Having a bit of a snoop and poke around to see what other blogs on backpacking in Europe are offering, I came across this gem which reminded me of an otherwise banished memory of a horror hotel in Ljubljana, Slovenia.

Let me just say that otherwise picture-perfect Slovenia is one of my favourite countries in Europe. Small on the map, but packed full with such a vivid alpine, rural, urban and coastal vistas, it’s enough to make ones feet and camera trigger finger itch.

But that’s not all. I guess this tale just completes the imagery…

I has visited Ljubljana with a couple of friends (the same two as the Croatia trip, so if you’ve read this post or even this post, you probably know where this story is going – lots of bungles, but even more laughs). We were there at the same time as some international conference, which meant that all the accommodation was booked. There was only one place in town with available beds, although was it any wonder? Perched on top of a heavily-wooded hill, as far removed from anything resembling the town below, this rickety mansion of doom was empty, silent, and completely oblivious to Ljubljana’s hotel squeeze.

We trudged up to the Bela Lugosi of guesthouses in the dark of night, questioning our every breathless, pack-laden step. On arrival we nervously edged into the foyer, calling out our greetings, almost hoping that whoever manned the desk at midnight had retreated to their coffin or was out sucking blood, so that we could just return to the city to bar hop for the evening.

No such luck. The teenage night-watchman emerged. The hotel was very pricey. What had we done to deserve this damnation? After a quick conference amongst ourselves we decided to try charm.

What if we were to stay, just in a double room (thinking that we’d just share the bed), and perhaps he could just ignore that we had a third person in there?

He considered it a while; we think he liked the idea. He agreed.

One our way to our room, we stumbled across a deserted mattress in the corridor. Great! Now no need to have three in the bed! I drew the short straw and settled in for a night on the floor with the mattress.

There, of course, were the nightmarish bathrooms (and who knows, I’ll throw in a thunderstorm and some bats for good measure – why let the truth get in the way of a good story?) and only ice-cold water delivered from a hose for the shower, but all in all, we saved some money, so like any backpackers we felt content with our lot.

That was until, in the following days in Croatia, I started to scratch and scratch and scratch. My body was covered in raised red welts that stung and itched, and itched and stung. Ah, that hotel of horrors, how was I to know that it would deliver me my first (though unfortunately not the last) case of lice?

An obvious side-effect of a Eurocentric education is an inkling to set forth across the continent, mapping out places where events from history books took place in Technicolor and not just in fine-print packed into paragraphs and henceforth crammed into young heads. This curiosity more often than not develops into the more serious condition of wanderlust, and then, as I’m lead to believe, into dromomania, a passion or uncontrollable impulse to wander or travel, a malady (or blessing) by which I’m seriously afflicted.

The first time I went alone to Europe was when I was 18. Having finished high school and saved my pocket money, I was determined to somehow stretch this meagre amount to last for a whole year without working. Thanks to numerous relatives, generous students willing to share their dormitories, Eurolines and Eastern Europe, this was possible. I was also lucky enough to have well-travelled parents, with well-travelled friends, who had sent their teenage sons and daughters to stay at my parents’ house, and thus the doors of Europe where open for me.

My favourite places in Europe – what I think of as the majestic golden triangle of Vienna, Budapest and Prague; countries of the former Yugoslavia, the Baltic states and Scandinavia, anywhere in Southern Europe blessed by an ocean, and most definitely anywhere with either a picturesque mountain range or a comprehensive recycling system or bicycles as a recognised and supported form of public transport. Have I covered it all yet?