When last we visited Morelia, capital city of the State of Michoacán, we stayed at Villa Montaña (Link, but lots of annoying javascript), a moderately elegant Hotel owned by a French nobleman. Some years ago, this nobleman sold the adjacent mansion to an avocado farm owner whom I only know by the name of Pepe. Pepe in turn is a friend of my friend Clint, who advised me that Pepe had turned his mansion into a five-room B&B. Clint insisted we spend a night there, and he called Pepe to make the arrangements so that we would be expected when we arrived.

Pepe's B&B should be easy to find. But there's no sign, so you have to follow directions exactly, and knock on the first garage door on the right, just before the Villa Montaña entrance.

We did, and a woman came out and asked, "¿Day cleen?"

Hmmm. "¿Como?"

"¡Cleen! ¿Son ustedes amigos de Cleen?"

Oh. Clint. Are we friends of Clint.

(That high-temperature Spanish letter I and those soft final consonants sometimes throw me. Once I asked my English students what they did in their spare time. A woman responded "knee."

I pointed to my rodilla and said, "knee?"

"No," she said. "Knee. Knee."

"Knee? You knee? What is knee?"

The whole class chimed in. "Knee. Knee. She knee."

Finally someone made a hand motion like breaking dried spaghetti strands and I got it. "Oh! She knits.")

The unpromising, industrial-grade garage door opened up into one of those magical, labyrinthine colonial houses. A strangely organic structure that had evolved over the decades for one purpose or another, until the floor plan made no sense, but led to unexpected places, so that walking through it became an adventure.

We were shown to our room by an energetic young woman who spoke only Spanish, but that at Mach 3.

Our room—more accurately, our rooms—were spacious and filled with interesting furniture, antiques and art. Pictured here is our huge bed, our couch and our coffee table.

From another viewpoint, here's our fireplace and desk. Not shown are a couple of easy chairs and occasional tables.

Downstairs, we had a private living room. Much of the art is for sale and some seems to be quite valuable. The small Madonna and Child on the stone wall to the right is priced in five figures.

Also not pictured is our dining room and kitchen. Basically we were given a house, not just a room.

The next morning we sat in an outdoor sala beside a warm fire and were served a huge breakfast of sliced fruit, fresh orange juice, coffee, pan dulce (sweet rolls), eggs and chilaquiles (tortilla chips cooked in salsa). Pepe had returned from Mexico City during the night and joined us for breakfast. A gentle, cultured man, he shared stories about his life, about how a bumper avocado crop had enabled him to buy the mansion, and how after each harvest, he has money to invest in improving the property, a little at a time.

Cost of our room, including breakfast, was $1,000 pesos (U. S. $90). Compare that with Villa Montaña's rates next door: $2,000-$4,000 pesos.

Pepe's B&B is not publicized anywhere. He says it doesn't make a profit and I believe him. That his other guests that night were relatives staying for free no doubt contributes to the situation. But he says he makes enough to pay the upkeep and taxes, and that's good enough for him.

It's good enough for me, too. If any of you get serious about staying there, send me an email and I'll send you Pepe's phone number. Tell him Cleen sent you.