What Kind of a Place is This???

Living in a foreign country is a life-altering experience.  Different customs, unusual foods and a new language challenge our ability to adapt.  We try.  We really do.  But sometimes we mess up.  Humility and the capacity to laugh at ourselves can help.

When Alex and I visited mainland Mexico it was as if we’d entered a different Mexico.  We stuffed our Honda full of clothing, our pillows, goose-down comforter and a coffee percolator.  And lots of maps.  With a flexible agenda and no hotel reservations, we felt prepared for our two-month adventure. 

We have photos and good memories of Carnaval in Veracruz,  pyramids, cenotes (deep sink holes) in Yucatan, and Alex being cleansed by chanting Aztecs outside the Cathedral in Mexico City.  But super, 3-D memories require being shocked.

We’d had a long hard day.  We approached Puebla at midnight.  Our eyes were unfocused and our stomachs growled.   The beltway that hugs the city was so dark we couldn’t read the signs.  Or our map.  We’d circled the city four times. Traffic whizzed by.  We felt frustrated and scared.  Alex said, “I’m exhausted.  Let’s forget Puebla.”  We took the next exit and luck was with us.  We spotted a motel. Alex unclenched his grip on the steering wheel, and I threw the useless map into the back seat.

The motel entrance was barred. We stopped at the barrier and a tired voice greeted us through a speaker system similar to McDonalds.  That speaker should have been our first clue.  I leaned across Alex and asked the cost for a room. “$200 pesos ($16.67 U.S.) por ocho horas.”  That was the second clue.

She said that she’d send someone to collect the money.  Third clue.  We drove into the private garage and lowered the door.  Our accommodations were huge and immaculate – although, it did seem strange that the ashtrays were glued onto the tables.   

The doorbell rang.  But the only door led into the garage. I yelled, “Hola” from inside the room.  A female voice yelled back, “Hola.”  I asked, “Donde estas?”  “Outside”, she replied.   I lifted the garage door and saw a shock-faced woman looking at me.  I yelled for Alex.  He came, paid her, and asked for a receipt. Her eyebrows shot up to her hairline.  She said they didn’t have receipts. Fourth clue.   

Alex said what he always says after a long trip, “I’m starving – let’s go eat.”  I lifted the phone and requested a taxi (we weren’t going to risk getting lost again).  A familiar voice asked if we were checking out.  We’d been in the room for less than ten minutes!  I explained that we were hungry and asked for a restaurant recommendation. She said, “If you leave, you can’t come back.” Clue five.  But sometimes when you’re tired you’re clueless.  

I said that my husband was hungry and we wanted to go for a walk.  I imagined her rolling her eyes.  She mumbled to someone then said, “Okay, no problema.”  

I hung up and looked at Alex.  He didn’t need any more clues.  “It’s a no-tell motel.” he smirked.

After dinner, we hailed a cab and I realized that I’d have to give the driver the name of our motel.  My face felt hot.  I felt like the “other woman”.  Our eyes met in the rear view mirror but, to his credit, he didn’t crack a smile.

In the morning, with twenty minutes left until our eight hours departure time, we sat in bed sipping coffee. I noticed a device protruding into the room.  Alex went to investigate.  A small door slid open.  On the other side was a revolving shelf.  Coffee flew out of my nostrils.  We were supposed to put the $200 pesos on the shelf and close the door.  That way we would be invisible.  No wonder the woman looked amazed when I opened the garage door.  It was a “no-see-no-tell  motel”.

But I’ve learned that La Paz has everything that the mainland has.  Including No-Tell motels.  On a day when we were feeling adventurous, I sat in the car, grabbed my 29-zoom camera and Alex went to investigate. The prices were listed. I think that $350 pesos for a four-hour adventure is cheap. Particularly if we split the cost with another couple. No, it would be so much more fun if I invited four women friend.  We could have pizza delivered.  And play Mexican Train for a few hours.  Now THAT would be something we could talk about when we get old.  So, if you see my white Honda pulling into a “no-tell motel” with four women, don’t gossip because I’m merely doing research for a future article.