However, the price of this realization was hard won. Although my flight into Mexico was simple and my passage through customs only impeded by my inability to write things like my "nombre" and check the correct box after "are you carrying billions of dollars into the country?", things got a bit tougher once I was in the country.
I managed to find space for me and my 50 lbs of luggage (most of which is books and binders for the course I will teach) on the city´s metro. The subway is fantastically easy to navigate and at 2 pesos (about 20 cents) a ride, it is a great deal. And very forgiving if one needs to travel much...
Having consulted my Lonely Planet guidebook, I had picked out a cute-sounding hostel (Hostal San Sebastian) in la Zona Rosa of the city. The sky was overcast as I made my way through various subway transfers and sundry streetways, toting my pack. I managed to find the building--or at least the address--of the hostel, and found it oddly uninviting... no sign, no answer to the doorbell. I inquired about this with the gentlemen across the street who confirmed my suspicion that "este hostal ya no existe¨" Bueno. I stopped to eat a rice krispie treat that I had brought and looked up another hostel--Villa H. I navigated many blocks and found what I thought should be the hostel. It was strangely guised as a barbeque restaurant. I asked the gentleman leaning against the window, and he pointed me in another direction after consulting a friend. Like a scavenger hunt, this scenario repeated itself as each person I asked at the new location proceeded to give me directions to a different place. The hostel seemed a mirage. After I realized I had done several laps through the Zona Rosa, I began to feel a bit fatigued. Strike two. I tucked into the lobby of a fancy hotel to avail myself of the couch and a chance to make a plan C about sleeping arrangements (and eat another rice krispie treat). I had all but decided to head to a totally different part of town when the concierge-type fellow asked if I was coming or going. I explained I was heading to the metro ("with that giant backpack?!") and we began to chat. I explained about the hostel I was looking for and Adrian told me to go to Hostal Casa Viejo, just one metro stop away, where his buddy Alberto Rivera worked. Super--a personal connection! I used the trusty metro again to find this next possibility. After looking all around near the metro stop Sevilla, I began to ask more people about this Casa Viejo. I came up empty everytime. I finally asked a policeman who said he didn´t know about that place but had seen another hostel with a brown sign around the block. Circling further, I made several more attempts to find a brown sign, or any sign. I sat on the curb and ate my last rice krispie treat. Strikes three and four. I felt a few raindrops from that grey sky.
I decided to head into el Centro Historico and try my luck there. While riding all the way back on a very crowded metro, I had time to consider how much faith I ought to put in this tome of a guidebook. It is well within my travel style to go with the flow on these sorts of things, but truly this was getting to be a bit much. The upside was that everyone I talked with was friendly and helpful. They asked others to get an answer if they didn´t know it, and they would kindly tell you what they could (which, unfortunately in this case, was overall very little).
In el centro, I took my chances on a "Hotel Zamora," which I managed to not only find but it also existed and had a room available. As a hotel, I was able to get a single room with a shared bath as opposed to a bed in a dorm-style accomodation. But seeing as to how it was only a few dollars more than a hostel ($13 vs. $10), and seeing as to how I was there, it was a wonderful option.
The room is on the third floor and has a double door that opens onto a view of the street. It is airy and clean and I am so happy I found it. I took a shower, and the frustrations and sweat went down the drain. Perspective was restored and I was set to get some dinner (not rice kripsie treats) and explore la ciudad--without my pack!
Powered by Sharpcast
2 comments:
And people wonder why I hate traveling. You are a way better trooper than I would ever be. Hello expensive hotel! That's where I'd be staying. Even if it would have cut this particular blog post (and adventure) in half.
Take pictures of the view from your room!
Hooray, Meera! I was sweating for you. Sounds like a long and difficult hostel-finding fiasco -- I'm glad you found the perfect room in the end. I'm back in Boston and happy to be able to follow you on your adventures. Suerte, amiga! :) Sarah B
Post a Comment