However, there have been a good plenty places where I have stayed in Latin America that would make the Alaskan wilderness look most welcoming and hospitable.
Panama City, Panama:
-Panama Antiquo (then Colonial)
-Pension Interiorana (see above video)
Puerto Limon, Costa Rica:
-Hotel Los Angeles
Guatemala City, Guatemala:
Mexico City, Mexico
Puerto Jimenez, Costa Rica:
San Juan De Pasto, Colombia:
-Hotel San Francisco
-Hotel San Francisco
Santa Marta, Colombia:
-Undisclosed Safe House (see below video)
These places, I'm not sorry to say, would sometimes make that railroad underpass tunnel in El Paso, Texas, one of Night Stalker Richard Ramirez' old haunts, look like a comfortable and cozy home away from American homelessness!
Laying aside these most recent experiences with terrifying accommodations for a moment, allow me to rewind and set the play option for years 1999 and 2003.
I would be remiss if I did not call out the very worst offenders:
-Mount Galaad, San Jose, Costa Rica
-Hotel California, Escazu, Costa Rica, and
-Hotel California, Livingston, Guatemala
-Hotel Big Ben, Chetumal, Mexico
To whom it might concern, I am now communicating directly from Bogota, Colombia. The purpose for my removal from Barranquilla, Colombia is two-fold: Firstly, the temporary arrangement I was able to acquire from that city´s mayor and other public officials had become untenably hostile and dangerously threatening in a way I can only describe as XENOPHOBIC (i.e. bigoted):
For example, some of the residents or citizens there, whose skin-color would typically be similar to my own, would mention the fact that I am of African descent, as are most of the people in that part of Colombia, ironically, and also that, "You don´t look our race. We don´t cater to niggers. You´re not white. No hay, nada!" etc. Yet, these very same people will display the most sickening, sycophantic and preferential treatment toward "gringos" of European descent (Americans, too!) like it´s carved into their DNA, or burned into their brains, or something, by centuries of Pavlovian operant-conditioning. "You´re just a nigger, color-mixed. You still don´t look our race," they would constantly remind me. I got tired of hearing this, so I left town. I mean, if I wanted to be constantly called a nigger, I would have stayed in rural Alaska! Not to mention Lima, Arequipa or Puno, Peru, and, especially, Quito, Ecuador where the white "backpackers" of every nationality, the British, especially, would exclaim, "I smell a nigger who thinks he´s white. Get that nigger out of here! I have children. You´re not white and never will be white! What? This establishment admits nigger and I paid my good, hard-earned money to stay here! He´s got to go or I will leave," etc.
Secondly, since I was told by the U.S. Consulate in Barranquilla, Colombia that my help in the form of a repatriation loan would not arrive for another week, or so, after suffering two weeks (four days of which were spent over the Fourth of July weekend sleeping in Parque Parrish) of this abuse, disappointment, and recent destitution following the suspension of my SSDI benefits, and that I had become such an unwanted burden to the consular office´s daily operations that I couldn´t come to visit them too frequently and, so, I should just wait for a message to come through via e-mail, since I have no access to a telephone, because it takes time for the paper-work and it´s approval to travel the distance between Bogota and Barranquilla.
And, in the meantime, I´m living in a hell-hole!
Therefore, on 14 July 2011, I decided to expend a very precious amount of money (a huge gamble!), and to make the journey by bus directly to the U.S. Embassy here in Bogota, Colombia itself; which I intend to visit tomorrow morning in order to put an end to all this high-strangeness, frustrating delay and unnecessary set-back: Since being here instead of there in Barranquilla is more cost-effective and time-efficient for all parties involved: Eliminating the "middle-man" in this tragic plight of mine, overall, is for the best, and the sooner I can get back to Alaska, the better: I can promptly get on with the business of rebuilding my wretched life, and exiling myself in solitude on that 2.5 acre property of mine in Tazlina SW for the next eight, nine or ten years.
And, so, lastly, it all begins with this REPATRIATION LOAN process.
Sincerely, and I thank you all
for your precious time and attention
to this urgent matter,
WILLIAM SHERRICK DUNCAN-BINNS
POST OFFICE BOX 210486
ANCHORAGE, ALASKA 99521-0486
P.S: What I have disclosed up to this point is only just the "tip of the ice-berg", proverbially speaking. The TRUTH will out.