About that NYC hostel . . . (finally)

Our criteria for a NYC hostel was a decent price (preferably under $30) and easy driving access with cheap or free parking. We were feeling pretty darn lucky when we found Jazz on the Villa, a Manhattan hostel accessible without driving through downtown and only $23 for a bed. What a steal! We called the hostel to double-check about parking and they assured us they had their own lot with plenty of space, so we booked it for three nights.

As it turned out, the hostel was easily accessible, but a decision to stop by Chinatown on our way nixed that advantage. Chinatown was crammed with pedestrians overflowing into the right hand lane because the sidewalks were too full. On top of that, taxis, delivery trucks and random cars would decide to stop in their lane, forcing everyone else to make their own path around. I have to admit, I did have a sense of accomplishment after we’d reached our destination. When we finally got to our hostel, we found that their promised parking lot was full and had to find a spot on the street.


We weren’t sure quite what to think when we realized that the hostel we had booked was smack dab in the middle of Harlem. We arrived on a Sunday afternoon and the neighborhoods were full of people dressed to the nines emerging from the many churches nestled amidst the shop fronts. Harlem (at least the area we were in) wasn’t as sketchy as it’s stereotype suggests, but it fit many of the other expectations you might have for an urban neighborhood. There were men gathered to socialize in the barber shop, kids playing pick-up games on the basketball courts and folks sitting out on their front porches (or folding chairs on the sidewalk) visiting with each other. People would greet us as we walked by and ask if Audrey and I were twins. So, the fact that our hostel was in Harlem added interest, but isn’t what made the place wacky.

The hostel was in a big, old house that had potential to be quite cool with a little upkeep. On the first night, I skipped brushing my teeth because the only two bathroom sinks on our floor either didn’t have running water or was clogged with someone’s fresh throw up. As we would quickly come to find, the place was riddled with plumbing troubles and at least one or two of the already scarce bathrooms were always out of order.

The other quirky thing about our hostel was that it had a work program allowing long-term visitors to live there for free in exchange for three days work. We’re not sure how many people were in this program, but we were constantly seeing new faces sporting “Staff” T-shirts. They all lived in the hostel basement. This arrangement created a weird dynamic, making us feel like “guests” in the live-ins’ home. They were nice enough, but kind of had their own little group amongst the hostel-dwellers. Also, most of them didn’t seem to have real jobs, so they pretty much just hung out at the hostel day and night, watching TV or hanging out on the porch. You'll have to ask Audrey about Jorge to get a good idea of the wacky characters we met there - that story just has to be told in person.


To top off our stay, I found that the towel I’d hung to dry on my bunk that morning was soaking wet on the last night. First, I assumed someone had used it, but it was really drenched. Then, I noticed that my mattress and pillow were also wet. People were already sleeping, so I didn’t want to turn on the lights to investigate. I put my hand on the bunk on top of mine and felt a chalky substance. The ceiling was falling! And water was leaking from the bathroom above my head. Lovely. At this point, Audrey and I were cracking up. It was our third night at that hostel, so not much could have fazed us. I informed the front desk of the leak and they let me switch beds and assured me that it was “probably from the sink.” I sure hope no one had been throwing up in the sink that night.