The Solo Traveler Having Sex in a Prague Hostel

In this week’s story, a recent grad enjoys her last days of freedom before starting a new job: 24, single, Europe.

DAY ONE  

10 a.m. I’m in a museum in Copenhagen, and it’s pouring outside. I’m with a platonic friend who I met on a train to Stockholm. Soon I have to leave for the train station. It’s weird to say good-bye because I’ll probably never see him again.

1 p.m. I arrive at the train station to take a train to Berlin. I’ve been solo traveling around Europe for about two weeks now, embarking on a grand trip after graduating from my master’s program.

4 p.m. It’s cozy to be in the train while it’s still pouring rain outside. I read my giant copy of 1Q84, by Haruki Murakami — the one book I took with me on my trip with the intention of it lasting my entire monthlong expedition.

9 p.m. I’m walking to my hostel in Berlin, and the sunset over the river is mesmerizing. I  immediately feel that this place is alive.

10 p.m. When I get to my room in the hostel, I introduce myself to the girl sleeping in the bunk above mine. A is from Brazil but studying abroad in Portugal. The table in the entryway of the room is littered with empty vodka bottles, food crumbs, and rhinestones.

10:30 p.m. Some girls from England are sharing our room, too. They’re getting ready to go clubbing. One girl strips down, putting on a lace thong and fishnets. She’s worried her outfit isn’t good enough to get into the Kit Kat Club. Her friend echoes these concerns — they need to look slutty but tasteful.

11 p.m. A and I go to the hostel bar in the hopes of starting an interesting evening. As we  get to know each other, we catch the attention of some English men. They’re here for some football event. I am chastised for knowing nothing about it.

12 a.m. We follow the English guys to the bar next door, where they buy us espresso martinis. One of them, T, continues to tease me in a flirty way: You Americans say that, you Americans do this. I’ll make fun of myself for free drinks — actually, I’ll make fun of myself for free. I like T’s attention, but I feel him losing interest. Another man, M, is trying to get cozy, but I’m not feeling it.

2 a.m. A decides to go to bed. She’s more sensible than me. Now I am the lone girl in a group of rowdy guys. We walk through the city looking for a lively party. Although I don’t see myself actually wanting to hook up with any of them, or even see them ever again, their commitment to the chase fills me with glee.

3 a.m. We’re at a sports bar with sticky tables. The night can go nowhere good from here, so I decide to walk home. I tell them I don’t need an escort, but M insists on walking me back to the hostel. T hangs back. I am disappointed by this turn of events. As we reach the hostel, M tries to kiss me, but I duck away, thanking him for the drinks. I escape into the hostel lobby, where two guys watched the whole exchange. They are amused at my lack of interest, and one of them, Y, invites me to the Kit Kat Club tomorrow night. I accept.

DAY TWO

8 a.m. I didn’t sleep much, and I can feel it.

9 a.m. The English girls return from the club. One of them starts loudly talking about how she had sex on the dance floor. I try to ignore them and tell A about the rest of my night and the random invitation to the Kit Kat Club. One of the English girls looks me up and down and scoffs, “Do you even have an outfit?” I laugh nervously. She tells me to head to a lingerie store.

11 a.m. I take myself to a museum to see an exhibition by Caspar David Friedrich. His art moves me. I graduated with a degree in environmental engineering about a month ago. When I return home, I start a full-time job in engineering. I try to savor my freedom while I can.

1 p.m. I meet a family friend, R, for lunch. R lives here now (she moved for a man; it’s complicated), and I really enjoy her company.

3 p.m. Together, we find one of the few lingerie stores nearby that’s open on Sunday. We’re the only customers. I look at piece after piece, feeling, well … broke. I try on a couple of outfits that are on sale and hate the way I look. I’m not going to get into the club. I buy the cheapest option, a red pleather zip-up minidress and crotchless fishnet tights.

9 p.m. R and I eat some delicious Indian food, then I run back to the hostel to get ready.

