[Warning -- entry margarita-influenced]. How did we get here? International Hostel in Santa Fe?? Not really so youthful anymore. It's my first outing to a hostel in America and it is a far cry from a nice lil' frufru b'n'b. The polar opposite in fact. They wouldn't let us see a room in advance, "Mike says it's a security risk past the coffeepot". We agreed to a room with shared bathrooms (not a problem although the missing shower handle in the women's room was), but should have internet access in the room. It's the room over the office, "Taos" ironically enough, and so is above the router. Ok, so tried to pay, but no credit cards, no personal checks. It's a cash only operation, like the government, or a Chinese tailor. Or the Flying Burrito in Chapel Hill, remember? So then we got all the rules, must do chores in the morning, because no cleaning staff. There's a whole system with sign-up cards and everything. Anything in the kitchen not labeled is free game, just don't use the staff refrigerator, please! So we asked how to get into town and the 20-year-old girl told us it's a half hour walk. Well, it was just a little longer, but very unpleasant, because you're on a mega American road with loads of traffic and intermittant sidewalk. Tell me again why we didn't go abroad? Anyway, we did make it to the famed plaza eventually, but compared to an actual Mexican plaza, it rather paled. No life. As the former trial lawyer from 500-population town in Nebraska, now in Seattle with exotic Mexican-looking woman we met at the Coyote Cafe said, "In any little town in Mexico, it would be full of life and there would be at least two mariachi bands playing." He gave us the name of a town in Mexico they loved, Guantajuato. Anyone heard of it? Maybe I'll be able to convince to Rand to forgo the rest of the US trip and head south one of these days.
Maybe the trip is affirmation that it's time to leave. Or the opposite, to return to a town and people we love.
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