at home by the river (accidental review of the river house backpackers and cardiff city centre)

A little over two and a half years ago, I was searching for accommodation in Cardiff when I came upon this jewel of a hostel, across from the river Taff and the Millennium Stadium, as it was then called. The Riverhouse Backpackers is run by siblings Abi and Charlie, who do such a great job that, not long after its opening in 2007, it was considered the best hostel in the UK - and fourth best in the world. No wonder the awards kept coming, since the place is indisputably well-maintained (the few problems I found there during my most recent stay - and, let’s be reasonable, nine weeks are a long time, long enough for little things, trifles, to happen despite how much effort we put into avoiding them - were all due to other guests and promptly solved when the matter was brought to the attention of either management or other staff) and the service leaves nothing to want for. Safe, calm surroundings (well, more than a bit livelier when the stadium hosts a boisterous event, like Beyoncé’s concert I gladly missed for being in Penarth with the Fannings - another lovely little story you’ll read about here one day), a 24-hour reception where one can buy, for instance, very reasonably priced apples, bananas, crisps and chocolate for a late evening snack (and where one may leave their luggage when, for example, they catch the train to a neighbouring town, kindly invited by a classmate and his wife, for one took too long to decide whether or not to extend their stay and the hostel is full for the night), a TV room where one will find DVDs, books and, if I’m not mistaken, even video games to entertain themselves with on a particularly rainy day (it was there that Carol and I exchanged life stories and confirmed our initial impression that we had much in common), a fully-equipped kitchen where one is allowed not only to cook, but also, for a few pounds, to do their washing (do check the weather forecast beforehand, though, as you’ll have to hang your clothes outside to dry), a dining room with another television set, more books and board games (where guests, pampered with free cider, pizza, ice cream, cheesecake or other treats on special evenings, enjoy them, one another’s company and themselves), a pleasant backyard (only to be avoided if, like me, you’re a non-smoker and someone happens to be indulging their cigarette addiction there), powerful showers in the shared bathrooms on two floors (bathrooms which are usually clean and sufficient - be sure, however, to get up early enough if you must be out at a certain time), comfortable beds in private or shared (mixed or females-only) dorms (one of which I was fortunate to share with several interesting women - thank you for that and for reading this if you’re there) - what else might one need? Oh, there are also weekly fees (remember to ask about them at the front desk if you’re booking in person or to send an email if you intend to make a reservation online) for those planning to stay in the city long enough to really enjoy it, and whilst there is plenty of nightlife close by (just don't ask me about it, as my evening pastimes usually saw me going to Bute Park), the hostel itself does not welcome stag or hen parties, which makes it  an ideal environment for those seeking some peace and quiet (I met quite a few families there, with whom I could even practise some of my French and the sadly little Spanish that I’ve learnt) - and I knew I’d forget something: as well as free continental breakfast (it deserves three links, yes - click on each of the words, you won't regret it, trust me) which puts that of many (more expensive) hotels to shame, there’s free, reliable wifi everywhere in the beautiful building. Nearby attractions and places of interest include the stadium mentioned above and Cardiff Arms Park (the actual place where my German friend and I attended that rugby event - thanks a lot for clarifying that to me, BTW, Genia! lol), Vue Cinema (where first I watched a live screening of Richard III, played by Ralph Fiennes at the Almeida Theatre in London, then roommate Charlotte invited me to go and see the new Ghostbusters with her, the highlight of which was seeing the old cast again, in cameo roles, and finally classmate Liz and I went for The BFG, and laughed at the memory of our good friend Carol when the good giant - no spoilers, right), the central train station (from where I left for Hay-on-Wye - don’t do so, go by coach with an all-day ticket instead and save lots of pounds - with fellow hostel guest from China Wendy, and also for Phyl and Jill’s charming home in Penarth, town of jaw-dropping gardens), The Prince of Wales (which used to be a theatre - and later a sex cinema, so says Wikipedia! - and is now a pub of the Wetherspoon chain, where I was taken to for my birthday and one may eat, if