It popped up on the kiosk when I was signing in for a flight from LAX to Hong Kong. DR CARLSON RICHAR. Somehow the D at the end of Richard and my middle initial – R – got moved to the front of the line. I brought it to the ticket agent’s attention, but she kinda blew it off.

I was also assured that my bags would be checked through all the way to Kathmandu. I wanted to double check when I landed in Hong Kong. When I explained I had a long layover in HK, then on to Kathmandu, I was told I needed to go to the transfers area to claim my bag, then drop it right back off again. But my two checked duffle bags didn’t arrive. When I went to customer service to inquire I was greeted with, “How are you today Dr. Carlson.” I should have just said, “I’m fine.” But instead I said, “I’m doing well, thank you, but I’m not a doctor.”

Can of worms now open.

I had plenty of time to burn today in the Hong Kong International Airport, but I really wasn’t expecting to spend a big part of it explaining that I am not really masquerading as a doctor. Ok, I’m exaggerating a little bit. The DR portion of the confusion was mostly humorous and only added 20-30 minutes to the hassle, at least directly. It did come up a couple more times as I was passed from person to person in search of my bags.

Never did see the bags, but I have been assured that they were located and should arrive in Kathmandu on my flight. Fingers crossed.

On to Nepal.

I only met Thierry in person once. He attended a rendezvous in Arizona with his girlfriend, Enrica and my friend, Koen. He didn’t speak any English and I didn’t speak any French, but we communicated well nonetheless. I liked him a lot. He was a gendarme and had a good chuckle listening to me try to talk my way out of a speeding ticket. Loved watching him eat rattlesnake at the Point at South Mountain. I received an email from him on D-Day every year, just to remind me that no matter how strained relations might be between France and the U.S. the French people are always grateful. I wrote back to remind him that we (at least those of us who know history) will always be grateful to the French as well.

I regret passing on the invitation to Morocco. I regret not having that opportunity to see him again. I will go in October and know there will be a dark cast over the group with Thierry’s absence.

You will be missed. R.I.P.

Back home now and already thinking about where to go next. I enjoyed my walkabout so much and met so many wonderful people that I wouldn’t mind going back to the south, but it is a big world with so much more to explore and experience.

I mentioned in a post early in the trip that my plans were evolving. This map shows the actual route that I covered walking, hitchhiking, by bus and by train.

Started with a flight to Houston on January 1st. Hiked a portion of the Lone Star Trail north of Houston until rain, mud and swamp forced me to make the first change to my plans. From Houston to Baton Rouge to New Orleans. Flew from New Orleans to Orlando to meet my wife and daughter. We drove from Orlando to Key West, then back to Orlando, stopping along the way in Miami and the Everglades.

I was on my own again hiking north of Orlando on the Florida Trail. The weather turned really bad after a few days with severe storm and tornado warnings throughout much of the south. Tornados did touch down, killing 16 people in southern Georgia. I took an Amtrak train into Jacksonville Florida to stay dry.

From Jacksonville I walked and hitchhiked north to Macon Georgia, then on to Atlanta.

Just before arriving in Atlanta I received a Facebook message from a friend, Nicole Miller, who I had not seen in quite some time. She invited me to Nashville to stay with her and her husband, Dutch. I rented a car in Atlanta and drove to Nashville. On the way back I stopped to visit the Jack Daniels Distillery in Lynchburg Tennessee, then down to Carrollton Georgia to visit friends at BlueWater Ropes.

Returned the rental car to Atlanta and took a bus to Tuscaloosa Alabama. From there I walked and hitchhiked south to Mobile to visit friends from Nepal who live there now.

From Mobile I walked and hitchhiked following the gulf coast back to New Orleans. One more night in New Orleans, then a flight home on a day that two more tornados touched down. What’s up with the tornados in the south? I thought that was hurricane territory and tornados occur in Kansas.

It was cold and raining when the day started in Thomasville, Alabama. The day before had been rough. This day was primed to be even rougher. The rain stopped, but the clouds never cleared.

I walked less than a mile before I caught my first ride. 15 miles down the road felt like a ray of sunshine.

My next ride was with a guy named Rod. I saw his pickup go by heading south. Unmistakeable two-tone paint job; tan and purple. He told me later that Chevy only made three in that color. Several minutes later I saw him again heading north. He did a U-turn and pulled up beside me. He had driven nearly a mile south before deciding to give me a ride to Mobile.

