Back from Puerto Vallarta, Mexico, and the rainy season has begun. It is not a downpour, but is not a drizzle either. It is the kind of rain that seems to soak you both from the top down and the bottom up.
As many of you know, I frequently experience what might be called “mini breakdowns.” These usually consist of me drinking too much and slipping into a period of self-loathing in which I vow to change my life permanently for the better. I vow to become more healthy, more responsible, and to unlock the “hidden potential” I’m convinced I’d “have” if I wasn’t such a “loser.” Which was what happened yesterday.
Interestingly enough, the highlight of this weekend in Mexico did not actually have to do with the wedding (I was in Puerto Vallarta because one of my best friends from high school was getting married), though it was glorious and the champagne free-flowing. The highlight of the trip came Friday morning, when my friend Steve and I “borrowed” the Four Seasons’ hobie cat and sailed three miles into the open ocean.
Never had I been so far out into the ocean without the supervision of some kind of “captain.” It was just me, Steve, and warm, blue water as far as we could see. Once we got past the furthest fishing boat we decided to stop and swim. We dove into water of indeterminable depth, opening our eyes to only see blue.
Eventually a lancha came towards us at high speeds and we knew we had been found out. “Did you guys ge here on purpose,” they asked. “Yes,” we said. “The whole hotel is worried for you.” “Oh,” we said. And then we sailed back in.
What’s the point of all this? The point is that one of the most magical experiences of the trip came with no alcohol and pretty much no decadence. It was just two dudes sailing in the open ocean, trying to get as far away from the mainland as possible without accidentally going to French Polynesia. Which reinforces in my mind how awful drinking is, and how I need to stop it forever. You know those guys who say, “I’m never drinking again” after they black out — even though you know they’re just going to get hammered the next weekend? I hate those guys too, mostly because I’ve always been one of those guys. But yesterday it stopped. Yesterday I turned over a new leaf. And for those of you who don’t believe me (aka everyone): Well….whatever.
This entry was written by , posted on October 27, 2009 at 10:58 am, filed under Central America, Travels and tagged four seasons punta mita, mexico, nayarit, nuevo vallarta, puerto vallarta, surfing. Leave a comment or view the discussion at the permalink.
Though a bit late, Neil Cameron’s recent submission has won the Wetzlerville 2009 “Post a Comment From the Most Exotic Location Possible” Contest Extravaganza. Apparently he’s in Scotland right now drinking “7 different types of single malt whiskey” and probably watching Rob Roy on DVD and playing with a sword. Merry Christmas Neil, you are a man among boys. We in America (’Merca) salute you.
-Wetzler
p.s. I’m not joking when I say that Nancy was semi lit last night. I’ve never heard anyone play “Away in a Manger” with such gusto.
This entry was written by , posted on December 25, 2008 at 10:08 pm, filed under Capitol Hill, Central America, Chipotle, Ravenna, Song of the Day, Uncategorized, master cleanse, the boot and tagged wetzlerville 2009. Leave a comment or view the discussion at the permalink.
This guy knows what’s up.
Today on Where’s Wetzler? we’re going to try a little experiment. It’s called: “Who can post a comment from the most exotic location?” This experiment was inspired by Champ Walston, a Where’s Wetzler? reader who posted a comment the other day all the way from Germany (unless it was just one of my friends messing with me). Champ, you’re a…nevermind, you’re probably sick of hearing that one.
Anyway, I realize most of you are in the Seattle area and have to attend those things you’re always talking about, Jawbs (sp?) or whatever, so you can’t exactly fly to Bhutan and post a comment from your laptop on the edge of a cliff. But just because you’re in Seattle and possibly at work doesn’t mean you can’t get creative. Take your laptop into the bathroom. Take it into the mailroom. Post a comment from the bus. Post one while driving across the 520 bridge — I don’t know, like I said: get creative. Bonus points and features in the follow-up blog (with your permission, of course) will be given to those who also send me a picture of themselves submitting said comments (markw32@gmail.com). Also, this whole thing is being held on the honors system, so Barry, don’t post a comment from your basement in Ravenna and try to tell me you’re in Cabo sipping a piña colada next to a scantily-clad coed.
The winner of this contest gets a beer on me (Readers’ note: Winner responsible for transporting Wetzler to and from drinking location if located outside Seattle area).
