Maybe I sleep in it too

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My hostel in Campeche is very nice. In almost every way, it’s the nicest, cleanest, most comfortable place I’ve stayed in Mexico.

My first impressions are on par with the great reviews I read online. The staff are friendly and helpful. They speak English. The floors are clean. The furniture throughout is new and modern. The Internet flows freely and swiftly!

Just walking into the air conditioned dorm feels like stepping into a fancy hotel suite. The paper white sheets are tucked meticulously around mattresses and smoothed to a crisp finish. Each bed has an overhead reading lamp and two US-standard electrical outlets. The lockers to the sides are spacious and clean. Five private bathrooms each offer a sink, toilet, and shower.

And then there’s the parking lot! Finding motorcycle-friendly accommodations can be difficult in cities. This place has enough covered parking to fit my bike plus a dozen others.

All of this and breakfast for only 180 pesos a night — or 162 for Hosteling International members. I might just be in love.

Or not.

I’m enduring the day in bed nursing a spent digestive tract back to health and waiting to watch my brother graduate college. His university is webcasting the ceremony. I really couldn’t have found a better place to spend three sick days.

All five of my roommates check out before lunchtime. Their beds sit unattended well into the afternoon. I’m quite surprised that a hostel with such a strict checkout hour would leave so many beds unfixed into the checking-in hours of the day. But this confusion soon passes when the housekeeper finally makes his rounds.

I sit up in my own bed and watch as he undresses the five dirty beds and then remakes them into beautiful works of art. He first centers the bottom sheet and tucks the corners and sides. Next, he folds the top sheet half way and then tucks it just as carefully. His final step is to straighten the pillow and run a hand over the bed to fix any wrinkles.

The five beds are picture perfect. They look just as comfortable and inviting as the one I so lovingly crawled into yesterday. But one small detail has me utterly surprised and silently wretching in my mouth. He used the same sheets to make them.

The five men who slept in these beds last night are gone. New people will sleep in them tonight. They will see these beautifully made beds and not know the truth.

Who will get my sheets when I leave? Maybe they’d like to know I just spent three sweaty nights in them holding back diarrhea farts.

Come on, Mexico. We’ll gladly pay a few more pesos to not eat and sleep in filth.


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