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No surprise we woke up quote late and worse for wear. Resulting in a rish to get packed up and checked out in time. We made it, even with time to spare to help ourselves to the free breakfast (pancakes, of course), during the eatibg of which we were serenaded by a pianist. Random but lovely. We then sat and planne are next move. Keith the hostel owner was trying to be as useful as possible - turns out there is someone out there who loves a map more than I do!
We decided to head to the local Pablo Grande Museum about the natives who had settled in the area only to disappear a few hundred years later for no apparent reason in the 1400s. They also had a photography exhibition on which documented some of the ghost towns in the state, which we now really want to visit. We then headed to a building known as Mystery Castle. So a bloke at the turn of the century finds out he has TB so abandons his family and heads to the Arizonan dessert, where he builds out of any material he can get his hands on a castle that his daughter always dreamt of. When he dies, his family who bad thought he was long dead, are told about the castle in his will and they have to live in it for a year before they are allowed to open the secret trap door. At midnight on the turn of that year his daughter opens the trap door to find a picture of her and her father and a wealth of bonds. She lived in thw house till she died 10 years ago od old age and opened the weird house to the public. Cute and sad at the same time, but an interesting place nonetheless.
After a hunt for a coolbox, surprisingly hard for November, we headed to a launderette to do some washing, where we were met by a Scottish lad who was eager to talk accents and how s*** Phoenix is. Quite why he was living there we never quite got to the bottom of but it sounded like he was sent away for being naughty.
After our washing was finished and we'd said farewell to the naughty Scot - we drove on to Tuscon. At the hostel we were greeted by a (late) middle aged couple and some homemade cookies. We're on to a winner - we thought. Turns out this was more like a half way house for homeless women. Our roomates included an older woman who was waiting for her trailer to be fixed after a divorce from her Doctor ex-husband (we believe he may have been a plastic surgeon from the look of her chest) and another woman who even though a trained archaeologist was job and homeless. The bunk beds were also less than we'd been expecting. I was on the topbunk above the inflated chest divorcee, the beds were so shaky and squeeky I got on them and dared not move for the rest of the night. The only thing that eased my mind was the knowledge that if the bed did break, the boobs on the women under me may safe her life.
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