The Great Hostel Hunt 3, Here Comes el Sol

Room with a View

It was no use, I wouldn't be napping on Sunday morning after all. I figured it would be best to tend to my beer and sleep-deprivation hangover by heading out in search of sustenance - caffeine, corn product, meat/chili/egg, lime & cucumber frappe - all easily attainable within a stroll from my noisy new home. No shower, just go.

I was startled by an ancient woman who stopped me at the bottom of the stairs. She wanted to know what time I'd arrived as she'd been waiting for me at exactly 8a. Well, I think it was maybe about 8:15a. She squinted at me distrustfully. I told her that the young chicken puller gal let me in. I can't imagine why, but it seemed she wasn't buying it. I could feel her gazing at me as I slid past her and out the front lobby. Odd.

First order of business: coffee from my favorite, small, not fancy vendor of magical organic bean water, The Oaxacan Coffee Company. Double americano to go, I have food things to find.

I heard one can get a tasty breakfast inside a market called Mercado Sanchez Pascuas so I ask a few people to point me in the direction. Off we go, me and my coffee across the plaza of the Santo Domingo Church looking, I'm sure, as battle-worn as I felt. As I traversed the sloping streets that led to the mercado I took notice of all the the cuteness in the neighborhood - crafty shops, fancy bakeries, small-batch Mezcalerias, lots of quiet. Hmmmm.

I don't remember details about the breakfast except that it was cheap and good and filled my brain with enough nutrients to come to the conclusion that instead of spending my day chasing a nap I would spend it looking for a new place to live. Only this time I would get hip with the times, I would connect to the web of the world and search reviews for places in Carmen Alto, my new favorite neighborhood. Just so happened my other preferred hydration station was a few blocks away - they have wifi and a lime/cucumber/ice drink that is sure to stave off scurvy for years to come.

Off again, groundhog day style, but this time with a list in hand. The first was a no-go, not a good deal for the offerings. The second, no room with a loo. The third would be my Plan B if number four didn't work out. The numeral four is now going on my list of lottery numbers should I ever decide to take up gambling.

At the Posada Don Mario there was a lady sitting behind the desk who greeted me warmly, Norma, a modern type older woman who runs and maybe owns the place. I asked about pricing and she offered me a discount and breakfast everyday if I paid in advance. I asked to see a room, she showed me the 'Sol' room on the third floor with a terrace and plenty of space for a long stay. I asked if her inn was quiet, she said it had a reputation for being a pretty peaceful place but couldn't guarantee if some noisy guests came through. I asked again, but more to the point: are there children living here, do you play loud music in the mornings? She shook her head and chuckle-snorted as if to say  'oh-gawd-no' and noted that sometimes folks can be heard chatting over breakfast between 9a-10a but that's really the extent of any predictable noise. Ok, I want the Sol room you showed me and I'll pay you for tomorrow only because I need one night of sleep before I'll pay in advance. That's fine, you can move in as early as 8a.

Sigh.

As I made my way back down the hill and across the plaza toward Casa de Chaos I began to cry. Tired, irritable, lonely, relieved crying. A good cry.

When I arrived I was pleasantly surprised to find that the high pitched clamoring from earlier in the day had been toned down to some muffled television sounds and a bit of loud talking amongst the relations. The ancient woman was standing at the bottom of the stairs, same as when I left. It was only then that I realized there was a Catholic altar receded into the wall across from the banister. She was either lost the way that sometimes really old (and some not-as-old, ahem) people get lost in the middle of whatever it is they're doing, or she was praying. Hard to tell. I didn't care.

I laid back on the bed and began to strategize the order of events for my move the next morning and somewhere in the process I fell into a well-deserved sleep. I don't know exactly how long I was out, but I woke up mouth open with a cold trail of saliva down the side of my face and swollen eyes. It was dark out, the clock said it was 7ish. Nice. I drank about a half gallon of water and stretched. It was stuffy and I was restless and I needed something to do so I decided to consider my evening plans while strolling around the plaza. Guess who was at the bottom of the stairs as I was leaving. Don't her old ham bones get tired? They should build her an altar in her room.

"You're leaving awfully late," she said, following me to the closed gate in the dark lobby. I know, I'm a grown-ass woman, I don't need to explain myself to anyone but my doctor and my spouse but I just blurted out "I'm going to dinner." She was fiddling with a key and a padlock that held the rod-iron door shut. "You should go to the place two blocks down on the right, it's close - and you'll have to ring the bell when you return so that I can let you back in." Ok.

I'm not even hungry and it's not even 8p and anyway who sent my great grandmother back from beyond to keep tabs on me in Oaxaca? I meandered the streets as one does when the air is thick and warm and alive with energy and sounds and smells and sights never-before seen. For dinner I had esquites and mint tea on the steps outside of one the churches on the promenade and cried for the second time that day. I looked at my watch, 10p, time to head back.

The bell didn't ring to the lobby or a room the way one might expect at a place where people go to sleep, but instead buzzed loudly somewhere in the middle of the courtyard like everything else at this particular hotel. La anciana shuffled over with her wad of keys, unlocked the gate and sneered, "I guess you decided to eat somewhere far away," as she glanced the clock on the wall in the pitch black lobby. Yes, yes I did. She stopped and crossed herself in front of the altar as I made my way up the stairs and back to my room.

I'd like to take this moment to note that it's gotta be some kind of major emergency exit code violation to padlock your hotel guests in at night. I mean, what if baby Jesus gets fussy and kicks over one of the altar candles and sets the place alight? Can one really expect the crypt keeper to spring into action and throw open the gates in time for anyone to escape? I don't think so. Legitimate concern, no?

These were the kinds of thoughts that were swimming through my mind because I'd already had my nap and anyway I'm not under 10 or over 70 so I can generally stay up to watch the Late Show thankyouverymuch. I guess I'll read until I get tired enough... knock-knock "senorita!" knock-knock. The hell? "Senorita, turn the light out." I'm reading. "Turn the light out!"  FINE! I'll turn your stupid light out, grandma, but I'll show you when I stroll my bags and my fat ass right out of this dumb place. The living nerve of this woman.

I don't know how long I lay in the dark thinking about how to translate a few choice words I'd have for her when she no doubt jumps out from under the stairwell in the morning. I mean, really. Why on earth would I pay someone to hurl me back through time to the most oppressive and traumatizing moments in my childhood? Wait- I think people pay shrinks a lot of money for that exact experience so, never mind. Strike that.

I woke up on the early side feeling very satisfied that I'd thought well enough ahead to secure new lodging and ready to turn the page on my trip down memory lane. As predicted, there she was perched at the altar, probably asking her favorite saint to cast a pox upon the wicked sinners who abide not the witching hour. When I arrived at the bottom of the stairs she turned and bore her beady black eyes into my soul, "I was told you were staying for two weeks. "And there it went, my integrity, flying through the rod iron gate and out into the Oaxaca morning light. "There's an emergency at home. I'm very sorry. I have to go now."

Oh geez. I did that thing- THAT THING I swear never to do. That thing where you make up something bad to get out of a situation you don't have the courage to be honest about. I'm not by any stretch a superstitious or religious person, but that thing is patently wrong on cellular levels that make it inherently unacceptable. So wrong. Oh geez. But just like my grandmother, this old lady scared me reeeeal bad, and she had the freakin Virgin of Guadalupe and the power of the chancla on her side for Pete's sake! You ask any Mexican/chicano kid and they will attest to the power of the chancla. It's deep. Don't mess.

She's Watching You!