As I drove along Lincoln Boulevard in Los Angeles earlier this month I was looking forward to catching a glimpse of my favourite hostel 'Hostel California' which, from 1997 to 2008, was a yearly vacation destination for me during many stays in the west coast metropolis.
It was a shock to see it clad in wooden hoardings (and a little bit of graffiti), and the shock was compounded when I discovered on closer inspection that the villa-style building was being gutted and renovated into offices.
Originally built to house international athletes for the 1984 Olympic Games, the property went on to become a two-floor hostel. In the many years that I stayed there - and sometimes it was more than once a year - it was run by Klaus, of German descent.
Hostel California was a second home for me - an escape from my everyday life back home where I could unwind and enjoy the freedom of mixing with strangers and travellers as I had when I was younger and exploring Australia.
And I made many friends at the hostel - some who, like me, made return visits that allowed us to reunite unexpectedly.
The easy-going, unstressed atmosphere of the hostel was what made it so appealing. It also had great retro decor, including old Beatles posters, a white, funky bass guitar hanging on a wall, a small fish tank, full size billards table and the biggest picture of a space shuttle I've ever seen.
I wrote about the the hostel and what it meant to me in a chapter about LA in my 2008 book
Eating Clouds:
HOSTEL CALIFORNIA
As a seasoned backpacker and making a living in the relatively poorly paid world of journalism (at the time earning little more than £10,000 – or $20,000 – on a provincial English newspaper), such hotel luxury was out of the question. Seated on a plane from London to LA and flicking through a guide book, I came across a bargain price establishment, the Hostel California, and decided to head for it. It was an on-the-hoof decision which would shape, in a remarkable way, my enjoyment of the city for the next decade and beyond.
The social environment that comes from staying in a hostel is a world away from that of a hotel. A hotel offers protective sterility and the feeling of being a transient visitor, whereas a hostel dweller enters the local environment at street level – quite literally stepping onto the sidewalk without a doorman in sight to instantly blend in as an anonymous identity amongst the background ‘static’ of the locale.
This unheralded hostel on Lincoln Boulevard, very near to the junction with Venice Boulevard has, over the space of more than a decade of regular vacations, become a personal touchstone place. If LA is like a home-from-home – a bolt hole to escape from the other world of my life – then Hostel California is the cosy fireplace armchair within that home-from-home. Like an old glove or sock, its worn but comfy familiarity seeps through. Some of the mainstay staff at the hostel, including the owner Klaus, have been welcoming old friends across all those years.
There is no soluberant luxury here, but it is adequately maintained. The sound of traffic from the six-lanes of Lincoln Boulevard outside is only slightly muffled by the balcony terrace. The rise and fall of the traffic noise acts as a comforting reminder of the city beyond, from the relative peace of night to the wakening hum of the morning rush hour. Fading posters of The Beatles still stare out from above the purple-clothed pool table in the common area today as they did almost a decade-and-a-half ago on my very first visit. And then there is the location; a mere mile or so walk from the arty, unusual streets of Venice Main Street and Abbott Kinney.
---------------
So, it is hard to put into words how I feel now that I see my favourite hostel is no longer. At least the distinctive building will remain, albeit with a new interior and usage. The happy memories of sunny vacations stretching out for more than a decade will stay with me, as too will the images of some of the good people I meet there - Klaus and Swedish Karen to name two.
The Eagles' song 'Hotel California' could quite easily be applied to the Hostel California ... "You can check-out any time you like, but you can never leave".
All things must pass, as George Harrison once sang, and so it is that I say farewell and thank you for all the good times, Hostel California.
