Roads Unknown

5 Tips to Poorly Run Your Latin American Hostel

David — Tue, 09 Mar 2010 03:02:00 -0800

These five tips are all too commonly applied in Latin American budget hostels. Follow all of them and you’ll still probably get plenty of guests if your prices are cheap enough and you're in the right location.

1) Don’t give your guests a tour.

Sure, many hostels aren’t that big and you can find everything without much trouble. But I can’t count the number of times I’ve found a TV room or an extra kitchen or bathroom I didn’t know existed after living in a hostel for a week. At the very least, tell your guests what extra services you offer.

And if you don’t give me a tour, then you can’t get mad at me when I use the unmarked ladies bathroom instead of the unmarked men’s (not that that’s happened…twice).

2) Don’t provide purified water.

It’s early morning. Your head is pounding from last night’s bender as you wake up ready to drink an ocean of agua, your mouth bone dry. You walk to the kitchen hoping there’s a self-service fridge of water bottles for sale or maybe even a water cooler. No dice. It’s too early for stores to be open, but even if they were, you’re in no condition to stray more than 50 feet from the comfort of your bed. You glance at that the tap and think, “How many parasites can the Guatemalan tap water really have?” It looks so clear, so refreshing.

Five months later and twenty pounds lighter your doctor is pulling 12 feet of tapeworm out of your stomach. On the plus side it worked better than a diet.

3) Offer 24 hour access, but be sure to hire a night watchman who can sleep through the detonation of an atomic bomb.

“Come on dude. It’s 4:30 in the morning, I had to walk an hour and a half back here after my wallet got jacked downtown and I couldn’t pay for a cab, and now the drunk guy on the corner who looks awful shady is watching me. Wake. The. Hell. Up.” You continue to plead, pounding on the door and ringing the buzzer but the night watchman’s snores are the only response. Fifteen minutes of knocking later, his dreams of being a ruthless drug-cartel jefe (boss) on a Mexican soap-opera are finally interrupted by you, and he makes his displeasure all too clear in his expression as he lets you in.

“Forgive me for coming back at one of the hours not included in your 24 HOUR ACCESS,” you say, but he’s already snoring, back in the Spanish version of One Life to Live as he finds out the police officer that arrested him is actually his half-twin-brother Raul who was thought to be dead*.

4) Have dogs/cats in the house that are not house trained, and/or birds that squawk earsplittingly loud at every bump in the night.

I generally like animals. But when I can’t sleep because Pedro the Parrot is on crack and feels the need to alert the entire building that a fly has entered the room, my head becomes filled with murderous thoughts of feathers strewn across the floor.

I’d have the cat do the dirty work for me, if I wasn’t already planning his demise after I stepped in something that belongs in a litter box or outside.

5) Use the bacteria infested closet in the back as a kitchen.

Of the many false claims hostels frequently make, the kitchen is almost always one of the greatest disappointments to me, as someone who likes to cook. A Coleman stove with one working burner, pots and pans warped beyond recognition, and three forks missing half the prongs does not qualify as a “fully equipped” kitchen. And that’s not even taking into account the general filth and grime that most budget hostel kitchens share that kills your appetite after glancing at it.

*There is no Spanish version of One Life to Live (that I know of). But if there was, I’m sure it’d have a ruthless drug-cartel jefe who gets arrested by his presumed-dead-half-twin-brother Raul.

context is everything

David — Mon, 08 Feb 2010 06:26:00 -0800

There are times when as soon as the words are out of your mouth, you realize that out of context, they would sound truly hilarious, ridiculous, perverted, or just plain weird. When traveling, these situations occur most frequently...Here are a few to get started, more later.

“Me and the rock had a love making fest out on the jetty.” - Brendon
We can’t remember for sure why the hell these words were spoken anymore, but they come from an accident Brendon had on the jetty in Santa Marta, Colombia. The rocks on the jetty were not as close together in some places as they could have been, which led to a fall, resulting in a broken sandal, some nasty cuts and scrapes, and the above quote.

“You’re the lesbian love child of Monica and Phoebe.” - Brendon
This little gem is taken from a lengthy discussion on which Friends character each of us is. It was fueled by alcohol and initiated by a dream Brendon had in which he argued with dream-people over whether or not he was Joey. We eventually came to realize that nobody is just one character, but rather a combination of traits/characteristics of at least two of the six “friends”.

“The guy who just offered us drugs is doing a line in the bathroom.” - Brendon
One of the many joys of traveling through Latin America is the countless offers for narcotics from guys on street corners, in bars, or my personal favorite, by church security guards just outside the church. This line comes from one night in a bar in Ecuador. Apparently after we turned him down, he decided not to let his coke go to waste.

