I approached the heavy front door of Gram’s Place in Tampa and knocked hard. Classic rock drowned out the tiny taps of my fists. I called the number posted on the gate — no answer. I could hear voices, splashing and clinking beer bottles. I hopped up and down, hoping to grab someone’s attention over the fence.
Luis, working there as a volunteer, finally noticed my bobbing head. He didn’t waste any time with the usual check-in formalities.
“Do you play an instrument?” he asked, after informing me of a sunset drum circle at the beach.
Yeah, I play mandolin; Luis, in turn, told me that he bangs on drums. A dog barked in the distance, and a band started to coalesce beneath the faint stars freckling the darkening sky.
Music fills the heart, soul and numerous nooks of Gram’s Place, a mini-compound in Tampa Heights, one of the Florida city’s oldest neighborhood. Mark Holland, a guitarist, seized on the idea of a music-themed hostel during a trip to Amsterdam, where he grooved on the culture’s lyrical and communal spirit. He created the bohemian retreat in the mid-1980s and named it after his hero, Gram Parsons, the so-called Father of Country-Rock. (The devoted fan wrote and produced a video documentary about Parsons and established a foundation to spread his influence.)
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Like its namesake, Gram’s Place hyphenates genres. It’s a hostel with dorm-style rooms as well as an inn with several private quarters. It wears a B&B apron but doesn’t do the cooking — or dishes. Guests prepare their own breakfast using the free staples (pancake mix, bread, milk, butter, eggs) in the kitchen. Those with more ambitious recipes or other meal plans can purchase groceries and store them in the community fridge. However — group house flashback! — all items must contain a label identifying the visitor and date of departure. In addition, linger around the dining area during feeding time and one of the other guests might make you up a plate.
“I didn’t ask him for food. He just served me,” an Englishman said of an Indian visitor, who had shared his curried rice dish. “I think it was because I was nice to him.”
By the way, the Brit, who was in Florida to reignite an old flame, played bagpipes and occasionally performed in the park opposite the hostel. However, at night, he had to quiet his pipes; the lady across the street was not a fan of dirges. As for the romance, cue “Love Hurts.”
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The hostel-inn inhabits a pair of 1940s cottages — the Ola and Plymouth houses — connected by Gram Straat, a wooden walkway. The property is accessorized with several leafy outdoor areas, including a pair of courtyards and a crow’s nest with owl-head-turning views. Most of the rooms fit into Grammy categories and feature matching decor. I stayed in the Jazz Room, a small shrine to the swinging legends. Framed photos and concert posters adorned the bedroom and bathroom walls. Ray Charles, for one, watched me floss, and Sarah Vaughan guarded my dreams. A clarinet sat on a windowsill like a tall bud vase. Colorful strings of Mardi Gras beads and a Bourbon Street sign amped up the New Orleans volume.
Blues, Jazz and Rock-and-Roll, all with private bath, occupy a separate building and share the full-service I Love Lucy Kitchen (named after another of Holland’s idols) and a den that resembles an attic with downstairs privileges. The space is a happy jumble of musical instruments (cymbals, a keyboard), worn furniture (quilted couch, rattan chair), exotic textiles (oriental rug, tapestry), old stereo equipment, and a pink boa and gold top hat — because at Gram’s Place, it’s always jamtime!
The property hosts front-porch concerts on many weekends; this winter, Donna Frost and the Flea Bitten Dawgs and Ray Bonneville performed. The Holland brothers (the two siblings took over after Holland’s death in 2007) also encourage audience participation. They keep on-site several loaner instruments, including a full complement of strings, horns and skins.
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Luis didn’t have the key to the closet the night of my visit, but he grabbed a conga and a djembe from his personal collection. I followed him past Parson’s Pub (BYOB) to the sun/moon deck verdant with potted plants. We sat on stools within toe-dipping-reach of the oversize hot tub, and I waited for his beat. He slapped his palm against his drum and I followed with a counter-slap. His sound evoked a primal heartbeat; mine mimicked the thwack of a tennis ball hitting the side of a shed. An Ohio native who was living at the hostel (several guests are long-termers) left his seat at the bar and joined us. I handed him my drum, and he and Luis fell into a syncopated rhythm. They played for several minutes before two drunk buddies stumbled onto our stage and broke the meditative spell.
In the morning, I ventured into the main kitchen area, where a Minneapolis dad was scrambling eggs and stressing over the near-empty coffeepot. Three dorm residents perched on a couch like chipmunks on a branch discussed the weather and beach options. I grabbed a banana and mug of coffee (sorry, Minni Man) and went outside to dine in the sun. A man in a crumpled suit came over to chat.
“People in the neighborhood used to call this the ‘zombie compound,’” said the Denver businessman, who had just arrived on the red-eye. “They didn’t know what went on inside.”
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Nearby, Luis was painting and listening to music at full blast. Tendrils of cigarette smoke rose into the air. Splashing resumed.
If I didn’t know any better, I would have assumed that Gram’s Place was a musicians’ hangout or the home of a teenager whose parents were out of town a lot. But I knew better.
If you go
Gram’s Place Hostel
3109 N. Ola Ave., Tampa
813-221-0596
Dorm rooms from $23; private rooms from $50.
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