Guests are housed in small bungalows, each with its own tiny patio garden.Įarlier there was a storm, rocking the trees outside my room, which shed leaves like thin leathery hands and a quantity of other solid matter, along with a downpour of such intensity that I put off heading downtown, settling instead for the more local comforts of the hotel restaurant. I am staying at the Hacienda Cortés, a sugar mill built in 1530 by the conquistador, Hernán Cortés, for the son he had with his mistress, La Malinche, and worked by the family – or rather, their slaves – until it fell into disuse and was, much later, reinvented as a hotel. ‘I don’t recommend walking in this area: it’s very dangerous’. It concerns a trip to Mexico in 2014.Ĭaminar en esta zona no le recomiendo: es muy peligroso, said the security guard on the graveyard shift at my hotel in Cuernavaca, as I set out for a midnight stroll. The following is an extract from my as yet unpublished travel memoir, Ambassador of Nowhere. Towards Popocatépetl View from Malcolm and Jan Lowry’s Villa, Cuernavaca by Mary Hoover Aiken.
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