After the bus ride into La Paz, Steve and I had the urge to go urban exploring in the heart of the city in search of the dirty, gritty, real, honest-to-God Mexico that we envisioned.  We didn't quite find it there, but we did find Hotel Yeneka...

We wandered into the passageway at Hotel Yeneka not even knowing it was a hotel.  We slipped in unannounced, but it didn't feel like trespassing.  The entrance was completely packed from the floor to the ceiling with old objects and trinkets, and the more we walked, the more objects we wanted to see, so we just kept walking.  It opened up into an outdoor courtyard surrounded by a two-story hotel.  It was breathtaking.  Overwhelming.

The rooms were modest, to say the least.

The objects-found and donated-weren't just thrown around in piles, they were arranged.  Random, yet organized.

We befriended the owners, a small family who buzzed around picking things up and nailing new treasures to the walls.

As I was looking at the relics, I wanted to know where everything came from.  Who owned it?  Why did they discard the objects?  Or were they left behind?  How did it get to the hotel?  What was it's story?

Everything had it's own space.

Everything belonged somewhere.

I started to feel like I belonged there, in that moment, too.  Every decision I had ever made, even the wrong ones, felt like the right decisions.  Every decision had somehow lead me to being exactly where I needed to be.

On our way out, we signed the guest book.  I flipped through a few pages and found a tiny drawing of a camera.

Everything just felt good.