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That’s the hotel de hamocas where Giovanni was trying to talk me into sleeping. There are like 25 hammocks in that hut and I can’t tell you how many skinny dreadlocked dudes I saw walking up there. And I’m sure there were like 10 guitars and probably a sitar too. And I would have to endure multiple renditions of “Wish You Were Here” because everyone still wants to sing that one. And then I would probably grab a guitar and try to remember the chords to “Secret Agent Man” or “Love Potion #9”. Oh yeah, and then watch out, it would be my turn. Flashbacks of great, but sleepless, and then just predictable, nights in Greece and Israel made me super happy that I would be Bobo-ing it back to civilization. I’ll leave the backpacking in your 20s to the under 30s.