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December 16, 2003 #
 A Man, A Plan, A Can of Tecate, Mexico! More pictures at Randy's HiFiNY I went to Mexico the other week right before it snowed buckets here. Bless the Gods of Fortunate Timing. Randy has pictures of the trip at the link above. I don't need to describe the physical beauty and natural environment because his photos adequately do the job. Instead I will focus on the more cerebral aspects of the trip. You know, stuff like pissing off the locals, practicing my Spanish with strippers, and discussion of a forgiving time zone. First, I admit the trip had an ominous start. After take-off from Newark I went through Randy's carry-on music selection and came across a blank CD titled "Mixico '03." Gayness rippled through the cabin like...well, everyone knows how gayness ripples and it's the same at 30,000 feet as it is on the ground. The trip could have ended right there as far as I was concerned. The prospects of good times with a person, even a friend, who labels a CD compilation "Mixico" are nothing short of bleak. Fortunately, although the smoking ban has even reached our once liberated skies (can anyone tell me when this happened??) there is still no federal law prohibiting the tampering and destruction of a Compact Disc in an airplane's lavatory after consuming three beers. Burp, fart, spike. Match to Krucoff. Too many hours later, once settled into our final destination of Puerto Escondido along the Oaxacan southern coast there wasn't much need to deviate from a ritual of sun, swim, sleep, cerveza, eat, and repeat. In fact, this pattern was so resolute that there's really only one night worth telling a story about. (Well, there's a second night but it got lost in the Pacific Ocean and is probably washed ashore on a beach in Guatemala by now.) It was our 2nd day there and after spending the afternoon in the sun and water we decided to hit one of the beach bars to commence the Corona(tion) process. "King me," I said, "and another order of pescadillas, Señor." We became muy simpatico with our waiter, Godo, who kept feeding the margaritas and dammit if he wasn't responsible for the gorgeous sunset too. Conversation rolled and crashed like waves guiding short-board phrases of half English-Spanish that helped in executing quick cut-backs and carving/butchering of two languages. Anyone with just a children's coloring book knowledge of another language knows that the aid of alcohol won't keep you from going outside the lines but it at least approximates the hues close enough. I conveyed we wanted to go out that night to some place with local flavor and girls. He smiled and offered to be our Mexican sherpa after he got off work! This sounded great, I kept elbowing Randy and told him to follow my lead. (Make note, never follow my lead.) We were on the road out of town in a taxi with Godo for less than five minutes when we realized the proper translation for "place with local flavor and girls" is actually "strip joint." Dios mio. I guess I should have known better but I suppose the heat and drinks got the better, albeit little, part of my brain. We were quite a pathetic scene when we arrived at 8:30pm in front of an isolated club with a neon sign and $20USD cover charge - two dusty Americans, their personal pimp, and a bar devoid of any other patrons. A handful of dancers gathered in small groups smoking and probably wondering how soon the gringos would get kicked out. Godo seated us and we weren't entirely sure what would happen next. It seemed like the "show" wouldn't start for hours. We ordered some beers and when he excused himself to go to the bathroom I took it as an opportunity to chat up the assembled talent. Hell, since I'm here there certainly can't be any harm in engaging these Puerto Escon-chicas with some small talk. When Godo returned to the table he was apparently furious at what I was doing. Randy told me later he was getting all huffy and punching his open left hand with his closed right fist. He must have thought I was trying to arrange a "transaction" with them but nothing could have been further from the truth. I was innocently telling the senoritas things like: I am from New York, two years ago I was in South America for 3 months, and I like Mexican plates of food very much. When Godo came rushing over and threw salt (hold the lime and tequila) on my game I was forced to dress him down in front of his countrywomen. I told him the situation was under control (was it?) and then I started play-boxing with him. The only ones amused were the girls so we left quickly and hoped Godo would forgive me and do better with another bar. Naturally, he didn't. Of course, it was another strip club. But to his credit it was an improvement, slightly. Mostly American rock music (and even a few Manu Chao songs) replaced awful club music and I don't care what you think of conforming to local standards but I'll take anything over Latin techno. This place had more people and dare I say, a more "homey" festive vibe. The girls were actually dancing! Randy and I did what anyone would do forced into this situation: we got really drunk and made sure our new friend did too. You know those cheesy spring break t-shirts that say "One tequila, two tequila, three tequila..." - well, Godo skipped the fourth part and went straight to snore. Brother ate the worm, became the worm, and passed out right in front of us in his chair! Flat-out cold, we couldn't get more than a boozy grunt from him. Several non-aggressive attempts were made (by Randy) to awake our now-gentle giant but there's a general rule I like to follow when on vacation: never disturb a sleeping man. So with the help of the bartender we got the hell out of there. Like real fast. Took a taxi back to our hotel where we washed away our sins with purified drinking water. Don't worry, we were pretty sure Godo was in good hands. For his hospitality and hidden scenic gems, we left him 100 pesos and figured that was enough to get a lap dance and ride home.  Waiting for Godo More pictures at Randy's HiFiNY Krucoff.com's "The Other Page" powered by Removable Hype. The information contained in this web site is subject to change without objection. Copyright © 2003 La Otra Página, Inc. All nights observed. |
