Posada Isabel

At the top of the stairs, I caught the scent of a fragrant flower; a scent I did not recognize. The corridor was well lit and, as it turns out, Room 7 (our room) was at the very top of the stairs on the right-hand side. Sharon unlocked the door.

The room was not what I expected. In truth, the entire hotel was not what I had expected. I had done a little research on the web trying to find out more about the hotel. While I couldn't find any photos of Posada Isabel, I could find the room rates and they were comparable to some of the nicer spots in town -- hotels with large yards and gardens, decks and pools with generous, comfortable rooms and cushy double beds. Posada Isabel had none of those things.

The room was narrow and had few accessories. The twin beds were dressed modestly in traditional woollen blankets and separated by a small wooden table. The bottom half of the walls was painted a cheerful blue. While there was no closet, a wooden clothes rack with hangers stood in the corner of the room to store our coats and pants and blouses.




















The bathroom door was immediately behind the door to our room. You could not open one without first closing the other. The bathroom was simple and small. To the left, a cubby housed a small, tiled shower and immediately across from the door was a toilet. The shower curtain was tattered and dated and smelled of mildew. The metal drain in the centre of the shower was broken and rusted. The bathroom mat was a 2' x 3' rubber rectangle made from recycled tires (I guessed). The sink was in the bedroom itself on the wall across from our beds.

Sharon had already checked in and claimed the bed furthest from the door leaving the other for me. I threw my backpack onto the bed closest to the door and began to unpack some of my things. I removed the sleeping bag from my suitcase, draped it across the bottom of my bed and put my novel on the chair beside my bed. I transferred the clothes from my backpack into the suitcase and stored the empty backpack under the bench next to the sink. I put my camera case in bottom shelf of the




















I opened the window next to my bed and once again detected the fragrance I had discovered on our way up to the room. I opened the door and returned to the corridor in an attempt to discover the source of this wonderful scent. I stood quietly in the corridor.

The street noises came to me clearly and easily as I stood in the corridor. I looked over the railing and found two cars in the terrace there. Hovering over the cars was (or at least what I think was) a beautiful bougainvillea heavy with rich, pink blossoms. In another corner of the terrace was a poinsettia tree(?) over eight feet tall. I could have reached over the railing and picked a petal from its top branch. I looked directly up and saw the night sky and immediately understood the sounds, the shape and the structure of Posada Isabel

Posada Isabel is a hollow square. A break in the sidewalk allows cars to enter the terrace through a large, locked metal door. There is barely enough room to turnaround, to exit the terrace, but it can be done for one or two cars. The guest rooms are located on the first and second floors on the outside walls of the halls.

I would learn later that the first floor housed the kitchen and common dining room as well as the private living quarters of our hosts.


I took a few pictures and returned to my room. I opened the window wider in spite of the fact that no screen served as a deterring for curious insects or misdirected birds. I could barely wait to sleep under the window and breathe in the fresh night air.

We joined the group downstairs and headed out into the night to find Jody and Chris's favourite taco restaurant. As we walked down the streets of San Cristobal, I found myself looking left and right at the many businesses who still had their windows and doors open to the public in the early evening of a Monday -- Internet cafes, clothes and jewelry boutiques, currency exchange offices, classrooms to learn languages, bars, restaurants, electronics stores -- you name it, it was open late on Monday. We passed many buildings similar to Posada Isabel whose open doors allowed us a glance in the personal space of the residents of San Cristobal.

Several blocks later we arrived at the restaurant. The entire front wall of the restaurant had been removed or somehow unfolded-back into itself so that the restaurant was open to the street. The kitchen was nothing more than two large cooktops and we had an unobstructed view of our chefs -- two men and one woman. The woman rolled, patted and cooked on a cook top an endless supply of corn tortillas. One of the men chopped and grilled a variety of ingredients for his patrons while the last fellow did a little bit of everything including serving the food.

Over a round of cervezas we toasted new relationships and new experiences. Within minutes, a series of skillets arrived at our table with an assortment of toppings including chicken, mushrooms, beef, beans, peppers, onions and cactus. Uh huh, cactus.

Our meal ended early as many of us were still tired from our journey south. Sharon and I headed back to the Posada and noted that many of the businesses that we saw on our way down were still open, two hours later. It was very nearly 10 pm and the businesses were still open to the public. The atmosphere was almost carnival-like. I thought that Ottawa could take a lesson from this captivating city.

Using the buzzer to summon our hostess, we were once again admitted into Posada Isabel where we retired to our room and prepared for bed. As I curled up under the woolen blankets, I remember thinking that the bed was about 8 inches shorter than I was. The next thing I remember is sweet, blissful sleep and then the crowing of roosters.