Fiasco is a strong word. It's not a mistake, which could be resolved with some effort. Rather, it's a decision that leads to a series of increasingly unfortunate events.

Leaving Barcelona, I made a bad decision which led to fiasco. My last night in Barcelona was also my last night with my childhood friend Emily, and I wouldn't see her again for months if not years. We (read: She) made an Italian dinner, and finished our remaining alcohol. The latter was the mistake, since I had a 7am flight to Paris.

At 2am, we meandered back to our room and crashed.

I managed to turn off both of my pre-set alarms in my sleep. Waking up with a jolt as my plane left the country, I bolted for the airport. 150 euro and 7 hours later, I boarded a flight to Paris.

But Paris was not my final destination. That was the Loire Valley, 2 hours West of Paris by rail. I had to spend the night at a hostel by the Gare d'Asterlitz (the train station).

Thus how I ended up in Hostel Blue Planet. I waited in the entrance, a dimly lit brick corridor, behind an assortment of scraggly backpackers and older, roughly shaven men. To my right, a lounge filled by neon lights had a video loop of some French music video from the 80s playing on repeat.

Climbing 5 stories, I entered my room. It was completely unadorned except for 4 beds and a sink in the corner. Just after putting my bag down, my new roommate arrived. A short, balding man who smell strongly of French cheese, he spoke only Italian. Based on our brief, multilingual exchange, it seemed that he had a mental disability. A bit unnerved, I locked my pack to my bed and went to take a shower.

Opening what was clearly a bathroom door, I came across this:

This moldy shower was shared between all 24 residents of the floor.

After a night of little sleep, I caught the first train to Blois, France in the Loire Valley. There my fortunes took a positive turn.