So those of you who followed señorita Maja around Latinolandia would’ve already read a copious amount about my adventures in and (verging on slightly unhealthy) obsession with México. So to write about México yet again would be a little bit repetitive, especially to my nearest and dearest, who now have limits in place for how long I’m allowed to spend talking about anything related to the country (something along the lines of a verbal restraining order). However, having related the events of this weekend to a dear friend of mine, she insisted a blog be written about it. I also saw this as a good opportunity and the safest way for me to communicate these events to my mother, who can let out all her rage at the WordPress webpage instead of directing it at me (mixed with a hint of despair at how she managed to give birth to such an insane child).

So I was on my way to my beloved Monterrey for the weekend, for the wedding of my dear friend Isaac. Whenever I travel here, I always stay in San Pedro, the poshest part of town. No, not because I’ve finally decided to give up my gypsy lifestyle, simply because I know it best from my time living there. This time however, Isaac insisted I stay in the centre of town, where his family from Tabasco was staying. We could all be together and there was a bus taking us directly from the hotel to the wedding venue. Unfortunately, as I’ve been so insanely busy recently, I was too late booking a room and all the rooms had been booked already. My solution was to hit Booking.com and find the nearest alternative hotel. Here was a nice, cheap hotel, big rooms and 15 minutes walk from Isaac’s family hotel. Perfect! What I hadn’t taken into account is that in Mexico 15 minutes walk, even 5 minutes walk, can sometimes make the difference between a cartel infested favela and the city’s most luxurious villas.

Having now landed in Monterrey, my friend was giving me a lift to my hotel. He had never heard of the hotel and commented on the interesting choice of location. I explained it was central and close to the bus stop. He explained that if I was feeling lonely one evening it was also close to a lot of semi-reputable establishments which could provide “companionship” for a very reasonable price. This had not come up on Booking.com, where almost 10 stars had been allocated for location.

Pulling up to the hotel I was blinded by the abundance of purple neon signage at the entrance to the hotel. Interestingly it didn’t look quite so neon in the promotional photos online. However, this was just the beginning. As I walked in to the hotel it felt like Alice had fallen down the neon rabbit hole. Ever seen that annoying YouTube clip with the cartoon cat vomiting rainbow colours to some annoying video game music on repeat? Something like that but a lot more kinky. I thought nothing of it. I checked in while a couple next to me was also enquiring about accommodation.

Walking into the room, I was surprised by the humongous size of my bed. Looking forward to sleeping on that. And I definitely wasn’t going to have problems getting ready for the wedding because there were mirrors everywhere. In fact, the mirrors were making up for the fact there were no windows or natural light in the room.

Anyway, I put that to the back of my mind and got ready as my friends came to pick me up and take me for some welcome tacos. Fredi, ever the joker, commented immediately on my interesting choice of location and mentioned that there was a great place the next corner down where the entrance was 10 pesos (50p) and if you spend 50 pesos you get a litre of beer and the “companionship” of your señorita of choice. If you’re willing to bring out the big bucks (e.g. a tenner) that’s when the fun really starts. Fredi’s girlfriend Melisa didn’t find the situation quite as funny and recommended I don’t don a short skirt and walk around the hotel late at night (there’s my weekend plans ruined).

Making it back to the hotel at night, I had two more slightly weird experiences. I discovered a new light switch which made my whole bed light up in neon lights, and then I switched on the tv to see what was on. I’ll spare you the details.

The next day I tried to find an iron to iron my trousers for the wedding. There was no iron. I then realised there wasn’t actually a wardrobe in the room, or any kind of clothes storage facilities. Must be a short stay kinda place. I went to the young man at reception to ask about the ironing. Apparently it’s for security reasons. Fredi later suggested they may have been used in the past as weapons by the residing ladies, but I was still confident this was a reputable hotel (I mean it is on Booking.com). I decided to ask straight out and so as the young man from reception brought me back my trousers I told him to tell me the gospel truth- was I spending my evenings sleeping in a whore house? He looked stunned and explained this was a family hotel. It’s true I had seen a child wondering around during the day . “So what’s with the neon compadre?” “The neon is so our guests can see how clean our hotel is”. Hmmmmm…..Again, Fredi later compared it to those crime scenes from CSI when they use the neon lights to discover traces of semen. At least I knew there wasn’t any unwanted substances in or around my bed.

Ok so now all the clues were there and it was becoming a little difficult for me to ignore the fact that I might be the only female in the hotel who was a) paying for her own accommodation and b) wasn’t making any money that night (although as my friends eagerly suggested as a European in Mexico I could’ve definitely charged a VIP rate).

On returning from the wedding late in the evening I decided to confront the receptionist again. It was a new guy now- an extremely handsome Venezuelan guy with biceps bigger than my head (not that I was looking or anything). As we chatted and during the 15 minutes he spent trying to convince me this was definitely a reputable joint about 5 different men came in to reception to enquire if they had rooms free for that evening. By the way it was 2.30 in the morning. Nuff said. They didn’t even look embarrassed with me there, although in all fairness I had had my hair and make up for the wedding done by two Mexican ladies who make Lady Gaga and Boy George look “au natural”. I wrapped up my conversation with my sexy Venezuelan Popeye (who later admitted he started wearing a baggy hoodie to work to stop being constantly propositioned by the ladies), locked myself into my room, got out the noise cancelling headphones and went to sleep.

The next morning I finally left my neon sex den and went to Fredi and Melisa’s for morning tacos. As I explained that I am now definitely convinced I was not staying in a family hotel, and why the hell was this being advertised on Booking.com, Melisa chirped in and said “Maja, there really is no doubt about it, I looked up the prices and they rent rooms by the hour”.