Aurangabad might have been a little odd, but it did have a positive side; in the Youth Hostel I met Ian, who proved excellent company with whom to explore the magnificent caves at Ajanta
Wednesday 18th March was a long bus-transit day north from Bijapur to Aurangabad. For absolutely no reason Aurangabad almost totally failed to light my candle, and despite my booking in for three nights, I hastily departed after two, having explored the local sights (such as the wonderful caves at Ellora, which did light my candle).
This early departure was almost entirely down to the place in which I stayed. Aurangabad is home to a genuine Youth Hostel, and with its fairly convenient location and extremely cheap charges (Rs20 per night, or about 30p) I went for it. I will never again stay in a Youth Hostel unless I have no choice: they all have the same grim atmosphere, and although it's hard to put my finger on the exact reason for this depressing hostel vibe, it's been present in every one I've stayed in, from Australia to India.
Perhaps it was the institutional feel of the whole set-up that set my teeth on edge: lights out was at 10pm, the manager was not a 'manager' but a 'warden', there was plenty of sickly sweet Christian messaging posted on the walls and the buildings looked like they had been auctioned off from the set of Carry On Doctor. But the real reason for my total failure to enjoy Aurangabad Youth Hostel was the type of person it attracted. Calling them 'strange' would be a kindness.
To be fair, my experience of Youth Hostels hasn't exactly been good anywhere. My one memory of the hostel in Perth was of one particularly depressed traveller spending a Saturday night lying in a pool of delirium having taken an overdose of Prozac; the paramedics were most courteous as they carted him off, gibbering quietly to himself.
Youth Hostels are home to one particular type of weirdo: the hostel networker. He is normally (but not always) young, is pretty shy, has travelled extensively but never outside the international network of hostels, and tends to have some kind of oddity about him, whether it's a habit of staring blankly ahead, a mild case of obsessive-compulsive disorder, or just a lack of social normality. There are a few girls too, but they have nothing going for them except a future career teaching Physics for the Open University.
There will also be a smattering of Japanese, a few serious Germans, a couple of headcases with tattoos and strangely cropped facial hair, and at least one resident weirdo who has been there longer than anyone can remember and who still doesn't quite fit in.
I booked in for three nights but could only handle two. It felt like leaving school at the end of term when I finally lugged my pack out of the door and hailed a rickshaw: I even felt like playing conkers with the driver, but either he didn't know how to play or he misunderstood me. Instead he just covered his groin with his hands, smiled nervously and shuffled me into his cab.
I couldn't get in quick enough...
