w*rk for the Pentecostal church, and I was going to visit her.

At the time, she lived in a very tiny flat that hardly had enough room for her, so I picked up an (obviously) outdated Lonely Planet guide book I happened to own (in those days, you couldn't google) and looked up Oostende.

Sure enough, there seemed to be a youth hostel and, as soon as I had arrived (by train) I went there to get a bed/room.

The name really said it all and ought to have made me suspicious already from the start but, back then, I was so innocent, and so naive.

'The Cuckoo's Nest'

I stepped inside what looked like a pub, with a bartender behind a counter. He eyed me up, looking rather dubious.

'Do you have a room or bed available for tonight?' I asked.

The bartender crossed his arms, looking even more dubious.

'Sure, you can rent it by the hour, or for the whole night.'

By this time, even my innocent young self was beginning to sense there was something very odd about this place - rent by the hour?

'Uh... could I see one of the rooms, please?'

And up the stairs we went. The carpet was worn, several of the doors were in poor repair, and it finally dawned upon me:

This place was no longer a youth hostel. Instead, it was used by prostitutes - hence the 'rent by hour'.

I politely thanked the bartender/proprietor(?) who, no doubt, enjoyed himself immensely on my account, but kept a straight face all through the encounter.

And so, I left the premises, and started looking for a *real youth hostel.

On second thought, make that the late 1980ies - the whole of Europe was still available (by train) using the InterRail card.

I went there on my first holiday abroad in the mid-late 70s. In fact it's very significant in my memory as I learned to swim there...

by virtue of nearly drowning
(still a scary memory)

I started the holiday showing of that I could swim with my hands whilst my feet were still on the floor of the pool... Then I got out of my depth... then I shouted desperately for help to my brother and dad who were totally oblivious and clearly couldn't hear me in the crowded pool...then some guy, who I've never met since and to whom I'll always be grateful, dragged me to safety...

the next day .... I could swim


That's Ostend to me (British spelling sorry)

Was it you?

My memories of Ostend date back to about then, too, Orcus. It could have been about 1969. We sailed there from our mooring on the Deben and saw all those lovely places, but had our accommodation with us, so didn't need a hostel or a hotel.

Knokke impressed me most. There was a fair on which we visited, and apart from eating lots of candyfloss, there were salesmen selling all sorts of wondrous things. The road into town from the coast really amazed us - it seemed so well organised with its pedestrian footpaths, cycle lanes, bus lanes, car lanes, tram lines all running in one system.