Post by allie on Jun 16, 2023 2:10:02 GMT
On the edge of jumpcraft range from Haven, at the edge of the airfield, is a structure like none other in Alderberg, built from irregular stones cut with water saws to fit together like jigsaw pieces. It sprouted there in 2194 (Simon is vague about the details, but the story involves a VTOL breakdown and a funeral after a cyclonic storm.) No sign hints at its name, but this is HNO Hostel, and for many of the travelers who touch down this is as much of Alderberg as they ever see.
Like most things Alderberg, HNO Hostel's Catholicism is both all-pervasive and opaque. The hostel is run by a balding Japanese newcomer (he arrived on Alderberg in '89) who answers to Simon Obl.Cist and is usually too busy to get to know well. What does Obl.Cist mean? "Cistercian oblate," he answers, as if visitors knew either the words or the significance. Why is it called the HNO Hostel? "Hospitalitatem nolite oblivisci," he says without translating.
New arrivals are greeted in the entrance hall by HNO Hostel's most famous feature: a lifesize statue of the Virgin Mary, with a flickering blue-neon halo and a plaque that starts with ĐỨC MẸ SAO BIỂN. ("A friend made me take it when I left," Simon explains unhelpfully; he stops to say a Hail Mary whenever he leaves or enters the building.) Trilingual signs (in Latin, English, and Spanish) at the other end of the hall, by the coatroom and changing stall, instruct guests to remove their shoes and coats before coming inside.
Beyond its famous entrance, HNO Hostel's layout is unremarkable. It has single-sex dormitories, each with six bunkbeds, twelve assorted rosaries, and a poster explaining their use; two bathrooms whose showers are either frigid or scalding; a combined kitchen/laundry room, with heavy curtains to muffle the noise; a pantry and storage room full of hammocks, air mattresses, and spare bedding. But life at HNO Hostel, as with all hostels, takes place in its common room. Blessed icons of saints look down from its walls, each with a stand for votary candles and a name viewers are assumed to recognize: Elmo, Nicholas, Brendan, Peter, Christopher, Michael, Benedict, Bernard. Meals (Simon serves a breakfast before sunrise and supper after dark) are shared here on mostly-matching dishes, with an Our Father before and after. Simon prays the Divine Office there, inviting the hostel to join him and asking their intentions when they don't; the end of compline is the cue for guests to dim the lights and lower their voices. Entertainment options include a shelf of monastic literature, two shelves of breviaries, five packs of cards left by guests, two tins of double-fifteen dominoes, an assortment of stuffed animals, and three acoustic guitars, including Simon's chrome-bodied resonator.
Austere as it is, HNO Hostel's reputation is well-deserved for two reasons. The first is Simon's uncanny gift for waking up in time for unannounced arrivals; more than once he's met people at the door, often with a bathrobe and a hamper for their rain-soaked clothes. The second is that Simon never charges money; at most, if he expects a crowd or has a visitor grounded for several days, he asks for help checking the crab traps, or points someone to a good fishing spot. Guests sometimes volunteer to clean, do the dishes, or help with lunch (Simon doesn't make lunches himself, but the airstrip crew often uses HNO Hostel's kitchen rather than walking back to town.) A strongbox and placard in the commons allows for both cash and electronic donations, and visitors who know they'll be returning usually bring items from the chalkboard wishlist. But the only thing Simon expects people to pay for are the votary candles they light.
"Pray for us," he asks instead. "Pray for me, chief of sinners."
Like most things Alderberg, HNO Hostel's Catholicism is both all-pervasive and opaque. The hostel is run by a balding Japanese newcomer (he arrived on Alderberg in '89) who answers to Simon Obl.Cist and is usually too busy to get to know well. What does Obl.Cist mean? "Cistercian oblate," he answers, as if visitors knew either the words or the significance. Why is it called the HNO Hostel? "Hospitalitatem nolite oblivisci," he says without translating.
New arrivals are greeted in the entrance hall by HNO Hostel's most famous feature: a lifesize statue of the Virgin Mary, with a flickering blue-neon halo and a plaque that starts with ĐỨC MẸ SAO BIỂN. ("A friend made me take it when I left," Simon explains unhelpfully; he stops to say a Hail Mary whenever he leaves or enters the building.) Trilingual signs (in Latin, English, and Spanish) at the other end of the hall, by the coatroom and changing stall, instruct guests to remove their shoes and coats before coming inside.
Beyond its famous entrance, HNO Hostel's layout is unremarkable. It has single-sex dormitories, each with six bunkbeds, twelve assorted rosaries, and a poster explaining their use; two bathrooms whose showers are either frigid or scalding; a combined kitchen/laundry room, with heavy curtains to muffle the noise; a pantry and storage room full of hammocks, air mattresses, and spare bedding. But life at HNO Hostel, as with all hostels, takes place in its common room. Blessed icons of saints look down from its walls, each with a stand for votary candles and a name viewers are assumed to recognize: Elmo, Nicholas, Brendan, Peter, Christopher, Michael, Benedict, Bernard. Meals (Simon serves a breakfast before sunrise and supper after dark) are shared here on mostly-matching dishes, with an Our Father before and after. Simon prays the Divine Office there, inviting the hostel to join him and asking their intentions when they don't; the end of compline is the cue for guests to dim the lights and lower their voices. Entertainment options include a shelf of monastic literature, two shelves of breviaries, five packs of cards left by guests, two tins of double-fifteen dominoes, an assortment of stuffed animals, and three acoustic guitars, including Simon's chrome-bodied resonator.
Austere as it is, HNO Hostel's reputation is well-deserved for two reasons. The first is Simon's uncanny gift for waking up in time for unannounced arrivals; more than once he's met people at the door, often with a bathrobe and a hamper for their rain-soaked clothes. The second is that Simon never charges money; at most, if he expects a crowd or has a visitor grounded for several days, he asks for help checking the crab traps, or points someone to a good fishing spot. Guests sometimes volunteer to clean, do the dishes, or help with lunch (Simon doesn't make lunches himself, but the airstrip crew often uses HNO Hostel's kitchen rather than walking back to town.) A strongbox and placard in the commons allows for both cash and electronic donations, and visitors who know they'll be returning usually bring items from the chalkboard wishlist. But the only thing Simon expects people to pay for are the votary candles they light.
"Pray for us," he asks instead. "Pray for me, chief of sinners."