Rod doesn’t drive a new truck. It’s a ’95 model; rough, inside and out. It is clear that Rod does not possess much material wealth. I have been noticing a pattern throughout this trip. Those who have the least are often the ones most willing to help others. 

Rod received a call and apologized for needing to make a quick stop. His dad is suffering from some medical problem. Rod agreed to come over to show a kitchen stove to a family friend who was interested in buying it. The conversation between father, son and friend expanded to a variety of topics beyond the stove. There was a common theme to many of the topics. Rod helping his dad. Rod helping neighbors. Rod helping friends. Rod helping.

As we drove down the street to get back on the highway, a neighbor waved Rod over. I don’t know the details of what they discussed, but I heard Rod say, “Yeah, I’ll do that for you.” I heard that line from Rod several more times during our drive as Rod talked on the phone.

Rod was going to Mobile to visit a friend in the hospital. An ex girlfriend who still benefits from his kindness. She has a son who lived with Rod for awhile, even after they broke up. Rod was married once, but lost his wife to an accident and doesn’t feel he will ever love another woman like he loved her. His wife had a son who Rod still thinks of as his own.

Someone called Rod and asked him for help with a vehicle. “Yeah, I’ll do that for you.” Someone called him about some bedroom furniture. Rod told the caller he would build a bed frame and headboard to save them some money. A woman called to ask for advice about a family problem. Rod was there for her. Another call. “Yeah, I’ll do that for you.” And another. And another. “Yeah, I’ll do that for you.”

As we approached Mobile, I checked the map on my phone to figure out the best place for Rod to drop me off. The hospital is on the west side of Mobile and I was heading to Fairhope on the east side of Mobile Bay. I asked Rod what he thought would be the best way for me to get to Fairhope. “In this truck. I’ll take you there.”

My destination was Yak Kathmandu Kitchen to visit some dear friends from Nepal. I convinced Rod to join me for lunch, but I was just postponing the inevitable goodbye. I feel blessed to have met this man; this kind soul who brings so much sunshine to the lives of those who know him.

When I’m hiking I like to carry some hard candy in the waist belt pocket of my pack. Sometimes Jolly Ranchers. Worthers Originals on this trip. They come in such small wrappers; nobody would even notice them on the ground, let alone know it was me who discarded them. But I would know, and I never want to be someone who contributes even a tiny bit to the disgusting amount of trash along the road. So the wrappers go into a ziplock bag that I keep in my pocket to be discarded in a trash can the next time I see one.

Observing roadside litter at three miles per hour is much different than seeing it from the window of a car doing 60. Individual pieces come into view several minutes before you can even discern what they are. You have time to observe and ponder each piece.

It seems appropriate to make excuses for some of it. Car parts – tire tread, fan belts, timing belts, radiator caps, various hoses – pieces the driver likely didn’t know were lost until a bit farther down the road. Other items of value that likely fell from or blew out of a truck or trailer – furniture, mattresses, appliances, tools, hats, boots, toys. There was an economic loss to the owner (who nonetheless should have taken better care in securing the load). Some items observed were new or near new. Keepers, if I was willing to add the bulk and weight to my backpack.

The overwhelming majority of items are absolutely inexcusable. I often wonder what kind of thought process allows a person to toss trash out of their car window. Would it really be such a bother to hang on to that trash until they could find a trash can in the next town? Perhaps they have timed the process in the past – one minute to pull off the road, one minute to get out of the car and walk 10 feet to the trash can, another minute to walk back to the car, and a fourth minute to get back onto the road? Is their time so valuable they can’t spare that four minutes?

It is certainly possible that some items came out of vehicles accidentally. Loose items that blew out of the back of a pickup? Possible. But soiled diapers and feminine products? Unlikely either were removed accidentally by a strong gust of wind or a bump in the road. 

Glass and plastic bottles, aluminum cans, paper and styrofoam cups. Paper and styrofoam fast food containers. Plastic and paper bags. Cigarette cartons and chewing tobacco cans. And cigarette butts by the thousands – literally one every few inches along miles and miles of road. Tons of trash tossed out the window of a vehicle. Disgusting amounts of roadside litter, the majority of which comes from “convenience items”. Single use disposable is convenient. Single use disposable anything should be banned, or at least boycotted.

