Small World

Savannah

A guy arrived at the hostel last night and we spent a good five minutes trying to work out where we knew each other from. He was Australian, which didn't really narrow it down much, and he said he recognised my t-shirt, although given my pathetically small wardrobe on this trip that didn't offer too many clues either. After working back through the cities we've been to we finally worked it out - San Antonio. I suppose it's not surprising with only one or two hostels in each American city you end up running into the same people, but I still get a kick out of it.

This guy's allergic to most beers so when three of us went out we had to stick to the maize-based Corona, not that that's a bad thing. There's a big art college here and most of the bars were full of older students still lamenting the election result. One especially fiery girl who was speaking to us went on a huge rant against Rupert Murdoch, comparing him to Hitler and saying she hated him even more than George Bush. When I gently interrupted to point out I work for him the colour drained from her face and she just stared at me slightly open-mouthed. "Oh, that's good," she said, before sheepishly walking away. I think I spoiled her evening.