We spent the night in the Bajo Caracoles Hostel. I imagined it was similar to the old road houses that dotted the US highways before the interstates. It was a colorful establishment that included a little general store, snack bar, restaurant and gas station and a colorful attendant. Everything a traveler needed.
A knife, saddle, flashlight or torch….whaddaya need? Chips?
A box of wine? whattaya need?
We checked in around 6:30 PM and very hungry since there was no place to stop for lunch and we only had that skimpy breakfast that morning. The guy running the hotel told us we had to wait till 8:30 for dinner. However, he told us to have a seat and disappeared only to return a few minutes later with a couple of ham and cheese sandwiches. The sandwiches hit the spot. With no internet there was not much to do but take a walk around the little village.
The town reminded me of some of the small Alaska and Yukon villages I have visited. It consisted of maybe 4 dirt streets and 30 building made of a hodgepodge of building materials and styles. On our walk around the village we counted no more than 12 people, 5 horses and 2 dogs. The entire village is powered by a big diesel engine mounted in a block building. The front of the engine pokes out of the door, I guess for cooling purposes. All of the village’s power lines emanate from the little block building. It provides power to the street lights, gas pump and each of the houses. The engine runs non-stop and can be heard throughout the village. After a while you no longer notice the droning of the engine.
Later that evening we got a loud knock on the door and an announcement that dinner was ready….finally. After dragging out dinner for as long as possible, we retired to the room. I read my book until falling asleep As the sun set over Ruta 40.
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