not exactly well - Carol has told me we vegetarians who haven’t given up eggs and dairy can, indeed, have a nice meal there provided we choose wisely: she recommends the vegetarian burger and something else I can’t recall, and I did like their five-bean chilli and their mac and cheese very much), St. Mary Street and its numerous Welsh flags, shops, eating and drinking establishments, among others (a couple of classmates and I found it amazing to witness its sudden but subtle transformation when the night fell and little doors we’d barely noticed then boasted bright lights and loud music), pedestrianised Queen Street (or Heol y Frenhines, in Welsh, yes) with its own many shops and its carousel, Queens Arcade (the shopping centre right in the heart of the city, where Liz easily convinced me to buy some tea tree oil, which smells wonderful and I should be using more often), Wagamama (where longest roommate Cecilia, Brazilian roommate Carol and I had a hearty, healthy and much needed warm meal, worth every of the not so few pounds spent on it), the Central Library (where I regret not having spent more time, if only I’d known then just how awesome it is!...), Waterstones (one of my very favourite places in Cardiff, a bookshop, of course, second only to the park I’ve mentioned so many times here - and will mention so many more, just you wait), Crepeaffaire (where you can, as the name suggests, have some crepes, delicious crepes, one of which I even enjoyed, on my next to last day in the country - ‘Will you come back tomorrow?’, the cute young man who’d attended to me asked as I left; perhaps I should have, oh, well -, for free, besides a hot drink and some ice cream, once the loyalty card my friends and I presented in most of our visits, much to the displeasure of one of the members of the staff, was fully stamped), the Old Library (where we can now find the Cardiff Story Museum, highly interactive and therefore suitable for kids, which I was too tired to explore properly on my two brief visits, first with Charles and then with David and Ioan, but in whose shop I bought a little card and even nearly or sort of spoke some Welsh with the lady at the till, who will speak it to you, if not always, at least when she sees you browsing through items with some Welsh words or phrases on them - I regret not being bolder and trying harder; I did inform her, anyway, that I was trying, and she seemed quite pleased), Cardiff Market, which I paid only a quick visit to but where I've been told one can eat very well, the city’s several Victorian arcades (where I didn’t, but you may do a lot of shopping if you wish - well, I did buy one or two, or three?..., souvenirs in one or two of them), the Castle Emporium, an arty little place I actually expected a bit more from, where I almost got a pair of earrings and\or a pendant and a chain, Castle Street and its castle, obviously, Cardiff Castle (across from which one can indulge in both souvenir-buying - I resisted as long as I could, but then bought myself a T-shirt on my very last day in Wales - and in some mouth-watering hot chocolate and pastéis de belém, Portuguese custard tarts, or, if you’re lucky to drop by when they’re available, a brigadeiro or two, Brazil’s most typical sweet, which I made a point of introducing a couple of roommates and a classmate to, at the Portuguese bakery Nata & Co.), besides my beloved Bute Park and the also very much cherished Sophia Gardens (where I made plenty of memories and where plenty of people go because of, amongst others, things such as the Everyman Open Air Theatre Festival - I saw Into the Woods there -, the coach station - to which Liz accompanied me, even helping me with my heavy suitcase, when I finally had to leave for Paris, where I’d catch my flight back home - and Y Mochyn Du - the pub I have mixed feelings about, but everyone else seems to simply love). Am I forgetting something? Of course I am - the Riverside Market, where Liz and I bought the food for our Perfect Day, is a stone’s throw away, literally, just across the street from the hostel, on Sundays, and even the National Museum, where Liz and I bought our stones also on our Perfect Day, isn’t that far away. ‘What, pray tell, suddenly made you remember all these things and made inspiration pay you a long overdue visit once again?’ - an unexpected but most welcome Facebook message and photograph sent by that cool, crazy Italian girl who’s not only an experienced traveller, but also a surfer, a yogi, an artist (I’d certainly have purchased one of her paintings had I not been travelling on such a tight budget), truly fond of my country (which she probably knows better than I do! What was the name of that beach she assured me I ought to visit one day?...) and one of the very best roommates, extremely sensible, I could ever ask for.

'Bruna, room 12 is missing you...'

The feeling is surely reciprocal.