Roadkill Addendum

The following statistics were not obtained scientifically. They are based entirely on my observations of roadkill in the south compared to roadkill back home in Utah.

• The south has more possums and raccoons than Utah.
• Utah and the south have roughly the same number of skunks.
• The south has fewer deer than Utah (or the whitetails in the south are smarter than the mule deer in Utah and stay away from the roads).
• The south has armadillos.

February 1st. I started this trek one month ago today. 

So far, my modes of transportation have included: hiking on trails and along roads, hitchhiking, bicycle, Greyhound bus, Amtrak train, rental car, canoe in a Louisiana swamp, water taxi, fan boat in the Everglades, paddlewheel on the Mississippi, a sailboat out of Key West, and flights from Las Vegas to Houston and New Orleans to Orlando.

Accommodations have included: camping, hostel, couch surfing, sleeping in rental car, cheap hotels and Hiltons.

Enjoyed it all, but I have a definite preference for hiking on trails and camping. Waking up today in Tuscaloosa, Alabama. Heading south today on Hwy 82 to Centreville, then into the Talladega National Forest. Looking forward to a couple nights under the stars.

My original plan was to travel from Houston to New Orleans to Pensacola to Atlanta. As I was finalizing my own plans, my wife was making plans to fly to Orlando to meet our daughter and drive down to Key West. Less than a week into my trip – encountering bitter cold and rain – the idea of spending a little time in southern Florida became quite appealing. So, once they assured me that my presence would not hinder their quality mother-daughter time I set out adjusting my plans to join them. New plan: Houston to New Orleans to Orlando (by air) to Key West to Orlando to Atlanta to Pensacola, then back to New Orleans.

My daughter works full time for Hilton Hotels and part time as a bartender for Toothsome Chocolate Emporium at Universal City Walk. Both jobs paid dividends during our time together – a room at the Waldorf Astoria in Key West, Hilton Downtown Miami, Portofino Bay Hotel at Universal, admission to Universal. It wasn’t cheap raising her; finally getting a return on that investment. 😉

We drove a rental car from Orlando directly to Key West, then worked our way back north. Highlight of our time in Key West was a wine-tasting, sunset-watching sailing cruise. 

We had hoped to visit Dry Tortugas National Park. Unfortunately, there is only one ferry company with a concession from the National Park Service and they were sold out a few days in advance. It became necessary to do some extra bar hopping in Key West to compensate for the disappointment.

Now that I have visited the southern-most point in the United States, seems only right to plan a trip to the northern-most point.

Our route back to Orlando followed the coast to Biscayne National Park, then Miami for two nights. We spent our one full day visiting Everglades National Park via the Shark Valley Visitor Center. Options for the loop trail included riding a tram or walking, but we opted to rent three bikes. That turned out to be a good decision as we were able to move at our own pace and stop whenever we wanted, while still making much better time than we could have walking. We started the day hoping to see alligators and excitedly snapped the first few photos. After awhile, we had seen so many alligators that many of them went un-photographed. I wasn’t fast enough with my camera to catch the water moccasin crossing the trail. The Everglades is certainly a paradise for bird watchers as well.

It didn’t seem like a trip to the Everglades would be complete without taking a fan boat tour, so we signed up with a commercial tour operator. The tour included stops at two “hammocks”, the term used for small islands in the swamps – places used by Native Americans for building their homes.

During the drive back to Miami at the end of the day I looked on the internet for things to do in Miami. Not far from our hotel is a place called Wynwood Walls – a place for graffiti artists to show off their talent. The area includes a “formal” gallery area, but the art has spread out into the surrounding neighborhood. Worth a visit if you ever find yourself in Miami.

Back in Orlanda, staying at the Portofino Bay Resort. Transportation from the hotel to Universal is by water taxi. We spent an evening at Toothsome Chocolate Emporium. Chocolate whisky shot, chased by two chocolate beers. Mmmmm. Chocolate.

Last full day in Orlando wandering around Universal Islands of Adventure, followed by birthday dinner celebration for my daughter’s 23rd. Damn, kids grow up so fast. She’s practically an adult now. 

