I headed over to the closest place (#3) and learned they had no availability for the week. When I left there, it was starting to get pretty hot out and it wasn’t very comfortable being sandwiched between my backpack and day pack with the sun beating down. I was anxious to lighten my load and explore Mendoza.
I just needed a place to call home for the night first.
I walked a little ways to the next closest (#1) and as I approached the desk, I quickly learned there were no rooms there either. Since I only had one place left on my list, I asked to use their phone and called #2.
Using the now well-worn map, and dripping with sweat, I made my way to what felt like the other side of town, checked in and took one of the three unclaimed beds, which put me in a top bunk (my preferred location) in a room for four. It took a second for me to realize I hadn’t been in a hostel in a few days since I had upgraded myself (voluntarily and then by chance) to hotels the past two nights.
There was a French language guidebook on the windowsill, very heavily, um, scented, hiking boots under one of the beds and a worn backpack leaning against the wall. I deduced that my roommate was from France and he/she had been traveling a while.
I would learn later that she was from France and had been traveling nearly a year. Just call me Sherlock Holmes.
I dropped my backpack, took my day pack and my sense of adventure and left to explore Mendoza.