Mindo Day 2

We did not sleep that night.

Rubby Hostal was nice by all appearances, but auditory hell. Any step made or word uttered by any occupant was heard throughout the entire place. And the kids who had been on the bus with us had the dorm loft above our bedroom. It was a frustrating night that left me red-eyed and grumpy in the morning.

Norma saved my mood with her breakfast, though. Great scrambled eggs, soft bread, fresh fruit juice, and—essential—coffee. I gulped it down, hoping it would do its work, if you know what I mean, because by Sunday morning, it had been a couple days. And that just ain’t my style.

After breakfast, we walked according to the guidebook, in search of the cascadas. We knew the general direction, and the book said trails were clearly marked once you made it to the area of canopy zip lines and the gorge cable car. It had rained all night and was still drizzling that morning, so the road was muddy, and all the way up, we moved to the side to let pass truckloads of people who were either (1) too lazy to make the walk, or (2) too smart to make the walk.

But we got some exercise, and made it to the waterfalls, all the same. A little farther past we found a congregation of people swimming and going down a shoddy slide, which dumped on frighteningly close to the rapids ahead. You had to grab a rope string across the river to stop yourself from flowing down that direction, and we said no, thank you, to that.

Look, Dad! A Willy’s jeep!

We were finished with our hiking that day around 2 p.m., because we’d started early, and fond ourselves in town with nothing more to see, and wondering why I’d thought there was so much more to do here. We went back to the hostel to chill for a bit and make a game plan. After about an hour of hanging out in our room, I noticed something unusual on the twin bed next to the deck window.

“What is that?” I asked, pointing to the bed.

“What?” Anthony asked, walking to where I stood.

“Is that yours?” I asked.

“What the hell?” he said.

It was Santa, just chillin´ next to our stuff. He had not been there that morning, we were both sure. We then discovered that the deck window was completely open. Wide open. The children of the hostel owners had been playing on the deck that morning before we´d left, and we concluded that they must have opened the window, played at the edge of our room a bit—or totally in it—left the Santa Claus, and scooted off without shutting the window. The hooligans.

Later we decided to buy a complete deck of cards at a little tienda. They were made in China, and cost 67 cents. Cards like these cost almost 8,000 won in Korea, or about seven bucks. This made no sense to us.