Belfast, Northern Ireland
UK
Now, since I've been travelling, I've learnt to sleep through just about anything. Trains, loud music, too-short beds, noisy beds, people eating breakfast, people stepping on me and, of course, snoring.
I'll admit that, from time to time, I snore myself. I'm sure it can't be all that pleasant for those around me, but at the same time if I can have a fairly restful night despite the 10 people snoring (and talking and grinding teeth and whatever else) in a 15-bed dorm, then so can you.
But there comes a point when you just should not sleep in share accommodation, and should also probably seek medical and social help. And possibly a personal bodyguard.
Enter Exhibit A. A small (perhaps a little portly), softly spoken Englishman, asleep on the bed above mine. Almost immediately after everyone (six of us) have gone to bed, this guy begins to rumble, it's fairly soft and a little rhythmic even. Gently does it. Not a problem thinks I, who can sleep through anything.
And then it stops, as quickly as it started. Nice. I start to drift off.
HOLY SHIT WHAT WAS THAT? I'm disoriented as I sit bolt-upright in bed. Did a wall of the hostel collapse? Was a missile launched at the nearby police station? Did I explode?
Alas, all seems fine, so I lie back in bed. That's when I notice that the gentleman above me seems to be struggling to take a breath. When he finally does, the entire bed trembles.
This is honestly the worst snoring I have ever, ever experienced. It was inconsistent, it started and stopped. He struggled and then would all of a sudden let out a giant gasp and an enormous drum-roll of a snort. It was thunderous. It sounded like the guy was dying up there. And no amount of poking or prodding would wake him up. In fact the only thing that disturbed him seemed to he once or twice when his own snoring actually seemed to frighten him.
In the morning, after I'd had maybe three hours discontinuous sleep, he was gone.
No comments:
Post a Comment