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.
CHAPTER 1: ARIZONA STATE
I was not a very discerning drinker in college; I would basically ingest anything as long as it contained ethanol. This led to (a) bad grades (b) some very interesting run-ins with the RA’s and (c) some encounters with girls that definitely would not have happened otherwise. I am not going to delve too deep into this last category, as (a) there’s actually not that much to tell and (b) it could only result in embarrassment for the parties involved, i.e. me. [Readers note: I vow to stop using this (a) (b) (c) construction soon, but for now it’s very useful].
As you may know from reading past blogs, I attended Arizona State University for my freshman year of college. When I tell people this, their first reaction is, “Whoa, you must’ve partied a ton.” The truth is, I didn’t party a ton. I partied a little. And sometimes I partied a lot. I probably partied as much as any normal kid living in the dorms, and possibly slightly more. I probably drank more cheap vodka than the average kid in the dorms, and I probably mixed more of said cheap vodka with Gatorade than the average kid in the dorms, but that’s about it. The overall mass of my partying from Arizona State definitely did not equal a ton; it probably equaled about 566 pounds.
One of the reasons I didn’t party a TON was because I was in the honors dorms. This is not because I was an honors student, but because the honors dorms were used as sort of overflow dorms for kids that didn’t get into their first choice of dorms. It turned out to be a blessing in disguise, because I heard the other dorms – some of which were high rises over thirty stories – were absolute cesspools. In the honors dorms academics were at least a small priority for some of the students, whereas in the other dorms the only priority seemed to be spreading sexually transmitted disease.
But anyway, getting back to alcohol: As I said before, I drank a lot of cheap vodka. There is a brand of alcohol in Arizona called “Winners Cup” that sells for six-dollars a fifth. It is a generic brand and you can buy it at Safeway. I drank A LOT of winners cup; it was the brand of vodka most used to mix with Gatorade to make a drink that I think is popular only amongst poor college kids and racist senior citizens from Florida. One night I drank several glasses of “Vaderade” while watching Top Gun with a girl named Sarah Meyer on a 13’’ screen. Sarah later dropped out of school to join the army.
College was the height of my liquor-drinking career, because liquor can be stored in your dorm for long periods of time and takes up less space than beer. I basically only drank beer at frat parties, and I didn’t go to very many frat parties. Plus, the beer available at frat parties was almost always horrible (see: Keystone Light), which didn’t exactly push me down the road of beer connoisseur-dom. The most awesome spectacle involving liquor from my college days involved my friend Nick. Nick’s ancestry is Russian, so he can drink like an ox. One time he came to visit me in Arizona shortly after I had returned from Rocky Point, Mexico for a weekend of “legal” drinking and peeing on stop signs. Rocky Point is basically the Rosarito for kids that go to Arizona schools. Anyway, I brought back from Rocky Point what was left from a gallon of clear tequila that I had purchased for $7.50, and it was the first thing Nick saw when he showed up to visit me. I was kind of sick when Nick showed up (I thought I had the flu but it later turned out to be mono; the dorms are fucking awful) so I didn’t really want to drink. Nick, on the other hand, did. He really wanted to drink. And he drank what was left in the gallon jug (probably about a 1/5th) in about two minutes. He literally just poured it into the back of his throat. I had (and have) never seen anything like it. Several minutes later he was running up and down the halls banging on people’s doors and screaming like an angry warthog.
I left Arizona State in the winter of 2003, but my drinking did not really decline. If anything, it increased…
This entry was written by , posted on April 13, 2009 at 8:58 pm, filed under alcohol and tagged arizona state, cartels, drug war, hayden hall, mexico, party, spring break, sun devils, ucla, wildcats. Leave a comment or view the discussion at the permalink.
There has never been a better time than now to go to Mexico…if you want to get beheaded or made into soup. I jest! I jest! I’m actually being serious. There really has never been a better time to go to Mexico, and here’s why:
1) You’ll probably get laid. Actually, you probably won’t, but sex sells and I needed to get your attention. You might get laid, though — I don’t know how you are with the ladies/mans.
2) Though not as much as a few months ago, the dollar is currently killing the peso. When I studied in Mexico City in 2006 it was about 10 pesos to the dollar. Now it’s about 13. Party.
3) You’re not going to get hurt. The drug dealers do not care about you. Also: the places you’re thinking of going are not major conflict zones. Unless—Oh, shit—you’re going to Ciudad Juarez? What’s that? The entire goal of your vacation is to see if you can put yourself on the front lines of the Drug War and take down some of those narco bastards yourself?
In that case: Watch out.
4) Number four is the best reason, and it goes like this: Mexico has long been considered one of the safest and most desirable tourist destinations in the Western Hemisphere for North Americans seeking beaches and relaxation. It’s right up there with Hawaii, Costa Rica, and Florida. Because it has long seemed like a safer and more desirable place than say, Nicaragua, you get a lot of people going to Mexico that would never feel “comfortable” traveling anywhere else. AKA a lot of douche bags. But now everyone’s terrified of Mexico! Now every sorority girl this side of the Rio Grande is convinced the drug dealers want nothing more than to turn her into a fresh batch of carnitas. Let me stress this again: The drug dealers do not care about you. They care about killing other drug dealers, and killing police officers, and killing members of the Mexican military. They’re not hanging out on the beaches of Cabo dressed as venders trying to swindle piña colada-drinking girls named “Britney” into swallowing packets of cocaine to then be smuggled across the border.
Though that would probably be a decent plan.
Anyway, go to Mexico, and if you really want to have a good time, stay inland. You’ll (probably) be fine.
This entry was written by , posted on at 12:43 am, filed under Travels and tagged bill clinton, cartel, cartels, condoleeza rice, df, distrito federal, drug war, hillary clinton, mexico, narco, toluca, whoop whoop. Leave a comment or view the discussion at the permalink.