2.6 : Money is No Object


Three light changes finally delivers us across the street and almost directly in front of the hostel we selected due to it's description as "colorful" in my guidebook. My eyes are open looking for a building painted like an easter-egg, with yellow shutters, with pink flowering vines and a green door and I am stopped in a kind of anti-climactic stupor as we arrive at a white skinny cement building where the only color is the round green sign that hangs over the door reading "Lime House".

Maybe this isn't cement maybe its lime stone?

All the other details about Lime House are insignificant as soon as I feel a physical sensation only topped by the ring of amazing grace in The Immaculata: Air-conditioning.

My hair is stuck to my face by sweat, I smell like a homeless person, and I am hunched over like a bell-ringer because this backpack makes me feel like I'm working off a punishment in purgatory. Retrospectively I'm sincerely thankful that this hostel didn't have cameras connected to the entrance buzzer or our welcome from the may have sounded more like "Whatever you're selling, we don't want any!".

Eli speaks with the front desk attendant because my appearance and demeanor leave it unclear whether or not I was struck by a vehicle on the avenida.
"Do you have rooms"
"Yes, we have a 4 bed dorm open"
"How much is it?"
"42 pesos" This is over half our daily budget
"Nothing cheaper?"
"Not today no."
He turns to me and translates.
"I don't care how much it costs, we can deal with this tomorrow please just get me a room"
We get the keys and I throw myself onto my bed still wearing my backpack. My eyes roll into the back of my head and I smile faintly: we made it.


  1. sam- ive just died over every single one of these argentina posts! you are so funny!!! im glad youre having fun. i miss you and so does our fat puppy (i put her on the scale yesterday and she weighs 25 pounds. yikes)


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