Hostels - not to be mistaken with hotels - were a concept so far from my understanding and regular life. I had an idea of what they were, but mixed with the vague negative accounts I heard and the advice of close family not to stay in communal spaces, I stayed away. My family has always been big on privacy, preferring single rooms over doubles, private bathrooms over shared, and so on. I grew up with the notion that privacy was priceless and that I should do everything in my power to acquire my own space. So when I stayed in my very first hostel in Rabat, I was shocked to discover how much I loved it.

Growing up, I wasn’t the biggest fan of sleepovers (I once cried to my friend that I desperately wanted to go home at 3 am). I hated winding down and doing my nighttime routine in a place that was foreign, where I would have to bring my travel size toiletries instead of having all of my soaps and lotions neatly set up in my own bathroom. I didn’t like lying in sheets that weren’t my own, and I was extremely self conscious of my sleeping habits. What if I drooled, snored, or sleep talked? I wanted my friends to see a perfect image of me without the vulnerability of sleeping in the same room as them.

I grew up with a general anxiety of the capabilities of evil people which further fueled my antagonism towards living with strangers. Maybe my fears were irrational, but too much time spent watching the news always seemed to produce something new to be weary of. What if someone stole my belongings or tried to hurt me in my sleep? When I booked my first hostel with Molly and Lucia (or rather when they booked the room and sent me the link on HostelWorld) I was shocked at the general trust they had in the “hostel community” to adhere to moral uprightness. They assured me that I would sleep safe and sound, and that the $10 per night price would prove to be absolutely worthwhile.

Our hostel in Rabat kick-started an appreciation for hostels that pre-Morocco me never thought would have manifested in my heart. Every night Molly, Lucia, and I would venture out onto the small rooftop of Dar Oussama where we would meet backpackers with a wide range of stories and personalities. After meeting people from Switzerland, Australia, Germany, and more, I quickly learned that hostels were a meeting point of the world, and that I was extremely blessed to be in the midst of this cultural exchange. We stayed up each night discussing what felt like every topic under the sun, from wild kangaroos to the education systems in our respective countries. Though our conversations with new friends we met in the hostel almost always began with the same questions (i.e. Where are you from? What brings you to Morocco? Where are you traveling to next?) They almost always morphed into quirky topics that made us laugh with our whole bodies. After parting ways with our new friends, Molly, Lucia, and I would happily recount our conversations with them, discussing how interesting and unique we found them.

My adventure with hostels thankfully did not end in Rabat. As soon as we returned, we booked our next hostel in Tangier for 4 nights. With a new guest in our room every night, there was ample opportunity to hear new travel stories and experiences. From Scotland to New Zealand we met guests from all over the world, all on a different path. I soon became accustomed to a lack of privacy, no longer put off by the idea of a shared space. I was able to get ready for bed alongside my roommates, noting that I truly was in a judgment free zone. After all, I was surrounded by world travelers who had been subject to much harsher conditions than communal beds.

Hearing the word “hostel” now brings an air of excitement and new possibility. Hostels are extremely humble environments, with cheap prices and simple amenities, yet they harbor a meeting point of minds where one can encounter people they never would have gotten the chance to meet. No longer will I view hostels as off-putting or unsafe, but will jump on the next opportunity to make an international friend.