It’s 1am and we are loitering with friends in our hostel lobby after a heavy session of drinking and dancing on bar tops to the legends that are Whitney Houston and Celine Dion.
A decision must be made; do we continue the night in the club next door or climb into the comfort of our beds? Our bodies are tired after an adventure-filled day of being slung across the sand dunes that surround the oasis of Huacachina.
I feel the pull of my bed and the dance floor in fairly equal measure, and Jon is too drunk to care either way, so we turn to our friends for counsel. A group of more decisive travellers open the front door to reveal the vibrations being created by the DJ next door and I feel my feet tingle with anticipation.
“Oh let’s go and dance” I suggest and we do until we can dance no more – turns out mine and Jon’s limit was only about an hour and a half.
It’s 2:30am and we shimmy back to our hostel.
“Sorry, you can’t access your room at this moment” the manager informs us.
“But I’m tired” I slur.
“Hahaha the hostel is on fire!” a fellow guest chortles in disbelief.
My inebriated mind focuses and I see and smell the smoke that is billowing out from the room next to ours. I then panic about things I could have left plugged in and quickly conclude that this is probably all my fault, I’ll get sued for all our money and we’ll never buy a house now.
“Erm where are the fire brigade?” I call out to no one in particular.
They arrive about five minutes later and get to work. For some reason we are allowed to sit by the pool, Jon predictably falls asleep and I sit watching dozens of other guests rushing in and out of their rooms that surround the blaze to get their belongings.
I approach the fire warden who speaks to me in Spanish so a kind chap (who gave me nothing short of a lap dance earlier in the night) translates for me…
“It’s not on fire, but there is a lot of smoke in there, you’re going to be relocated and won’t be able to get your things until tomorrow”
I wake Jon up to let him know and after several moments of confusion he springs into action and sorts out a new bed for the night.
We let our family know and when we are taken to our new room I call my mum for reassurance. It’s now 4am, I’m laying in my bunk staring at the slats of the bed above and my mind decides to finish the day off with some light torture. I think back to that moment in the lobby when we almost went to bed instead of the club. My body shivers unpleasantly and so I climb up to Jon’s bunk for a much needed cuddle.
Moral of the story: always choose the party.
Jammy 