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When Your Home Is Also A Hostel
My boyfriend bought a hippie hostel in Mexico, and now it’s home
A day in the life
Our alarm goes off at 7 AM. The sun has just peaked over the mountains. We put on comfy pants, grab some blankets and head to the outdoor terrace for group meditation.
I play a daily game of Whack-a-Mole with my chatty mind, trying to vanquish thoughts the moment they arise. I succeed sporadically. But mostly I fail and spend 30 minutes thinking instead of meditating. I will meditate better tomorrow, I think. Whack!
Then it’s breakfast time. Banana pancakes with homemade strawberry mango jam. Chia pudding with fruit. Sweet fried plantains. Strong coffee native to this region. After six months at the hostel, I still marvel at the delicious perks included with a nightly stay — about $7 US for a dorm bed.
At the shared dining table, I meet a young couple from Germany. A guy from Australia. Several long-term travelers who can’t quite pinpoint where “home” is anymore. What’s everyone up to today? Local markets and easy hikes. Spanish classes. A boat trip through a nearby canyon.
There is small talk interspersed with big talk. Life plans redirected by the pandemic. Uncertain futures. Upset stomachs adjusting to the shitty water in…