Post your comments by five o’clock tomorrow for consideration. Good luck!
-Wetzler
This entry was written by , posted on December 23, 2008 at 1:42 pm, filed under Capitol Hill, Central America, Chipotle, Ravenna, Song of the Day, Uncategorized, master cleanse, the boot and tagged barry coed, bhutan, colada, where's wetzler experiment. Leave a comment or view the discussion at the permalink.
Complacency makes for shitty blogging; Volatility and despair make for awesome blogging. Which is why I’m going to strip down naked and lie in the backyard until I get pneumonia or think of something rad to write about.
In other news, for those of you into Google Analytics, here is a screenshot of all the traffic Where’s Wetzler? has received since its inception:
Click for larger image
As you can see, the line starts off looking something like the plains of Eastern Montana before, thanks to The Stranger, spiking into a gorgeous peak which, if you squint just right, kind of resembles Mount Baker. It then drops dramatically into a fertile lowland not unlike that of the Skagit Valley, and if you look hard enough you can just make out a couple of tulip fields near La Connor. But do not despair, faithful reader: Shit is going to look like Nepal in a few months.
This I promise you.
-Wetzler
p.s. Instead of the whole naked thing (not to let you down), I’m actually going to sit back and relax, put on “For What it’s Worth” by Buffalo Springfield, and gaze at the snow falling on the hemlock outside my window. I strongly suggest you do the same.
This entry was written by , posted on December 18, 2008 at 2:11 pm, filed under Central America, Chipotle, Ravenna, Song of the Day, Uncategorized and tagged google analytics, la connor, mount baker, naked snow angel, skagit valley, the stranger, topography. Leave a comment or view the discussion at the permalink.
Since this is ostensibly a “travel” blog, I thought I’d finally write something about traveling. But, as you know, I get easily sidetracked, so it’s not really about traveling at all. It’s about killing…
Thwack!
Yes! Got one! Sting, you murdering devil! I didn’t know you had it in you, you old snake in the grass!
Thwack!
Klosterman comes down in a reign of fury, smashing another one into oblivion.
Neil and I are sitting in Alegría, El Salvador, and we are killing mosquitoes; Murdering mosquitos, actually — with books. Neil has something by Chuck Klosterman and I have the Spanish translation of the autobiography of Sting. We have been killing mosquitoes all afternoon and I suspect we will continue until our thirst for blood is satiated.
Thump!
Neil, brother, you are a marksman! Bravo! You should be defending the Queen of England from a sniper tower!
Outside the rain is pouring down and melting into the corrugated tin roof above our heads like warm cocoa-butter on cake. The small pueblo in the country’s Eastern mountains is completely dead. Not a soul stirs, and the only sound carrying across the main plaza are the cheers of angry gringos as they bang literature against sheet-rock.
This morning we went for a walk to the emerald lagoon that lies in a crater above the village. We meandered through coffee fields, past lowing cows and children coming home from school who met us with suspicious eyes. The lagoon purportedly holds a mermaid seductress that enchants handsome men into her waters before killing them, but Neil and I don’t believe it: We were there, and we’re still alive.
Our bellies full of pupusas from an earlier feast, we sit on the wool blankets of our beds and monitor the sky above us like fat toad kings looking for dessert. The mosquitoes trace ignorant pirouettes, and the books in our hands quiver. It is almost time.
Thwack! Christ, I may have pulled a hamstring but I’ve just taken one down the size of a pterodactyl! This is oh, so satisfying: I am not getting bitten tonight.
Now it’s Neil’s turn.
Thwack! He strikes and the wall shudders as if hit by an anti-aircraft missile.
Meanwhile I look down at Sting to see how he’s doing and almost jump when confronted with the bloody face staring back at me. He looks like he’s just gone seven rounds with Evander Holyfield.
Outside the rain still falls tick! tick! staccato on the roof. Inside it is cozy and warm, and Neil and I are content to be in our own little carved out section of Central American paradise, even it if means having to share with a few winged companions. Though we might not have to share for too much longer…
Thwack!
This entry was written by , posted on December 7, 2008 at 12:18 am, filed under Central America and tagged alegria, cocoa butter, el salvador, killing mosquitoes. Leave a comment or view the discussion at the permalink.