I can’t say that the Allman Brothers were ever my number one favorite band. As a kid in the 60s I loved the Beatles (of course). In the early 70s it was Creedence Clearwater Revival. In the mid to late 70s it was the Eagles. In the 80s, ZZ Top … What I can say is that the Allman Brothers have consistently been among my top three favorites for more than four decades. My LP, cassette, CD, iPod and iPhone collections have always included Allman Brothers albums and singles. No matter where I am or what I am doing, if “Whipping Post” comes on the stereo I will crank that sucker up.

Before I arrived in Macon I was searching the internet for things to do there. When I came across the Allman Brothers Band Museum in “The Big House”, it only took a millisecond for me to decide to stay in Macon longer than originally planned. I was fortunate to find a guy named Justin on couchsurfing.com who was willing to host me in his home, just four blocks from The Big House. As a Macon native, Justin is familiar with some of the band’s history and sites in town and proved to be a big asset in planning my Allman Brothers day.

My day of exploring started with breakfast at the H & H Restaurant. H & H was founded in 1959 by Inez Hill and Louise Hudson. The connection with the Allman Brothers started when the band was just getting started. They came into the restaurant to get something to eat, but couldn’t afford meals for every member of the band. They planned to share the few meals they could afford, but Mama Louise insisted on helping them out with a complete meal for every guy. The band became regulars in the restaurant and Mama Louise became a lifelong member of the band’s extended family, even joining them in their tour bus on the road in 1972. Both of the original restaurant owners have passed away. The current owners bought the restaurant to preserve the name, the character, and its special place in Macon’s history.

You can tell how much Macon loves their native sons by the streets and bridges named for members of the band. Just a few blocks from H & H, I was taking a photo of a sign when a police parking enforcement officer pulled up beside me and asked if I was an Allman Brothers fan. Stanley Honeycutt. In the conversation that followed, Stanley informed me that The Big House was not the first house occupied by the band. There is only a vacant lot where the original house once stood, but one of the band members had drawn a mushroom in wet cement in the sidewalk in front of the house. It was on College Street; a street I would be walking before the day was over, so I asked if he could be more specific about the location. Instead, Stanley told me to get into his little electric “patrol car” and he would take me there.

After seeing the sidewalk mushroom (and an extended conversation with Stanley about life in Macon), I realized I was only a few blocks from the Rose Hill Cemetary where Duane Allman is buried. Duane was killed in a motorcycle accident in 1971, just two years after the band was formed. Buried next to him is Berry Oakley, the band’s original bass player, who also died in a motorcycle a year later just a few blocks from where Duane was killed. The day before I visited Macon news came that band drummer, Butch Trucks, had died.

During the band’s early days in Macon, they would sometimes hang out in Rose Hill Cemetary writing songs, including “In Memory of Elizabeth Reed”. Elizabeth Reed Napier (1845-1935) is buried in Rose Hill.

I saved my visit to The Big House for last. A live performance video of “Whipping Post” was playing on a large screen television as I walked in. The museum was much as I expected it would be. Guitars, drums and keyboards used by the band. Costumes worn during concerts. Gold records, album covers, posters and other memorabilia. Waxing nostalgic. 

I rode Lori hard that day. Well, at least as hard as I dared. She is obviously well-past her prime. As much as I hate to admit it, I’m a bit past my prime as well, so I needed to rest often. But after every break Lori let me climb back on top of her and ride her some more. 

Now, I don’t want you to get the wrong impression about Lori. She’s not one of those “fast” girls, but she did put out for me and I loved her for it.

I named the bike Lori. After all, she is a girl’s bike. Lori in honor of the stranger named Lauren who gave her to me. Lauren had driven past me hitchhiking, but didn’t stop because he was getting close to his turn-off. It was a long stretch of highway and nobody was stopping to offer a ride. I thought I heard a voice shout, “Do you want a bicycle?” I had to wait for a few loud cars to go by to confirm what I heard. I asked if he had a bicycle he wanted to sell. No, he had a bicycle he wanted to give to me. He had already gone to the garage to get the bike and bring it out to the end of his driveway to be ready when I walked by. 

She wasn’t a pretty bike and she certainly wasn’t very young. Single speed. Pedal brake. I had no way to raise the seat so I couldn’t fully extend my legs as I pedaled. I can imagine what people were thinking as they drove past me. Some old guy wearing a backpack pedaling a girl’s bicycle that is too small for him. Fortunately, I don’t think anyone slowed down to take photos.

