Sex hotel facelift

The enticing façade, fresh from new paint.

UNLESS YOU’RE a relative stranger hereabouts you know I live next door to a sex motel, a fascinating neighbor.

It wasn’t there when we purchased the property and built the Hacienda 14 years back. There was a cow pasture next door where a lone cow lived and attracted flies.

About four years later, the construction crew arrived and started building the sex hotel. There are just eight rooms.

The hotel is part of a nationwide phenomenon called Hoteles de Paso, meaning “pass-by hotels.” These establishments are noted for their very low prices.

Our neighbor, for instance, charges the peso equivalent of about 10 dollars for eight hours; 14 dollars for 12 hours; and 22 dollars for a 24-hour stay, all taxes included.

Take that! Motel 6.

They are usually nicely appointed places with discreet parking. Three sorts of customers, basically. Single folks with nowhere else to get it on. Married folks who just want to have some “us” time away from the 12 children and Granny.

And anyone else who simply wants a nice, inexpensive place to bed down for the night, mostly travelers.

Not being on a major highway, we don’t get much No. 3 trade. It’s almost exclusively Nos. 1 and 2.

We were very apprehensive when the construction began because we thought the hotel would be a noisy neighbor.

Mexicans are noisy.

But no. It’s been tranquil these last 10 years, and the place even serves as a 24-hour guard service of sorts since it’s always open, and the office is out front.

The hotel has provided us with some entertainment over the years, as you might guess. If you walk out to the edge of the upstairs terraza and peer over, you’re looking directly into a couple of the bedrooms.

Toward the tail of the construction process, my wife and I crept over there one afternoon and slipped up the stairs of the back room. Very impressive, beautifully appointed, even with crown moulding. One of the rooms sports a jacuzzi.

But after a decade it began to look a bit scuzzy, and a week ago a couple of fellows showed up with paint and brushes.

Now it looks like it did on its debut day, a place you’d be proud to take your pants off to have a little fun.

The summer flood

IT WAS A lovely day as had been so many in that time between the Last War and when they let the Islamists in.

The European sky was clear and blue as he sat at a sidewalk table outside the historic bistro with a well-constructed cappuccino and a plate of sweet biscuits.

Water began running in the street, lightly at first, but the stream grew, widened and rose. In short order, he, the table and the chair, which was wicker, were lifted from the swept sidewalk, and off they floated, slowly at first.

Velocity increased, and the waters widened more. Within half an hour, he had passed completely from the large, old city and was floating swiftly through the countryside.

The river was perhaps now a half mile wide.

The water was neither cold nor warm but as you would wish it in a jacuzzi on a soft summer night though it was still day, and he could see the shores on either side.

Over there, all was green. There were tall trees and flowers. He heard songbirds in spite of the distance. The other side, however, was dark and dead, scraggly bushes, toppled trees, and he spotted a hungry beast standing stock still, staring.

coonHe was not the only floater. A wooden raft passed on which sat a frightened raccoon. Other people sailed by in the distance, some flailing but many just floating quietly like himself, perplexed.

Cars bobbed by with water near the windows. People were inside. Some were terrified, but others smiled. One car contained three children alone. It raced by quickly, and moments later he saw it submerge in the distance.

tigerTime grew fuzzy as he floated. He wasn’t much of a swimmer, but he treaded water well, and he felt downright good. He thought about this flood and wondered how it happened without rain.

A tiger floated by.

Ahead he saw a curve in the river. It had been a straight shot till now. The curve grew closer, and around he went with a smile on his face, the well-constructed cappuccino and plate of sweet biscuits being the last things on his mind.

Out to dry

sheets
Usually there are far more blankets, pillows and pillowcases out there.

I LIVE NEXT to a sex motel. It’s not as bad as you might think. Actually, it’s great because it functions as 24-hour security.

The motel has just eight rooms. They sit above their individual carports with outer curtains so Nosy Parkers can’t even spot the vehicles. Gossip, you know.

It’s a pretty snazzy joint. Late in the construction almost 10 years ago, we crept into one of the rooms for a peek. The rearmost room even has a jacuzzi.

Here’s something odd though. At the back of the mostly two-story building is a third story, the laundry room. There are a number of washers, and an indoor clothesline.

But no dryers.

The clothesline is, by necessity, rather short. The sheets are dried there, but the blankets are not. They are spread out on the roof to air-dry, and air there is a’plenty.

Blankets are blown about quite a bit on the rain-stained roof. Pillows are out there too. You can spot one by a skylight.

This does not seem sanitary. I wonder if they sweep before tossing out blankets, pillowcases and pillows.

I also wonder why they didn’t install a lengthy clothesline on the roof. Maybe the owner thought it would look cheesy. Wouldn’t want a sex motel to look cheesy.

The human shadow you see is your photojournalist himself. The two tall shadows are the Hacienda chimneys. The Hacienda sits higher than the sex motel.

And the skinny shadow to the right is my WiFi antenna.

While up there, I snapped the photo below in the other direction. That’s how the area looked from the roof Friday morning. It was 42 degrees, blue skies and breezy.

vista

If you click on the bottom shot, click again to enlarge it, you’ll spot a V-formation of white egrets at the top left.