“Why don’t you take a lesson from field of dreams? ‘If you build it, they will drink it.’” - Brendon
In one of our many discussions about bars, and how to start and manage one, we talked about how “you have to spend money, to make money”, and the importance of the initial investment in your bar. Somehow we landed on Field of Dreams from there. If you don’t build it, they won’t come.

“That'll help him when he's trying to hide out in the strawberry patch.” - Brendon
This one doesn’t have as much of a story behind it. The following picture, taken at Mitad del Mundo (“Middle of the World”) in Ecuador, pretty much sums up this last quote regarding this guy’s camo.

Sick in Santa

Brendon — Fri, 05 Feb 2010 07:00:00 -0800

Andrea's parents told me a story before they left about how Dad took ill one trip to Cartagena after indulging in unknowingly tainted foods. I didn't make it that far.

By day 2 of Santa Marta I found myself unable to move past the bathroom, spending most of my day in bed lacking any energy. Odd thing was, our meal the night before was at a decent, respected gringo-owned establishment. But apparently the lobster disagreed and reeked havoc on me for the next week.

By day 3.5 I was moving about, albeit slowly.

Day 4 was New Years and with tradition, I spent it still mildly sick and sober (usually, due to a hangover) except for the two glasses of Flor de Caña I downed. I could handle no more. There were no spectacular displays of fireworks, no big parties in Santa Marta, most everything was shut down, but there were people in town, somewhere.

New Years Day we taxied over to a smaller beach town named Taganga, known mostly as the center for diving in Colombia. Classes are cheap, around $200 for the basic course, and I had planned on taking a dip under under the ocean myself, but my condition was not improved enough for that kind of adventure underwater.

The beaches of Taganga were packed. I think its where all the people missing from Santa Marta were spending their days. We hiked 30 minutes up and over a huge hill to Playa Grande, but it wasn't that big. More people. After a nice afternoon nap in the shade, we threw around the football I had dragged all the way from Bogota for the sole purpose of playing on the beach. That was the first and last time we played.

Forgetting the being sick part, the town of Santa Marta was nicer (and larger) than I expected. We stayed in the historical slash touristic district. It seemed smaller, more quaint. It was confirmed safe once I saw kids playing tag in the streets after ten at night. The dogs traveled in packs as normal, but instead of fighting, also played tag in the streets. The streets themselves except for the large amount of trash, were constructed very well using a nice combination of quality concrete and red brick. The number of pedestrian paths was unexpected. If you add few more places to eat, I see Santa Marta as town ready for a tourism explosion. Just hopefully the prices, which are quite affordable right now, do not go through the roof as they have in our next stop, Cartagena de Indias...

Te odio. Te odio.

Brendon — Thu, 04 Feb 2010 06:00:00 -0800

We spent the end of December, beginning of January traveling about northern Colombia. It all started here in Bucamaranga, the capital of the departamento Santander. Lonely Planet says there is "not much to do here" and "the only real reason to stop here is to break up an overland journey". They are correct.

We spent 2 hours in the city, got chased down by a drunk homeless man yelling crazy shit while burping literally every 10 seconds, some of the loudest I have heard, and couldn't find anywhere clean or open to eat. We returned to the bus station 4 hours earlier than planned to change our tickets for San Gil, the real highlight of this state, the "adventure capital of Colombia".

Te odio. I hate you. Te odio. Those were the most common words heard from the mouth of Andrea. Weighing in at little-to-nothing and under the stated requirement, the paragliding instructors waited until the very end of the day to see if the winds would calm down enough that she wouldn't fly fly fly away. They didn't. An extra 10 pound bag of weights was rested on her lap for the flight. The hours preceding, Andrea continued to try and run away, tell me how much she hated me, say she was scared of heights, and pretend like she didn't want to go. She went. I don't like people telling me no. She enjoyed.

The views were amazing and we were quite tired by the end of the day. We went rafting that morning too, which is where the curses started flying first.

Before we even left Bogota, Andrea mentioned her fears of rafting. I had however already promised David we would float down the river. The river we signed up for however was not a float. It was a never ending roller Splash Mountain coaster ride without emergency breaks. Classified as a 4-5+, the videos when we arrived in San Gil were enough to convince both David and I we were not in shape for such a treacherous run down the Rio Suarez. We caved (and compromised) for the significantly cheaper Rio Fonce (no expensive kayak guides required). A ride everyone enjoyed without anyone hating the others after.