There are no big hills on that stretch of highway; but there are lots of little ones. Pedaling into a headwind took a lot of work going uphill. I found myself walking with the bike when the wind was too strong or the hill too steep. Riding when it was flat or downhill or the wind died down a bit. Walking, I average 2-3 miles per hour. With this combination of walking and riding I averaged 5-6 miles per hour. A definite improvement, but a pace that would not get me to my next destination before dark. Hitchhiking with a girl would normally increase one’s odds of catching a ride, but not with this girl. I had to give her up. I hope her new owner enjoys riding her like I did.

Named after the Duke of Orleans who reigned as Regent for Louis XV from 1715 to 1723, the city was established by French colonists and strongly influenced by their old world culture. It is well known for its distinct French and Spanish Creole architecture, as well as its multi-cultural heritage. New Orleans is often referred to as the most unique city in the United States.

My three days in The Big Easy provided opportunities to explore the architecture, the history, the culture and the music – all personal passions.

Originally settled by the French, Louisiana was ceded to Spain in 1763. According to one tour guide, France gave the land to Spain just to make sure it would not go to the English. In 1803 Napoleon asked Spain to return it and, not wanting to have issues with Napoleon, Spain obliged. Later the same year Napoleon sold the land to the United States.

Spanish influence can be seen in the architecture of the French Quarter of New Orleans, but the balance of the culture remained French. Perhaps because Spain sent only men to settle there. The Spanish men found only French and Creole women to marry and tended to adopt their culture.

PLANTATIONS ALONG THE MISSISSIPPI

There was a time when both sides of the Mississippi River were lined with plantations. A few remain that are open to tours, which provide studies in both history and architecture.

Laura

The Laura Plantation was named for Laura Locoul Gore, who was born during Abraham Lincoln’s presidency and died during John F Kennedy’s. In her later years she wrote a book, “Memories of the Old Plantation Home”, which gives a detailed account of life on the plantation after the Civil War. West African folktales of Compair Lapin, known in English as the legendary “Br’er Rabbit” were recorded at the Laura Plantation.

Laura includes 12 buildings on the National Register. The main house was built on a raised foundation to help with cooling in the summer and protect it from the ravages of Mississippi River flood waters in the spring. The main house at Magnolia Mound in Baton Rouge was built in a similar fashion.

Oak Alley
Seeing the Oak Alley Plantation on the internet made me want to visit, but it turned out to be my least favorite. Beautiful, but the most commercialized and crowded. The tour included 34 people, all competing for positions to take photos.

The plantation is named for the “Alley of Oaks” that lead from the bank of the Mississippi to the front entrance of the main house. The trees were planted by an unknown settler in the early 1700’s. 28 trees, 14 on each side of the alley.

The Greek Revival style of the main house did not seem as practical as the raised design of the other two I visited, but this one was built to impress. The house was a gift from Jacques Telesphore Roman, a wealthy Creole sugar planter in his 30s, to his bride Celina, age 18, who was apprehensive about leaving New Orleans society to live on a plantation.

RIVER BOAT TO CHALMETTE BATTLEFIELD

Took a ride on the Creole Queen Paddlewheel down the Mississippi River to the site of the Battle of New Orleans, the decisive battle in the War of 1812. The ride included narration by a guy named Charles who spoke with a theatrical voice and a great deal of passion. On our way to the battlefield, Charles covered the history of New Orleans, information about some of the ships docked along the river, and of course, the battle.

During the final campaign of the War of 1812, the British sent a force of 11,000 soldiers, marines, and sailors to capture New Orleans. Despite the odds against him, General Andrew Jackson (with support from the U.S. Navy on the river) managed to pull together a force that included militia from Louisiana and Mississippi, U.S. Army regulars, a large contingent of Tennessee state militia, Kentucky riflemen, Choctaw fighters, and local privateers (the latter led by the pirate, Jean Lafitte), and defeat the British troops decisively on January 8, 1815. I missed the anniversary, which included a reenactment of the battle, by two days.

On our way back from the battlefield, Charles spoke at length about Hurricane Katrina and its aftermath. Hearing him relate the story confirmed my belief that the problems that followed the hurricane were caused or exacerbated by one bureaucratic blunder after another. Real progress was made once the 82nd Airborne stepped in to spearhead the operations.

