18 years working as journalist and editor for the main Guatemalan newspapers and several local magazines. My fields: art, culture and history.

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Friday, 2 September 2016

The Old Mill Hostel

Photo credit: Braliem Jousc


-I got a reservation. I’m still in the train station and I’m just arriving. Can you please give me some directions to get the hostel?

-Sure. We are very close; someone answered me on the phone.

-After you left the station walk until you see a river, follow it to the end of the road, then turn on your left and you will find us after a Centra.

-Thank you, I’ll be there soon.

The call just took me one minute, maybe less. The 12 or 15 persons travelling with me in the train have someone else waiting for them outside the station. When I hang down the phone, I was completely alone and it was raining, lightly. After 3 minutes the weather gave me a truce and I started to walk.


Photo credit: Braliem Jousc 

My main and heaviest luggage was in Dublin, with K and A, and J. (Soon you will know them). I was travelling with two regular size backpacks.

Once I saw the river in the middle of the town I immediately felt inside of a living puzzle: a picturesque scene from a European place with ancient buildings, several similar houses and a river decorated with flowers and small bridges.
Photo credit: Braliem Jousc

I walked slowly, to appreciate the sight, making a mental map of Westport. The rain stopped and came again twice. I arrived wet to the hostel, everybody inside maybe thought I fell down to the Carrowbeg.

-It’s Ireland, you can have the four seasons in the same day, said T, the guy who answered my call.

-Four? We only have one. Here rains all the time, added A, making us laughing. T and A are part of the hostel’s staff.  

T gave me the code for the rooms’ door. It was the first of several codes that I tried unsuccessfully memorize. Once I got my room I changed my clothes and I started to walk around, mapping the town.

When I passed in front of Matt Molloy's pub something in the air whispered me “come later”.  There I got my second remarkable hangover in Ireland. And it was just the first of 10 nights I spent in Westport.
The Old Mill Hostel / Photo credit: Braliem Jousc

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