After sleeping the next day, we found our way to the local watering hole where we climbed up a small waterfall and swam in the pool below. A refreshing relaxing day before our night bus to Santa Marta...

bus, troles, bus

Brendon — Wed, 03 Feb 2010 01:14:00 -0800

The day started with waking up to the owner of our hostel arguing with a guest. "You not stay tonight. Period." A group had rented out the entire place. While we'd "reserved" our room the night before just in case we wanted to stay, we figured we might as well pack and be ready...

Good thing. We left our room and were asked to checkout. After lunch we grabbed the bags and headed to the bus. Quito has quite a few different public transportation systems, none of which connect directly to the other, but all of which cover a good majority of town. We boarded the bus rapid transit, similar to Bogota's Transmilenio, yet light years older. It was relatively empty despite the plethora of school kids boarding. Nice, as we carried two backpacks, each.

No problems there, we jumped off on the north side of Old Town Quito, walked through the park, and in the direction of another transit system, the Trole. This one would take us to the nearest bus station about 15 blocks away. It was packed. We never boarded, instead opting to walk through the Old Town one last time. Thirty minutes later we passed the Trole station we would have disembarked and walked down the steps to discover this bus station was abandoned. Lonely Planet FAIL.

We ought to have verified it still existed, but its not everyday a bus station completely disappears from a guidebook. Well, it didn't exactly disappear, but it was deserted. Having no idea where the new station might be and not in a part of town we felt completely safe in, we flagged down a taxi. "$10 dollars. Very far. That way." Screw that.

We walked back up to the Trole station and while David went to ask, a friendly old gentleman questioned were I was trying to go. I told him. He responded with the correct directions. If I had only listened to him instead of everyone else over the next 2 hours.

The Trole went directly to the new station, literally drove up right inside it he said. So we bought tickets, $0.25 apiece and boarded. There was absolutely no room. I am not sure how we pushed inside, but imagine a bus being so packed you do not require the assistance of the handrail when the bus lurches forward and back, starting and stopping at each estacion. The lady who sold us the tickets told David 5 minutes, so at about 5 minutes and what looked like the right stop, we jumped off along with half the bus.

After 2 minutes, we realized we'd jumped the gun. David was exhausted though. I thought he'd gone to ask for directions so I just stood there for another 5 minutes until I saw him on the bench. The police officers confirmed we were on the right line and that we had to take it all the way to the end. But, he did not say how far the end was. The next stop appeared to be the end to David, but I refused to get off thinking otherwise until I asked if this was that stop. Yes was the reply. Shit. Doors were already closed. No exit possible.

Again, we offloaded, bumping everyone in the process with our bags, at the next stop in order to turn around. Something was wrong though, the next stop was not the last stop. We had continued south as I had predicted, but I took the word of the man on the bus. Wrong. We asked and finally received the same directions as the man on the street originally described. Ride it all the way, all-the-way to the end.

We boarded again, but not more than 4 stops later we exited, again. David couldn't handle it anymore. He barfed all over the platform immediately clear of the bus. While he recovered, I worried about getting to the bus station early enough to arrive in our destination before dark. Another 10 minutes later, an uncrowded trole stopped and David took a seat.

One bus and 4 troles later, we finally arrived at the brand spankin' new bus station on the farthest south side of town. The taxi driver was not lying, it was far, very far. But for 50 cents each, we saved ourselves at least 12 dollars for the day by taking an adventurous ride on two of Quito's mass transit systems. Fortunately, there was a bus immediately departing for Riobamba. We arrived an hour earlier than expected, dusk slowly fading into darkness. This time we took a cab ($1) to the hotel. Enough excitement for one day.

the worst bus ride ever?

Brendon — Mon, 01 Feb 2010 07:06:00 -0800

Planning in advance, we bought our tickets 8 hours before departure time. After stashing our bags at the equipment check, we headed out sightseeing around Medellin. Our last day of "vacation", we were returning to Bogota the following morning. Except for a few bumps, our trip was an enjoyable success. Here is one of said bumps.

The town of Medellin was beautiful today. Without much of a schedule, we walked quite a bit, drank a few cafes, ate and basically spent a lazy day wondering around the Universidad area between the Jardin Botanico and the Parque de los Deseos. We skipped the amusement and science parks. Money. The planetarium was closed. But maybe we ought to have slept the entire day.

Maybe I should blame the guy who was taking the largest dump of my life while I waited patiently for ten minutes as he ruptured his spleen and my eardrums with his Montezumas Revenge. Or the guy in line at the baggage check who was being non-cooperative and holding up everyone trying to get somewhere. Though I am not sure these few minutes would have made too much of a difference in the first-come first-seat arrangement. For the record, we had seats 1,2,3 - the first purchased of the day.