SWAMP TOUR

Paddlewheel on the Mississippi in the morning; canoe through a swamp in the afternoon. Another very entertaining guide, this one named Bishop. Funny guy. There were some birders on the tour who appreciated Bishop’s knowledge of all the birds we saw. We also encountered a raccoon that Bishop called George. When George slipped into the water and swam toward us, it was clear he had been fed by people on tours before.

MUSIC – BLUES AND JAZZ

I love the blues and New Orleans did not disappoint. Clubs on Frenchmen Street and Bourbon Street provided numerous opportunities for me to enjoy my favorite genre, along with 3 for 1 drink deals. There were clubs playing jazz as well, but the best jazz was being played on the streets.

I went a few mornings without a mirror, walking around not knowing that my hair was a mess and sticking straight up. No wonder little kids and puppies were running away from me. LOL

What I needed was a good “low maintenance” (meaning short) haircut. Google search showed a place called the Rooster Club not far from where I was having coffee in the French Quartert. How could I not go to a place called the Rooster Club?

My hair was cut by barber-musician Johnny Angel. Johnny has an Elvis kinda vibe going. Search for him on YouTube with either of his two bands. Johnny Angel & the Swingin’ Demons plays big band music. Johnny Angel & Helldorado plays classic country.

I had my route planned out from Baton Rouge to New Orleans – walk down the River Road on river left. Visit Houmas House Plantation. Cross over the Mississippi River on Hwy 70 bridge to river right. Visit Oak Alley and Laura plantations. Then on to New Orleans. Google Maps says the distance is 82 miles. Sticking my thumb out I figured I could get to Houmas House by midday, visit the other two plantations on day two, and reach New Orleans sometime on the third day.

I don’t normally need an alarm clock; I’m up without one between 4:00 and 5:00 every morning. Except this particular morning. Slept in to 5:50. Sunrise coming just after 7:00 and I wanted to get an early start. Breakfast started at 6:00. A couple eggs and a cup of coffee. Check the weather. 36 frickin’ degrees and rain in the forecast. Back to the room to pack, looking out the window at the clouds and rain; just a light drizzle. Rain jacket, rain cover for my pack. This won’t be a problem.

I made it less than half a block from the hotel when the sky opened up and dumped down hard. Taking cover under a store awning I started considering my options. Step one: get back to the hotel lobby. Step two: get another cup of hot coffee. Step three: get on Greyhound’s website to check the bus schedule. Step four: check hostelworld.com to see what is available that night in New Orleans. Go!

The bus was scheduled to depart at 1:10 PM and we actually pulled out of the station two minutes early, but the bus stalled in the middle of the street. Personally, I think the newly-hired driving just didn’t give it enough gas, but she chose to return to the station to have it checked out.

Which is the greater adventure; hiking through the wilderness or taking a Greyhound bus?

Spending an extra hour in a bus station affords one the opportunity to observe people and try to guess “their story”. Remember George Carlin’s routine about playing spy in the airport? I’ve done it in airports around the world, but playing the game in a bus station adds a whole new twist. Pretty sure I didn’t see any spies though. Things I did notice included …

Pulling a cell phone out of your pocket will frequently attract someone who wants to borrow it to make one quick call. The first guy to borrow mine made two calls; the first to beg someone to go to Walmart to wire him $60 so he could find a place to stay and some food when he arrived, the second to beg someone else to pick him up at the station when he arrived. It was pretty obvious that both said no.

Despite the NO SMOKING signs and the diesel fuel warning signs, some passengers really really really need a cigarette. They will stand outside the bus, next to, but oblivious to the signs, to get every last drag they can out of that cigarette. And they will already have one in their mouth with lighter in hand as they exit the bus before they take that last step down to the pavement.

Kudos go out to the woman who manages the Greyhound station in Baton Rouge. She has the patience of a saint. I watched as one person after another approached her with petty problems, unable to make it through the simplest of life’s problems without assistance. To make matters worse, bus routes going north were being cancelled due to icy road conditions. People were starting to pile up in the station and this woman continued helping everyone she could with a warm and sincere smile.

Nonetheless, I was glad I was heading south to New Orleans. The ride was uneventful.

From the New Orleans Greyhound/Amtrak terminal I walked about a mile to catch a street car on Canal Street, which took me within a block of the India House Backpackers Hostel. An old converted mansion painted bright yellow. Not sure about its age, but I do know that it doesn’t have insulation or central heating. Very happy to have a warm sleeping bag.