My Friend From South Africa

Hostel Friends
Ottawa, Canada
July ‘77

My Czechoslovakian friend, however, was just the opposite of John. We had
some stimulating conversations. We both liked to drink, so we spent a
couple afternoons in a pub drinking drafts. Sometimes it was hard to
understand him. He had an atrocious accent. After the 1968 takeover of
Czechoslovakia by the Soviet Union, he immigrated to South Africa. I
had taken a class on Eastern Europe and was familiar with the rise and
fall of Dubchec, the liberal reformist leader of Czechoslovakia at the
time of the Soviet takeover. My friend (I never could pronounce his
name) was impressed with my knowledge of the situation. Dubchec was
the reason the Soviets intervened in his country.

When he went to South Africa, he apparently had little trouble fitting
in because he was trained as a mechanical engineer/designer. In fact,
our most interesting conversation took place when he wanted to know
what I did for a living. He couldn't comprehend (or accept) that a
university-trained person would work with the "uneducated classes." He
said that would be a crime in South Africa. No matter what I said to
him, he could not understand that my goal all along was to become a
janitor. He would just shake his head "no" most of the time.
Actually, we had a lot of laughs over it.

I also need to say a few words about the hostel staff that has been
so kind to me. Mitch, the friendly deskman who supplied me with many
hearty laughs during my stay needs to be mentioned. Stephanie, the
assistant resident staff person who got me an appointment with the
free clinic for my poison ivy treatment (yes, I had a touch of the
stuff while off-road camping) needs to be thanked, also. I want to
thank, Jack, the head resident who let me stay past the three-day
limit, let me stay on credit, and even let me work off the cost of one
day by washing the breakfast dishes. And, as a passing point of
interest, he also confirmed what I already expected about today's
hostel clientele.

The majority of the people I've met while hostelling were "free
spirits," but not the kind of free spirits—hippie types, which used to
fill up the “city districts” back when I did most of my hitch hiking. The
free spirits of today were free because they had lots of security to
fall back upon. Their freedom rested upon—degrees, vocations, and
wealthy parents. Even Bruce, my New Zealand friend, was a skilled
computer programmer, and his older brother was New Zealand's Ambassador to
Canada. Generally speaking, these people were in the money, or at
least close to money. Jack agreed. He told me that today's travelers
were a different group of people. There were fewer of them, too. He
said, "In the past, at this time of year, I would fill all 120 beds,
as opposed to now, where only half would fill up."