“. . . now somewhere in the belly of the hotel, late the previous night we were led through a mad labyrinth of narrow staircases – some no more than a foot wide – wood plank bridges, multi-leveled open air spaces, secret passages covered by red tile awnings and a forest of vegetation to reach our room. I don’t expect my fuzzy memory and, evidently, poor natural night-vision to aid me in my daytime escape. Further investigation revealed a full roof-top terrace over our bedroom, complete with stone tables and a white, four-column pergola that provides a home for a pillowing, purple blooming vine. Early evidence suggests that four-legged felines outnumber people as much as three to one. The Casa Mexilio certainly looks as old as it is and probably has a catalog of stories at least as old as that. The artwork on the walls appears to be original and one can only speculate what dusty masterpieces might be occupying its dark corners. Though the doors and halls are constricting, the ceilings are high and supported by the most rustic of beams, possibly harvested by marauding conquistadors. It is colonial opulence sustained on the riches of 19th century sisal manufactures . . .”

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