Nominating Comitán for the loveliest town square in MX

We limped into Comitán de Domínguez last night, after about seven hours of white-knuckling it on rubble-strewn winding mountain roads, facing insane combi-drivers and overloaded, teetering pickups barreling down the pass at death-defying speeds - even when the road was constricted to one lane due to the falling boulders on our side. Ricardo definitely belongs here. He likes to drive at approximately 1.5 times the speed limit - even on the successive curvas peligrosas that singularly defined our route yesterday.

We couldn't believe our luck when the first hotel we arrived at appeared to be the most charming lugarcito ever: lovely courtyard in full bloom, quaint teensy little room (the door doesn't even open all the way because it hits a bed as it swings in) finished out in hard wood planks, a large doll-house-esque window with double doors that swing open onto the courtyard entry, complete with sill for leaning on and chatting with reception across the way.

This idyll quickly descended into the depths of Hell.

It started out innocently enough. Ricardo went into the bathroom to shower, and thus began what can only be described as an epic struggle with the shower door. Listening from my perch at the erstwhile delightful window (its fall from grace soon to be recounted below), I was reduced to howling like a hyena with tears streaming down my face. I could hear him in there cursing and struggling and doing battle for what sounded like at least a half hour. I think the door won.

It was all fun and games until I was the one who wanted to shower, though. Setting aside the shower door drama, I was most stricken by the intense malodorous putrefaction that must certainly reside in the walls of that place. We made a pact to ensure that the bathroom door remains closed at all times.

I was starting to flashback to the Amityville Horror. Anyone remember those creepy windows? And the flies? And when the toilet overflowed with evil black sludge?

The hotelcito's excellent location (right on the town square) soon proved to be a double-edged sword, as well. The square was alive with townsfolk, a marimba group, a band of Catholic fundraisers raffling off a car who had, unfortunately, gotten their hands on a P.A. system, and various other characters.

Most interestingly, the town square appeared to be a sort of rendez-vous point for every Mariachi band in town. At first we thought they were preparing for a competition since there were no fewer than 20 or 30 different mariachi bands meeting up at all spots on the compass around the square. We kept waiting for them to get out their instruments and get to it. We finally asked one what was going on and learned they are waiting to get hired and taken to a party to play. The town square is sort of a 'day labor' pickup spot for mariachis. And when not playing and singing, these guys can raise quite a raucous chatter.

The picturesque chalet window was wholly ineffectual at blocking out the din of the town square. In fact, I would swear that it somehow gathered in all sound waves from all around and masterfully directed them right into our room.

I fell into a fitful sleep - earplugs wedged in as far as they would go.

I was awakened several times in the wee hours by Ricardo's thunderous pleas from his bed, only inches from mine in these close quarters: "SILENCIO! Estamos tratando de dormir!!" These would work briefly to silence the unwitting chatters and passersby.

It was a long night for us in Budget Hotel #4.

But the truth about Comitan, though, is that its town square is the loveliest I've seen in Mexico. The square, surrounded by excellent examples of colonial architecture, is replete with art - the sculpted trees and hedges, flowers, ironwork, sculptures, fountains, musicians, multi-level cobblestone and brickwork terraces. Enchanting. See for yourself: