Welcome to the Family
The WiFi password is Welcometothefamily.
The first step upon checking in to the Co404 Co-Living in San Cristobal de las Casas, Mexico is to take a selfie with the volunteer who has checked you in so that you may be properly introduced and integrated into the private WhatsApp group. Ren has checked me in, and her smile is stunning.
I throw my gear into my private room with ensuite and wander out to the living room. This co-living is essentially a large house that has been renovated to accommodate a large number of people. I’ve been assigned a shelf in the kitchen for dry goods as well as a basket in the commercial refrigerator. Within seconds a tall Welsh vagabond in dirty cargo shorts, scruffy beard, holey socks, and a beanie is approaching me with hand outstretched, “You’re Shawn, then?” He’s already seen my selfie.
And just like that, I’m home.
I went pretty hard in the paint during my month-long hostel stay in Mexico City.
The average age has increased by about 15 years. These folks are primarily working professionals. They don’t have time for late drunken nights - at least not during the week. The weekends can be a different story.
The second night I strike up a conversation with Lottie. We talk for nearly three hours, exploring topics I rarely talk about with even my best of friends. Traveling is like that. It can be deep and intense. But also short lived.
Within a week I’m down with the sickness. Everyone in San Cris gets the sickness. The water is shit, and they’re currently in a drought which makes the water shit x 10.
I post a message in the WhatsApp group, “I’ve got the sickness everyone. I’m lying low. Hopefully I’ll see you tomorrow.” Within ten minutes, there is a knock at my door. It’s Laura, she of the vivacious free spirit, with medication. Laura usually lives in Mexico City, so read this in your best Mexican accent, “Take two of these. If you’re not better in six hours, take two more. It will dry up every hole you have.” She is an angel from heaven. The next day, I’m right as rain.
After a night of vomiting my soul.
That’s how it works here. People take care of each other. I have the opportunity to pass along the meds and the medical advice several times during my month-long stay.
Every Wednesday is Family Dinner. Although it’s a scheduled event coordinated primarily by the volunteers who are working for a free room, it’s more often than not an all-hands event. One week we have meatballs and mashed potatoes. Another week it’s chicken and rice from India. The conversation, cerveza, and mezcal all flow freely long into the night.
I learn how to play “Asshole.”
We all fall in love with Jasmin, the vegan sandwich lady who arrives every afternoon between the hours of noon and 1400 hours to sell us lunch. Supplies are limited, so it’s a mad scramble at the doorbell. You’re right Nathan, chimichurri is the way to go.
Chloe makes crepes from scratch. I eat one dozen. Seriously. They are fucking amazing. Just like her.
Ben is learning to cut hair. He opens Salon de Ben on the back patio. This dude fucking gets it. I’ve never met someone who thinks before they speak the way Ben does. We share some extremely significant moments. Deep. Intense. Short lived. A couple days before I check out, he asks me, “Have you processed this yet? The experience of being here?”
Still trying brother.
