A Favorite Mistake?

I got to my train on time, al lof them and arrived in Nice at 8:15pm. Travelling was beautiful. i thought i had seen real swiss alps yesterday, but no. Today was the day travelling through switzerland and into italy. it was absolutely breathtaking. And then once i transfered at Milan I was able to see the majority of the Italian riviera. amazing.

And then i got here.

To welcome me outside of the station was about 30 hotels, 6 sex shops, and the realization that I probably didnt have a place to sleep tonight. I didnt have the opportunity to chekc my email before i left this morning since everyone was still asleep so i was hoping to talk to a tourist office to find an internet cafe. I broke down again and tried to call my mother, but no answer. I contemplated sleeping on the beach or an alley because all the hostels were booked (i had checked last night) and the hotels here are much too expensive. Finally I found an internet to read my impending doom. Her father had surprised visited her and could not host anyone for the next two weeks and i didnt get a reply from another girl i tried. She recommended a hostel that was the cheapest one in nice, but i knew that was a slim chance.

The Pink Lady. That's the name of the woman who runs this joint, which is adorable and french on the inside of the reception which is also a restaurant. it looks like its from amelie. She speaks about as much English as I do French. She made room for me and i fell in love with her. However, this is costing me an extra 68 euros which i had not planned for and last night realized i had a whole hell of a lot less money than i thought. If i don't get help from the madre i really dont know how i'm going to pay rent, buy supplies to actually do what i came here for, and most importantly, get back to London so I can come home.

But right then i couldn't concentrate on that, just being thankful that i had a place to rest my head. I go upstairs to my room. Its a depaul party. I don't even know when ill be going to bed tonight because I got in the party room. I hate hostels. i hate them. It is not to meet people, it is to meet people to drink and possibly sleep with. It's vile.

Within a matter of five minutes I managed to insult a snotty British girl and ostricize me from the rest of the group. Great. As if I needed to feel more foreign and awkward. She apparently heard (i hate london) when i said *wow, london is expensive* and she keeps bringing it up and giving me the cold shoulder. whatever. ugh. Everyone is so unintelligent here and lame, for lack of a better word.

i HATE this. I wish i had just done Italy. Maybe i've gotten 5 good pictures out of this, which is certainly not all the blood, sweat, tears, and cash i have put into it. Just get me to Italy and get me home.

Will I ever be able to look back at this as a good thing? i duno. a favorite mistake, perhaps.