Let’s see…28 pesos to the dollar, and they’re asking 80 for the room.The guidebook was right on. Only five blocks from the beach, and the friendly couple had rented me a room for under three bucks!
No five star hotel, for sure, but a quaint, aging two storey pension with a couple of scraggly palm trees on one side, and an appliance store on the other. I was given the key and hauled my pack up the concrete steps, sweating, past the communal bathroom to room number one. Four beds in a ten by sixteen room, two windows, no screens. A bare bulb hung from its cord in the center of the room; a fine looking fan on a pedestal welcomed me from the far corner. There was also a common balcony that served the other three rooms of the tiny hotel. It was great. All a guy needs.
I seemed to be the only tenant, which was all right with me, yet the empty beds presented the possibility of making a new acquaintance or two before the night had passed. A quick shower was what I wanted and I was surprised to find a really decent showerhead with plenty of water pressure, and to my amazement I was able to enjoy almost a half-minute of quite warm water. “The pipe must run along the roof.” I was thinking to myself as the flow quickly turned cold. It was a sublime half-minute nonetheless.
Still wet, I slipped on my bathing trunks and went on the balcony to air dry. “I should really buy a towel.” I scolded myself. But I liked to travel light, and the bulk, I thought wasn’t worth the space or weight. Just something else to have to carry or lose.
The view was more interesting than attractive. Telephone and electric wires a web of confusion feeding many small businesses all along this side street, which lead to the immensity of water surrounding the small tropical island of San Andres, Colombia. It was just past dusk and the street was illuminated by the many stores, cafes and businesses lining the thoroughfare. I stood smoking, observing, thinking. A couple of young girls walked past laughing and talking in Spanish. The one had her arm around the other as they walked happily by. A shirtless teen in torn shorts rode quickly past on an ancient bicycle, sweat making his black skin glisten in the bright lights. A pair of teen-aged boys walked up the street, holding hands, unafraid to show affection. They do that here. The warm evening smelled of humid salt air and garbage. A very pregnant mutt made her way to a trash heap next to a café across the street, teats nearly dragging on the ground.
Tired from a long day of travel and walking the beach, I walked the few steps to my room, intent on getting a good night’s sleep. I needed to get up by 5:30 in order to catch a 7:00 flight to my final destination, another island 40 miles distant. First I wanted to write a few lines in my notebook. I flipped on the light and aimed the fan toward my bed of choice. The fan was a four speed. I clicked it into second and lay back to let the soft hum of air cool me. Nice. I got drifty. “Eleven hours and seventy-five degrees colder ago, I left the frozen North.” is the only thing I wrote before I began to nod off, pen in hand.
I was just nearing unconsciousness when the hum stopped and the room became suddenly dark. The only light was coming in the window from a hazy crescent moon far out over the sea. A power outage. No fan. No light. No breeze. It was hot. I went into the bathroom to rinse my face, and to my surprise, got only a few seconds of water dribbling from the tap.
As I lay down to try and sleep I was annoyed by a pair of mosquitoes buzzing around my head. I guess I was meant to make an acquaintance or two this evening after all. They were quick little bastards and I had a difficult time keeping them away. Then came the rest of them. Eight or ten of the little demons kept me swinging and swatting for what seemed like hours. I was forced under the sheets in hopes of keeping them off me. I was covered head to toe with the threadbare sheet with only a tiny hole for my mouth to breathe. I must have looked like a white volcano, surrounded by miniature vultures, circling, waiting for their moment of triumph.
Then one of the little buggers stung me right on the lip! I got up in a fury, swinging wildly. I almost tripped on the sheet, wrapped up like a mummy as I was. I checked the bathroom. Still no water. I went out to my observatory on the balcony again. No lights anywhere, except for the beacon from the airport two miles distant. The street was silent, deserted. I lit another cigarette, hoping it would calm me and the smoke would help keep the tiny, winged intruders at bay.
I went back in to try again to sleep, this time grudgingly with a coat of insect repellent covering my face. I hated to use the stuff, but I was desperate. The mosquitoes were still buzzing around my head, but at least they didn’t land this time. I’d take a futile swing at them once in a while, or try to trap one of ’em in my ear, but they were a quicker breed than I was used to. I was so tired. Slumber was just about to win out over annoyance when this horrific dogfight broke out in the street below my balcony.
“What the hell next?” I said aloud. It sounded like a pack of ferocious wild animals engaged in an epic battle. I had to go look. There were about six or eight of the mangy mongrels biting and barking at one another for no apparent reason, yet the battle was intense. The pregnant mutt watched nervously from just behind the garbage pile. Then came a human voice, “Cuervo, venga aqui!!” I hope it wasn’t poor old Cuervo that was getting his ear chewed off by one of the larger dogs. Except for some territorial barking for a time, the battle was over for now. The guidebook didn’t say a thing about live entertainment.
Still no water. I checked my watch. 2:15am. Now can I PLEASE get some sleep!? I must have dozed off for a while because I awoke with a jump as a nearby rooster let out a terrific howl. It wasn’t your common barnyard “Cock-A-Doodle-Do”, believe me. It was a three note sonata, hoarse and serious and so loud it sounded like he was right in the room with me! I was amazed that a creature that size was capable of emitting a sound so loud. And at 3am no less.
I couldn’t wait for the night to be over. Yet, the mosquitoes had more or less left me, the dogs were down for the night, and the rooster did his thing, so maybe now I can get in a few hours of shut eye. But no. My mind was racing, and refused to grant me peace. I feared I would oversleep and miss my flight. “Did I set the alarm? I’d better check.” My wristwatch was, in fact set for 5:15, and yes, I did remember to set it an hour ahead for the time zone change after my flight. Quit worrying and GO TO SLEEP. 3:20. Less than 2 hours to sleep. “Maybe I should just try and stay awake” was the last thought I had before the feeble “beep, beep” of the watch alarm roused me from my brief rest. I half opened one eye and turned to the window. The sky was turning pale. The night was nearly over. At last.
It took a supreme effort to get out of bed, but I had to get on that first flight. I had no reservation, the plane held but twenty passengers and flew only twice a day, 7am and 2pm. I dragged myself to the bathroom. Gazing into the mirror, I beheld a sorry sight. Hair a tangled mess, a blotchy face from the DEET, and a swollen upper lip from the tiny foe I lost the battle with a few hours earlier. Would there be water? I turned the single knob with a whispered “Please.” YES!! The flow came cool and strong. I quickly grabbed my tiny shampoo and soap and got completely lathered up. I was certainly awake now.
The water grew colder by the second, and then suddenly stopped. “NO! What the hell?” I found myself covered in lather, hair full of soap, with no towel and no way to rinse. I stood there confounded, trying to not be mad. Think. I can hardly believe what I did next. Promise not to tell anyone.
The toilet had been unused. Yes, I broke the taboo. I shook off as much soap as I could, and then proceeded to rinse myself with the water that was in the bowl. It’s true. I may be the only person in the history of the world that intentionally gave himself a swirly. Dunk, shake violently, repeat. I lifted the top off of the tank, and used this “pure” water as a final rinse of my hands and face. Quite refreshing, actually. It was gross, I know, but hey, it got me clean.
I dried off as best I could with a sheet, shook the water out of my hair and dressed. As I combed my hair, I couldn’t help but thinking of phrases like “poo-poo pompadour”, and “crapper coiffure”. To this day whenever I hear the phrase “toilet water” as in cheap perfume, I am unable to suppress a smirk.
One last look around the room, and I was down the stairs and into the street, a new day of adventure ahead and another memory to carry with me, not nearly as bulky or heavy as a wet towel, and certainly less likely to be lost or forgotten.