11:30 p.m. The Uber drops me off in a dark and empty part of the city. I walk around looking for the club, surprised there isn’t a line out the door. A man sitting on the street corner offers me crack. I decline. I walk up to the door where I think the club is located. I’m nervous but excited. I walk in, hand over my phone — no phones are allowed in the club — and walk over to the dance floor. I see Y, the guy I met the night before at my hostel, dressed only in a leather thong, and give him a hug. I like that everyone is given a chance to be someone else here.

12 a.m. While I’m waiting to order, I’m approached by a tall man with curly blond hair and thick glasses. He’s wearing a mesh bodysuit decorated with a geometric pattern of dicks and mesh booty shorts. His arms are covered in wacky bird tattoos. He buys us both Moscow mules and gives the bartender a generous tip. We start talking and are immediately comfortable with one another. I compliment his tattoos, touching his arm, and ask him to explain them all to me. He is from Montréal, here on holiday, and I am taken with his French accent. He wants to check out the rest of the club and suggests we walk upstairs.

12:15 a.m. “Do you like making out?” he asks me. Yes, of course, I reply. He’s muscular and a really good kisser. He’s pulling down my crotchless stockings, and I’m thinking about how many people can see my ass right now.

12:45 a.m. I want to dance, so I drag him to the dance floor and I grind on him to the techno beat.

1:30 a.m. We walk upstairs to make out. He keeps lifting me off the love seat and setting me back down again, which is really hot. He starts fingering me, and I think about the people that might be watching us. He asks if I want to go back to his hotel, and I say yes.

2:30 a.m. The streets are empty, and I feel safe with him. Conveniently, his hotel is a five-minute walk from the club, and he’s also traveling alone. I ignore any weirdness about the situation and lean into the moment.

2:45 a.m. The hotel turns out to be very fancy. When we get to his room, he asks to take a shower with me. He shampoos my hair. His room is messy and he has neat rows of pill bottles on the counter. He explains that his antidepressants might make it difficult for him to get aroused. I try to calm his worries. It’s exciting just to be with him. But then I’m able to arouse him and … “You’re big,” I tell him. He does a good job of turning me on, and the pain of penetration, due to his size, is pleasurable.

3:30 a.m. As I’m falling asleep in his arms, I plot ways in my head to figure out his name the next morning. I’ve totally forgotten it.

DAY THREE

9 a.m. I wake up to a light-filled room. He offers me clothes so I don’t have to go back to the hostel in last night’s outfit. I drown in his Uniqlo sweatpants and T-shirt. They’re cozy. With a bit of hesitation and shyness, we discuss spending the day together, and it becomes clear we both want to. I go back to the hostel to change and shower. I give him my phone with the contact open so he can type in his own contact information. When he hands it back to me, I learn his name — I’ll call him B.

11 a.m. I meet B at an avocado-toast restaurant. As I show up in a green knotted headband, regular T-shirt, and shorts, I think about how the image of me from last night — crotchless tights and a red pleather minidress — is not at all what I usually look like, and B has no idea what I’m like in real life. We start to get to know each other over breakfast. He’s quite affectionate and insists on paying for my meal. We decide to go to the Jewish History Museum together.

1 p.m. B and I explore the museum. He takes time to read everything, looking at objects closely. It’s a heavy experience.

3 p.m. We go back to the hotel to “take a nap,” a.k.a. have sex.

5 p.m. We take the train to an outdoor graffiti gallery recommended by my friend, then we stop for pizza. We drink wine, eat, and talk. Then we see a biergarten, grab beers, and take them down to the river’s edge. I snap a photo of him holding a cigarette; he’s beautiful. We keep learning about each other, opening up. He tells funny stories about his friends in Montréal. My affection for him grows.

10 p.m. We meet R at an outdoor movie. When the movie is over, we go grab a beer at an outdoor hut. I can tell that R is incredibly amused by the situation. We go back to B’s hotel room to go to bed.

DAY FOUR  

10 a.m. We eat breakfast in the hotel lobby. I’m going to Prague today, with a plan to stay for three nights before moving on to the next city. I ask B to come with me. He has a few hours to figure it out while I go to the hostel to pack up. He says he’s going to look into train tickets.

