Chompas y Guitarras

Let me tell you about the hostel we are staying at. It is called: Hostal Cactus. I really like cacti so this is a pretty good name. Inside it is painted white and a pastel cupcake green, and it is full of potted cacti and also of gorgeous 70s paraphenalia such as a plastic parrot mobile. It is laid out like a little old motel, with two stories running down long corridors, and there is also a little roof garden with a kitchen.

They screwed up our booking so we are sharing a matrimonial suite. I have no idea why it is called a ¨matrimonial suite¨ unless your idea of sexy times involves a toilet door that doesn't close, fecal/blood stains on the walls, and a double bed that dents in the middle so that you are forced either to spend the night on tenterhooks, hovering on the edge of the bed, or roll into the centre for some forced snuggling. I suppose the last one is a bit romantic.

The showers and toilets are all in one so you can't have a shower without potentially making trouble for someone in need of a urgent wee, and they are coated with wires so I thought I was going to be electrocuted for the duration. They also have doors with nice big gaps up the top and bottom, basically like saloon doors, so that all someone would have to do to catch me in a state of nude squalor would be to stand on tiptoes and not squint their eyes shut.

In other news, yesterday we went to a Moroccan place, creatively called ¨Marrakesh,¨ for lunch. The woman who served us, who appeared also to be the owner, was odd. She was singing along to a CD in a husky yet tuneless voice and with a tremendous passion. She also flung her arms out and spun around dramatically a few times. When she brought out my drink she attempted to wrap a napkin around it, but failed depressingly. She then beamed at us and serenaded us with the chorus of the song in a most theatrical manner: ¨Mujeres!!!!¨ (that means, ¨Women!!!¨)

¨She's drunk,¨ I hissed at Ro, when she wandered off.
¨What?¨ said Ro. ¨Really?¨
¨Nah, I dunno,¨ I said. ¨She's a bit weird though.¨

But then we noticed she was drinking a large bottle of beer. The cook caught us looking at her and rolled her eyes. I raised my eyebrows at the cook and mimed slugging back a large glass of alcohol. She grimaced and nodded. And so the rest of the lunch was spent being assaulted us with seemingly nonsensical Spanish, the drunken mujer happily ignoring our numerous pleas of ¨No entiendo, lo siento.¨

Despite this misfortune, I am in magnificent spirits. Why?! you might ask. Because... WE HAVE GUITARS! Oh oh oh man I am so happy about this. I have a little ¨traveller's guitar,¨ as they call them around here. It's a funny little triangular thing. It cost about $90, which may make you think ¨holy crap EXPENSIVO¨ but I think it is a pretty good bargain. For one, I bought it off an awesome guy called Pedro, and I bought it from his workshop as opposed to one of the crappy street stalls. He was a crackin' musician from what I could tell, and he was very fond of his instruments, and they were much nicer than most of the street stall ones we played, not to mentioned better priced. So far as silly little guitars go, this is a nice one. And Ro got one toooooooo! A full-sized puppy, also from Pedro. He was a good friend to us.

Plus, here is a really nice trick: when I get back to Australia I can sling it over my back, using my new embroidered travellin' guitar case which I purchased from a separate outlet for $8, and RIDE MY BIKE WITH A GUITAR. Now that is what I call awesome.

I also bought a stupid chompa (jumper) that I have been looking for absolutely everywhere. It is dip-dyed with a picture of a sun on it. I am so happy!

Love love love
Ms. Lion