Blogs :: holiday number dos
Might as well be a holiday. Jason's birthday that is. We spend more, drink more, eat more on our cumpleanos (birthdays) than any other legitimate holiday including New Years. This past Friday was no exception.
The night started off with a huge helping of Chinese food with rest of the students and maestros (teachers). We still cannot figure out if Jason is Joshua
and I Biff, since we ate Chinese food on his birthday and on mine two times ago. His was cheaper, by far at $6 per plate that serves two. Served up family style, I ate everything from the classic pork fried rice to special mushroom lo mien to stewed beef chow mien to a soup I swear had mini-looking octopi in it. It was 9pm.
Despues de (After) the loading up of carbs, we headed out to Salon Tecun, the oldest bar in Xela circa 1864. It wasn't our first rodeo here and we went straight for the bottle of Ron Botran 12 Anos. Since it'd only been Wednesday since our last two bottles, I'd barely mentioned "ron" when the bartender finished my oracion (sentence) with 12 Anos, 4 Cokes. Now, for those aware of the great quality of aged rum, not the crap Bacardi pushes down college-aged kids, its meant to be had straight, on the rocks and/or with a lime. But, we had a few estudiantes nuevos de ron (new students of rum). The bottle between 6 disappeared quickly. David is our newest trainee on the arts of bueno alcohol in moderation, but he forgot the moderation part for his first pour.
Matee decided on a beer to compliment and a round of tequila shots for him and Jason. I warned him I was not fighting with Jose tonight, but he didn't listen, repeatedly making the same mistake two more times with myself (before I scolded him again) and about 10x with Jason. The first communal round I pulled a classic trick out of the book, dumping mine into Tom's beer. Tom noticed (which is unusual), but passed the ball quickly by switching beers with Matee. Nice play Tom. Jason wasn't arguing. It was his birthday after all, and nothing could be worse than the bottle we'd managed to finish at my last. The only difference was good versus bad, but this is Guatemala, not Mexico (or Denver). It was 11pm.
By now we were at the second bar, listening to what they call ... music. It was loud so we finished out the 3 liters between us and took 1 for the road. Good play again, Tom, because it took the next 30 minutes to decide which club we were going to crash the party in. First place was dead, made up for by another round of Matee initiated shots. This time and only this time, I partook. Walking back up the street, a few nice guys started talking to us, in Spanish. I kept walking, my language skills not in the mood for testing, just yet. Jeremy tried, Jason tried. The conversation started with "hey what's up" and ended in "fuck you Americans". Jeremy is Canadian. Jason said he was Canadian. No one actually knew what spawned the insult, but something to do with U.S. immigration policy. Friend apologized and I pushed everyone into the nearest club. It was 12am.
Less than 2 minutes in, Charlie found us. While the others found a quiet corner to consume more shots, I veered away to hangout with the locals where I was reintroduced to vodka and apple juice. I first came upon this lovely drink back in France while living in Germany. Jason never believed me, I shared with him the juice of the gods and he said: "Amen". The bottle disappeared quickly, funny how that happens, and we found ourselves outside the club watching David and Jeremy and Tom walking Matee up the hill to the square. I'd say he was stumbling, but I don't think his legs were working. I laughed. Trying to fight with Jose is stupid. We heard later it took 30 minutes to find Matee's house with Tom's help; they were standing in front of it for 15. If I hadn't know better, I'd said it was his fiesta. It was 1am.
We found ourselves in a car driving away from the scene stopping 10 minutes later at the biggest "Quicky Mart" I've seen yet in Xela. I called it the "Super Quicky Mart" for the rest of the night on the fact I had a new bottle of vodka, compliments of my Visa since I'd run out of money at the disco. While I poured apple juice into cups of russian juice, I found a few new friends eating hamburgers and asking the standard who what when where of me. Apparently I was too occupied in the conversation to ask where to get a burger myself, something I would regret later when we returned to find no more street food. Our ride eventually stopped making out with his girlfriend in the front seat and we left, popping the bottle of apple juice I'd left behind the back wheel.
Good thing Charlie told me to buy orange juice, the house party we crashed had only soda in limited supply. More conversation ensued and more friends made and time went by and bottles were emptied and people eventually left. I found myself in conversation speaking the only 3 words in Spanish (and English) left in my vocabulary at this point: what's your name, what's his name, what's her name. I tried to scribble them down in my pocket notebook choosing 3 spellings for each, circling the correct one la chica (the girl) pointed out for me while Jason sat in the corner, head in hands, no words left in his boca (mouth) saying to himself: why tequila, why tequila.
There was no more car. We were literally in the suburbs of the second largest city in Guatemala. We found the super quicky mart. Jason found (and raided) the Doritos and Cheetos. I found the beer (and water). Charlie found the cab. The cab found Parque Central. We found our hostel (after walking another 5 blocks). It was 5am.
drinks, party, holidays, Guatemala, Xela
Posted By:
Brendon
Tuesday, November 25, 2008 3:18 PM
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