When we boarded, there were 2 seats, apart empty. Andrea in her sweet, little girl voice whined to the lady pretending to have control of the situation that she did not feel safe or comfortable sitting with a stranger. Hell, I didn't either. In one of said empty seats sat a guy in a full head-to-toe body suit. No shit...I don't want to know what mutation of H1N1 infected him.

The stewardess-ish motioned to request a guy from the back to come sit up front so we can share a dirty by the bathroom seat together. By the time he moved and we navigated around him (and the rest of the people still standing in the aisle), a couple had stolen the seat. And when questioned why, jackass guy responded with a virtual fuck you.

Ok. Asshole number one, check. We ended up in what they vacated, non-reclining seats. Ass...No problem. It's only 8 hours. We can do this. The bus left an hour late, asshole yelling at the stewardess-ish in the minutes leading up to departure. The aisles are still full of people. Now sitting. Inconsiderate people. In a chicken bus, this would be totally acceptable. But this was not. In all the buses we had taken collectively in Colombia, the rides were generally nice. Seats comfortable. People friendly. Not so much.

After 30 minutes of the guy sitting less in the aisle and more in Andrea's little corner of the bus, I offered to switch seats as she had this scared, "I am about to get off this bus and cry" look. Being quite a bit larger, homeboy eventually moved himself entirely into his aisle. Now call this a dick move all you want, but no apologies, no requests, no excuse me's were ever said. By the way, seats in the aisle are half the price for half the space.

But my troubles were not over. Andrea drifted off into sleep or watching the horrible version of Rush Hour 3, dubbed in Spanish. Some movies should never be voiced-over. It's just wrong. Meanwhile I had new issues with an old over-make-up-ed awfully-faked blond and her pink painted toenails on my arm rest. After I made an obvious this disgusts me move/face/gesture, she put on her sandals. Wrinkly toes still apparent. Puke.

Eventually those disappeared too after the bus stopped for a longer than required rest. This is not counting the 10 or so random pull-overs to the side of the road to do absolutely nothing. When I re-entered the shithole-of-a-bus, the floor people had managed to find a way to crawl into balls and not outright encroach my space. Of course this meant no one could enter or exit the on-board bathroom which would have been okay if it weren't for people continuing to try.

After two thirds of the trip was over, I finally managed to pass off into dreamland and awake in safeland. Home sweet Bogota. It was a welcoming sight to see the city and I recalled the last time I was so dearly ready to be off a bus and into the comfort of familiar surroundings.

Santuario de las Lajas

Roads Unknown — Thu, 21 Jan 2010 00:00:00 -0800

a church built into the side of a mountain near the Colombian-Ecuadorian border

Location: Ipiales, Colombia
Date: Jan 21, 2010
Number of Photos in Album: 16

Roads Unknown

5 Tips to Poorly Run Your Latin American Hostel

context is everything

Sick in Santa

Te odio. Te odio.

bus, troles, bus

the worst bus ride ever?

Santuario de las Lajas

bar hopping in Medellín: a photo blog

Medellin

Museos de Cartagena

Cartagena The City

Taganga

Santa Marta

Extreme Adventures

The First 24 Hours

Presenting Presents

The 9 Days Before

The Other Kinds of Clubbing

A Bogota December

Views from Bogota

gringo dancing

the tourist train

growing

Catedral de Sal

adrenaline is crazy...

protests in Bogota

a weekday getaway: Villa de Leyva

Losing the Tongue

Holding the Tongue

a weekday getaway: Tunja

Villa de Leyva

Tunja

visa renewal day

one year

Belem to Venezuela, Part 4

Belem to Venezuela, Part 3

Belem to Venezuela, Part 2

Belem to Venezuela, Part 1

Stood Up!

a day in Bogota

the david why

Salto Angel

Monte Roraima

Opposite Manaus

The Zoo

6 Boat Days

Barely Belem

Overlooking Olinda

Around Salvador

Reserva Sapiranga

Randomly Rio

Centro and Santa Teresa

Casa Rosa Club Night

Saquerema

Cristo and Azucar

Jardim Botanico

Rio Carnaval

Manaus

Leticia and Amazon

Bogota

Panama City

Waterfall Hostel

Isla Bastimento

Isla Carenero

Bocas del Drago

Getting to Bocas

Another Sail

Random in Nicaragua

Ometepe

New Years Sail

Christmas

San Juan Del Sur

Granada

Antigua

Playa Tulate

FINCA Coffee Coop

Thanksgiving

Jason Birthday

Random in Xela