A Doctor for Cheap Lodging, Part 1

The Banana Bungalows consists of cabins strung out along narrow alleys off the Hollywood Freeway. I parked near the largest.

A desk clerk directed me to a cabin a hundred yards up a hill. Its Spartan interior slept eight in four bunk beds, all unmade. Papers, food cartons, luggage, and clothes littered the floor, and there was no furniture, not even a table where I could write. The air smelled of French fries and unwashed bodies:  a typical youth hostel.

Sitting on a vacant bed, I introduced myself. One glance under the man’s shirt confirmed the diagnosis. Chicken pox can be serious in an adult, but this was a mild case. He wanted to go home. I told him not to get on the plane until all his pocks were scabbed over. That might take a week, and I suspected he wouldn’t wait.

Walking down the hill, I puzzled over the appeal of youth hostels. They charge thirty-five dollars a night, a bargain, but cheap motels begin at fifty dollars and offer privacy as well as an unshared bathroom. Perhaps young travelers like to clump together.