PILLOW FIGHT

The uncertainty over our arrival time meant we lobbed into Florianopolis without accommodation booked for the first night of our stay. Not a massive problem, just a matter of ringing around the hostels and seeing who had beds.

First call, Bell’s Company Hostel. The phone rings and rings and rings and then…

“Hola, amigo.” Says a cheerful sounding voice.

“Hola. Fala Inglais?” I reply in the hopeful tone all influent foreigners use.

“Yes, yes, of course my friend.”

“Hi mate, we’ve got a booking for tomorrow night but we’re in a day early. Have you got any beds for tonight?”

“Oh man, tonight is going to be, oh my God! I have five bar staff on tonight. Big party. Big, big party.”

“Cool. That sounds great. So there are beds then?”

“Yeah man, we have 15 new people coming in to stay today. It’s going to be massive. 500 people are coming over for the party.”

“Cool, but does that mean there are beds for us or not?”

“You come over and we will find something for you.”

“So there are beds?”

“I see you this afternoon for the big party.”

And with that the conversation ends and the line goes dead.

Slightly confused as to whether we were booking in for beds or just a big party I make my way back to Alan to deliver the inconclusive news.

We decide to risk the trip to Bell’s.

Our arrival is explosive. The cheerful voice at the end of the phone belongs to a cheerful man in a black Speedo who immediately welcomes us into his establishment with a twenty-minute tour that includes a person-by-person introduction not only to all his staff but every guest he can find too. Some of the guests have clearly been through this ritual a number of times before and, sick of it, start creeping under bed-sheets and edging towards doors as soon as they see us coming. Sadly for them, Gekko’s enthusiasm is matched by uncanny speed and none escape an introduction.

At the conclusion of this grand tour of the premises we still haven’t been allocated beds but Gekko assures us that this will be remedied in due course. In the mean time, if there is anything at all we would like (with the exception of a comfortable place to sleep it would seem) we need only ask.

“I can get you anything on the island except prostitutes and crack.” He says before turning on his heel and disappearing into his bedroom.

Alan and I walked back into town to find an establishment more willing to cater for our tastes.

That’s a lie. The place seemed nice enough and besides, Gekko already had our passports locked in his filing cabinet. The no whores and crack rule seemed reasonable and, in the case of Gekko, entirely unsurprising. If you’re as relentlessly upbeat as he is you clearly have no need for professional sex or illegal stimulants.

True to his word he did find us a bed, possibly from an orphanage, and as we sat drinking a beer on the patio we could see the bare foam mattresses being marched into our dorm.

In the end it wasn’t a shortage of beds but bedding which was the major issue and pillow roulette broke out on the first night. Unfortunately for me I left my pillow momentarily unguarded and wound up having to sleep on my hands. The next day, as I hunted around for a spare, I came to the conclusion that during the day people were stashing their pillows in their lockers. Proving once more that value is a human construct.

Speaking of which, Gekko kindly offers a security service for all his guest’s valuables. This sounds more reassuring than it is as the “safe” is just a battered old filing cabinet, with each person’s valuables demarcated by the use of labelled plastic bags.

Despite its simplicity, the system seemed to work well, at least until the third morning when Alan and I wanted to retrieve some cash. Worryingly our bag could not be found. More worryingly, Gekko appeared to be oh-so-slightly stoned.

The fact that this intoxicated man may have misplaced our cash, credit cards and, most importantly, our passports put Alan and me under a certain amount of strain and flop-sweat began to appear as he counted out the bags again and again, failing each time to locate our valuables.

Hooky looked like he was about to break out one or two aspects of his army reserve training when, after the third sweep of the cabinet, Gekko’s even more stoned friend peered out of his marijuana induced fug and suggested that the bag may have fallen down behind the draws.

Bingo. Disaster avoided. Code red status downgraded to alert but not alarmed.

The moral of this story is that in times of bedding shortages keep your passport on your person and your pillows under lock and key.

That is all,

Dale Atkinson