12 p.m. I pack up the rest of my belongings at the hostel. B texts that he’ll meet me at the train station! We barely make the train. But after we board, we hold hands and look out the window and listen to music together.

5 p.m. We check into the private room B booked for us in a hostel in Prague. I’m nervous because this is a bit of a commitment — we’re staying together for the next three days. The room is luxurious after weeks of hostel bunks.

6 p.m. We are both tired and hungry. We try to find a restaurant, and he’s annoyed that there are so many places I can’t eat at because they don’t have vegetarian options. But we find a place where I eat a delicious salad, and the conversation is mellow but engaging.

8 p.m. We walk the river together and sit on the rocks. He rolls a couple of joints. We smoke and I barely get high — the weed is really bad.

10 p.m. We buy some Ben and Jerry’s on the way to the hostel and watch Netflix in bed.

DAY FIVE  

10:30 a.m. We find a breakfast place that looks good. I eat a frittata.

12 p.m. We take a streetcar to the base of a hill where there’s a walk that was recommended for good views. We have someone take our photo. We look cute together, and I feel affectionate toward him.

3 p.m. We walk through Old Town. B picks up a canned cocktail from a vendor on the street. We pass a dispensary, and he wants edibles. He takes a few as soon as he buys them.

4 p.m. We stop for wine and olives. I feel a deep exhaustion taking root within me.

5 p.m. We go for more wine and appetizers near our hostel. B keeps insisting on paying, which is nice.

7 p.m. B and I go back to the hostel. He randomly meets a fellow Canadian at the bar, and we start talking. More people join us. It seems they are all solo traveling. I immediately like one of the women, J. She’s spunky, smoking a cigarette, and I can tell she’s fearless. She’s on a three-month Europe trip before heading to Asia for another three months. I’m jealous and have no idea how she can pull off this lifestyle. We all decide to go out together and find a jazz club (the thing to do in Prague). Kinda feels strange that B and I are acting like such a couple. To be viewed as a couple, externally, with someone I just met is a weird experience I’ve never had before.

11 p.m. After jazz, we grab beers at a crowded sports bar. B is incredibly drunk. He leaves to go to the bathroom, and I suspect he’s throwing up. The night is going nowhere good. Soon after, we go back to the hostel.

DAY SIX  

12 p.m. We sleep late.

1 p.m. We make our way to a botanical garden nearby, but when we pass a winery, B says he wants some wine. I agree, but so much alcohol over the course of the week is deepening my feeling of exhaustion. Today is our last day together — I had plans to travel to Vienna next, and B intended to go back to Berlin. I try to fake a happiness with him that I don’t quite feel anymore.

2 p.m. We stroll a garden and sit on a bench. I get a picture of us.

4 p.m. B and I are back in the room. Both tired. He wants to smoke weed, so we do. Afterwards, I feel nauseous and anxious. He can tell I’m upset and doesn’t know what to do. I lie down and try to rally to enjoy our last evening together.

8 p.m. We sit inside a vegan restaurant. B immediately orders a negroni. I truly feel like our fever dream is coming to a conclusion. Two souls from two different countries who alleviated each other’s loneliness for a brief moment in time.

10 p.m. B and I have sex one last time. It’s not bad, but it doesn’t make me feel anything.

DAY SEVEN 

10 a.m. B and I eat our last breakfast together at a little café we’ve been eyeing near the hostel. The moment is bittersweet.

12 p.m. We arrive at the train station together. He’s leaving first, so I walk him to the platform. We hug and he says he’ll see me in Montréal, which we both know won’t happen, but in this moment, we can’t entertain the possibility that we’ll never see each other again.

12:30 p.m. My train is full and I must wait until the next one in a few hours. It’s weird to be alone now. I go to a coffee shop nearby and touch base with all my friends who were wondering what happened with the man I met in the club.

5 p.m. I’m finally on the train. Exhausted. I listen to music and gaze out the window. B texts me a French song that I end up loving and listen to on repeat.

9 p.m. My hostel in Vienna is a bit outside the city, and it’s quiet when I arrive. I feel sweaty and gross. I sit eating a protein bar in the common area and looking at the people around me. Who will I meet next, and what adventure will they take me on?

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