Naught's had, all's spent

      All this time we had been walking in the completely wrong direction. All for nothing. The faint words of Shakespeare dimly echoed in my mind, "Naught's had, all's spent". We were no closer to the hostel than we had been at that cursed intersection, leading us on to Rua Santa Clara. Perfect. My parents solemnly acknowledged what we would have to do, thanked the man, and turned around.

       On my last reserves and feeling as though I would soon collapse from exhaustion,  I stumbled drunkenly through the dimly-lit street, with my parents lagging behind me. At that moment, the only thoughts running through my head were, "Rua de Tonelero. Rua de Tonelero. Rua de Tonelero." The name of the road to salvation would not cease to repeat itself,as though they were the words to a painfully catchy song.

          Finally, after several blurry, seedy, abandoned  blocks, we found ourselves standing in the heavenly light of a bright blue street sign, reading, "Rua de Tonelero". At that point I was so fatigued, that I dully acknowledged its presence with a faint smile, and a halfhearted wave. We walked a few steps to the right of the sign, to immediately discover the Youth Hostel. And just like that, as though walking in a dream, we crossed the insignificant street between us and the hostel, and stood before the tall metal gate of the building. 
       Suddenly renewed by a sudden burst of confidence and strength, I unhesitatingly pressed the buzzer, and the gates suddenly unlatched, welcoming us into our narrow, cramped, temporary, and absolutely wonderful residence. I stepped into the tall door of the hostel, to be greeted by the sight of a bearded man at the front desk and a long, lovely, couch that stretched from one end of the room to the other.
      I  thankfully slumped against it and fixed my eyes straight ahead, on a TV at the other side of the room. I watched, transfixed, as several long-legged figures, appareled in bright yellow jerseys, hastily fought for a gleaming, white ball with their feet. It was a football match. And though, I did not understand a word that the commentators were saying, speaking in rapid-fire Portuguese  I knew enough about football to dimly follow what was going on. 
              As I gradually became engrossed by the program, I suddenly  felt a deep growl in my stomach  "Ah, the beast has not yet been fed,”I thought sadly, knowing that we would soon be forced to leave the comfortable confines of the hostel and look for food.