Charming Little Hostel

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Travelling the world on a budget introduces an individual to a hospitality quality spectrum of infinite variety: expensive food can render you bedridden for days; a three-dollar meal can generate all the pleasures of Tetsuya’s; presented with the option of a luxury mountain cabin for US$30 here, you are forced to pay the equivalent for a night in a ‘Bukowsky’ dive there. That said there are certain times when the quality of the service is so poor that normally sane individuals find themselves considering homicide. Whilst travelling in Central America, my travel companion and I had achieved the impressive feat of making our way from far northern Guatemala to Honduras in one day. Our aim was to reach the Honduran coastal town of Tela. This was looking a little too hard so we decided, on the basis of some faulty information, that we would allow ourselves some respite in the small fishing town of Omoa and stay in a little Guest House called Roli’s Place.

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Roli’s Place, unfortunately, has all the charm of a concentration camp. Despite this, its reputation rises like a phoenix high above the flames of reality – reality being comprised of the tragic end to Roli’s capacity for rationality and human kindness (qualities which, one can only assume were, at least at some point, in finer form). Its reputation, beyond the confines of Omoa, and the minds of those who have been there of late, has been cemented by a glowing write-up in the Lonely Planet which despite no doubt big profits, being so universally used, if not popular, seems a little incapable of updating its information (Roli’s thus being provided with a literary rebirth with each consecutive edition). According to the Lonely Planet, Roli’s place is the best budget hostel in Honduras. It is for this reason that we were happy to stop there - that and the prospect of free bikes, kayaks, kitchen access (a wonderful thing for a budget traveller) and a description of its tranquil gardens.

considering homicide

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Upon our arrival, Roli’s seemed pleasant enough. Indeed the gardens were nice. It was once I had closed the door to our room and seemingly under duress, completed what seemed like some kind of military initiation reader, that, checking the cornices of the room for any surveillance cameras, I started to develop a distinct dislike for the place, and most significantly this phantom character Roli.

The words I was reading were from a sign on the back of the door. They were, word for word, as follows:

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NO MORE PARTIES @ ROLI’S PLACE No More Socialising After 10:30PM We are a Hospedaje, Hotelito, Hostel, backpackers, however you name it. We provide accommodation, rooms, camping, a place you can relax and sleep. WE ARE PROUD TO BE ONE OF THE BEST PLACES IN HONDURAS We are not a party place where people drunk and not respecting this place at all. THE VIOLENCE WE RECEIVE FROM DRUNK BACKPACKERS IS OUTRAGES!! NOT TALKING ABOUT THE THINGS THEY BRAKE AND THE MATRESSES THEY PISS ON!! The 4% of the backpacker crowd who need to read this, do not read signs. They are the one individual and don’t give a shit about all the rest … We may refuse drunk and drugged guests to stay have no matter if they already paid for their accommodation. THE MANAGEMENT

Along with this sign there were many others, in a colourful array, decorating that door like a patchwork quilt. They were all written in similarly welcoming tones and were all providing vital information on how to best behave whilst a guest at Roli’s. When I finally manage to pull my morbid curiosity from the door (like pulling the suckers of a mollusc from a rock face) I felt a distinct degree of paranoia taking over. That night, among other things, while consuming my meal, the hand most appropriate for my fork became a source of great concern for me.

We felt inclined to leave and so, once properly settled in, we did so. Omoa itself is a fishing town and not particularly pleasant. The beaches are dirty and its buildings are ramshackle. A walk along the shore, if you limit the scope of your vision to certain things, can be nice enough however. On such a stroll we stopped in to a place called the Sunset Inn, to which we were drawn by the advertised internet access. Inside we found the place deserted but for the chef who, upon our enquiry, directed our attention to the computer. When we had finished with the internet we ordered a beer and went outside to find the establishments American owner and another leathery-faced old American man sitting under a thatched bamboo shelter, smoking, drinking beer and watching the water lap against the shore.

We got talking and soon relayed that we were disgruntled guests at Roli’s Place. In time we were advised that Roli, in the general opinion of the populous of Omoa, is insane. We learnt of a mysterious conflagration that destroyed Pia’s, a guesthouse that shone of the pages of the Lonely Planet almost as equally as Roli’s. The general opinion is that Roli was responsible. Competition is tough. So what was the reason for Roli’s mental deterioration? It was relayed that Roli for the last few years has been harbouring a serious Cocaine habit. Combine this information, should it be true, with the large signs at Roli’s advising guests that should drugs be found or used on the premises the police will be notified (in Honduras an act likely to impose a 20 year sentence – should they not accept your bribe) and Roli seems just a little bit scary.

As a disgruntled guest I composed this little sign for Roli that I was considering placing in front of his door.

NO MORE ABNOXIOUS SINGS FROM THE MANAGEMENT AT ROLI’S!! The violence and stupidity we receive from their written words is outrages We are backpackers, tourists, travellers, however you name it. We provide money for a service that should include hospitality. To abuse us with words that are meant for people who will not read them is the highest from of stupidity. To deal with disrespectful/problem guests by abusing all guests indicates very poor people skills and suggests that a career move is advisable – possibly the morgue. We will bring about financial ruin by the power of our communication to all those who fail to satisfy the fundamental requirements of this basic transaction THE BACKPACKERS