After a fabulous European holiday, I’m no longer hostile to hostels

Are you craving an adventurous Second Act but worried about how to finance it? Especially if you’re female. Unequal pay and unfair pensions leave women in a much worse financial position than men as we face retirement. So how can we indulge our travel lust without breaking the bank? The answer is a new trend called “grey hostelling”. I discovered this phenomenon when my girlfriend invited me for a break in the historic Portuguese seaside city of Porto.

I pictured myself sipping vinho verde on the balcony of some plush hotel, overlooking the Douro River as it sweeps into the Atlantic. So you can imagine my horror when our taxi drew up outside a youth hostel. I immediately got out my compact and made my girlfriend look into the mirror. “See those things on your face? They’re wrinkles, not pimples. We are way too old to stay here.”

Kathy Lette: After four days in the historic Portuguese seaside city of Porto, I’m a hostel convert.

One of the best things about getting older is never again having to slum it in youth hostels. Years of youthful backpacking has left me forever hostile to hostels. Most establishments were so crummy the staff stole towels from the guests. Bedrooms were so cramped, the cockroaches were hunchbacked and the bed bugs were round-shouldered. There was so much dust beneath those soggy bunk beds, the mice got around on stilts. I still have nightmares about peeling stray pubes off communal soap with cringing fingers.

I glanced up at a pockmarked tenement so decrepit it was clearly only still standing because the woodlice had linked arms. With limbo-low hopes, I followed my soon-to-be-ex-friend up the rickety stairs, but was pleasantly surprised to enter a spacious, comfy sitting room. The high windows overlooked Porto’s big, broad river, where multicoloured houses cluster like barnacles up steep banks to a city summit bristling with church spires.

Okay, the accommodation was unexpectedly charming, but what about the food? I reminded my companion that hostel breakfasts are so bad the rats bring their own snacks. Then I flumped down in a sulk at the long wooden dining table.

“Mmmmm, can you smell that delicious aroma of cinnamon and nutmeg wafting from the kitchen?” she enthused.

“Yeah, well, in my experience hostel staff are so indolent that when placing an order, it’s wise to leave a forwarding address,” I Eeyore-ed back at her.

But a beaming waitress soon magicked a marjoram omelette, melon, grapes and warm croissants to the table. We were also offered a welcome drink. Now, in most hostels, staff water down the water, but the tall, cool glass of white port, tonic and lemon zest, garnished with basil leaves, was not just deliciously refreshing, it soon had us cackling like kookaburras.

Okay, so far so good. But what about the human menu? Would we prove to be the only women over 60 marooned in a sea of teenage angst and acne? Totes awks! As a teenager might or might not say: who knew?

Soon other guests started filtering in. At first, all we saw were male Adonises with serious pecs appeal and tanned, miniskirted gap-year girls, which made me feel as ancient as this UNESCO World Heritage Site’s many crumbling monuments. But over the next hour, eight or nine solo female travellers wandered into the sitting room, all aged over 50 and keen for a chat.

One of the more positive aspect to “grey hostelling” is that older travellers are so much more interesting than younger ones. After a day of sightseeing, a gaggle of us older dames ventured to a tapas bar to wash down schools of succulent prawns and fried cod with local rosé, listen to fado music and swap fascinating life stories. And that’s another upside to staying in hostels that I’d forgotten: communal living means it’s easy to make friends.

One of the more positive aspect to “grey hostelling” is that older travellers are so much more interesting than younger ones.

KATHY LETTE

For women who have lost their husbands, divorced their husbands or possibly even killed their husbands, hostels are a perfect choice: you can be on your own, but if lonely, there’s always company on tap.

After four fab days, I’m no longer hostile to hostels. For solo travellers, they’re a cheap, safe way to enjoy European escapades. And there’s always Tinder for horizontal adventures. “Or sometimes it’s just simpler to have a nibble of a wine waiter,” winked Cindy, a 67-year-old Texan. “And if it’s cold, some dorms are unisex, so you can have a human hot-water bottle,” Hannah, a 55-year-old Aussie, grinned.

Clearly, youth hostels are no longer just for the young, but for the young at heart.

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