“Stay there, I’m going to ask them this time,” the taxi driver instructed, as we parked outside our fourth hostel in Miraflores, Lima.
I slumped in the back seat. I was so shattered from the overnight bus, I hadn’t thought Peru’s capital would be so full of pre-Christmas travellers.
The driver returned.
“No rooms there,” he said, looking worried.
“What are you going to do?”
“Go to a café, drink a coffee and cry,” I replied flippantly, wondering if my credit card would agree to a night in the Ritz.
“Let’s go to central Lima,” I continued.
“I’ve got an address for a hostel there.”
“Okay, but wait one minute,” the driver said, reaching for his phone.
He hung up a few seconds later and looked serious.
“My wife said that if the next one is also full, you must come and stay at our house.”