Sometimes the backpacker life has its ups and downs.
On someoneās recommendation, we hastily booked a hostel in Lo de Marcos and set off for the tiny town. It was even more quieter and appeared even less touristy than San Pancho. The paint jobs were older and there were many overgrown lots, but I could see the charm that this small Mexican town retained. Cute little abuelitas and abuelos peered at us from their storefronts as we walked by. A very serious, matter-of-fact niƱa rang me up as I stood in line to buy a snack of Pinguinos Marinela (ok, and a beer lol). As we walked along the beach at sunset, a man galloped by on his horse, chased by two chihuahuas. Tranquilo.
It began during our first night in the hostel. We tossed and turned on the WORST BED EVER. There was a crater-shaped indentation in the middle of the mattress that Andrew and I kept rolling into. My lumpy pillow smelled faintly of bad breath. Our dormmates, who had been mysteriously absent all day, returned in the wee morning hours and proceeded to make chainsaw-like noises with their throats and nostrils.
After a rough nights sleep, we left to find coffee. We found a stand with an espresso machine (!) and continued our stroll to the plaza. As we sipped our cappuccinos, we stared in wonderment at the strange sight of a big group of older American people playing tennis. As we walked around the town more, listening to conversations spoken solely in English and reading signs advertised solely in English, we realized that Lo de Marcos is an unofficial American retirement community. Although we were grateful for the appearance of the espresso machine, we wondered what the drawbacks of that meant for the original inhabitants of the town. It provoked within us much debate and reflection.
Itās been a couple days, and I can finally laugh about our last night there: jarred awake at 2am by a dormmate bumping my arm as he pushed past my bed. No apology after I yelped in surprise. Proceeded to carry on a full volume conversation with another dormmate. Stench of cigarette smoke wafting through the air. Loud videos being played on cell phones. Chainsaw-like snoring. Howling and relentless whining from the hostel dog. Hostel owner not around to attend to it. At 7am, jackhammer from construction next door began, rattling the walls (and our eardrums). We gather our things and decide to flee town without stopping for coffee from that sweet ass espresso machine. Get on the next bus that is bound for San Pancho (hallelujah!). Bus breaks down soon after leaving town. Andrew makes joke about having to return to Lo de Marcos. I almost cry.
