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The first time we stopped by Hostal Toledo, nobody was home. Peeking inside, however, we immediately vowed to come back. Rather than an inn, it was clearly a family home. Fisher-Price-like toys littered the floor. The TV stand was loaded with disorganized VHS tapes, (which guests are invited to watch with permission). Men's hats and folded newspapers were strewn across the sofa.
So we grabbed a café at a ridiculously quaint and old-fashioned tavern across the street and inquired into the proprietor's whereabouts. The penguin-clad bartender shrugged and said, "To lunch, I suppose." Lest we forget, this is Andalusia.
We finally met Lola, the house matron, and were impressed by her conservative modesty. Nobody in the city runs such a familiar, "no place like home" establishment as well as she does. The nine rooms that surround the plant-draped atrium are well-kept and decorated with mismatched grandma furniture and pictures you'd find at garage sales, no doubt collected over the 30-odd years she's been running the place.
All rooms have a bathroom. Make sure to request a room with a balcony. While services are limited, what you're paying for here is a family when you're thousands of miles away from yours. It's located on a small pedestrian street a hop away from the Plaza Santa Cruz and a jump from the Cathedral.
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