It had all the charm of Bourbon street, he thought unkindly. The vast complex was a festooned labyrinth of drinking tourists who passed from room to room not knowing when they had changed buildings, not even knowing when they were outside or in, so complete was the confusion of the multicolored, multileveled termite mound of debauchery.

He spoke to only one person while there. Ishmael from Mexico City. Ishmael had met his Viennese girlfriend in Tulum, Mexico (another great place to go to meet people who aren’t from there) and they were just on their way to the train station to see her hometown.

Drink finished, he had seen enough. But wait, what is down those stairs? Could the ruin go on? He began to step down and the bouncer said “Toilet”.

“Toilet?” he asked for clarification as he pointed down the stairs.

“Toilet.” the bouncer replied, but pointed instead across the hall to the signs for the toilet.

He didn’t need the toilet.

He left the bar. The stairs remained a mystery.