Walk down the Malecón to do breakfast at Langostino’s – the restaurant where I met the Canadian boys the other day. While I’m eating, Doug and Luis walk by and ask if they can join me. Of course! There’s always room for two more with my party of one – especially since I’m posted up at a four-top. We chat and sip coffee for nearly an hour and become FB friends before heading off. I find out they’re 55 and 60 and one of the most fun couples I’ve met. God bless Canada.
Swing back to my hotel and contemplate doing the pool for a bit but decide I should pack the majority of my stuff first. May as well get ahead of the game since I leave for the airport in T-minus 26 hours. How depressing. Ugh. I don’t want to leave tomorrow.
Bags are packed and I’ve gotten in two hours of pool time. Hop in the shower then head out to do some last-minute shopping and drop by the tattoo shop. Everyone always thinks I’m crazy for wanting to get tatted out of the country, but it comes highly recommended by the locals. Plus I’ve been there before. Whatever.
Buy yet another bathing suit and tank top. I’ve lost track of how many of each I’ve bought while I’ve been here.
Find a hole-in-the-wall art gallery and drop 800 pesos on two original pieces and a signed print, all by local artists. No idea who the artists are but the pieces are cool and I need to blow through some of this cash before I head back to the States.
Walk past the tattoo shop and contemplate doing it right now, but it’s only 2pm and I don’t want to have to avoid the sun for the rest of the day. I’ll circle back in a few hours. Plus this gives me time to drop off everything back at the hotel.
Oh shit. How will I pack this artwork?
I’m officially checked in for my flight home tomorrow. So depressing. I really don’t want to leave. I’m enjoying not working and not having a to-do list and being tan. Can I just stay forever? Hmm…tempting.
Head back over to Studio Tattoo. Everything’s decided upon. Size. Location. The works. Stop by the ATM to take out some more cash.
Turns out the same guy is working who did my last tattoo here. Perfect. I show him what I want done and explain how I want it altered to incorporate some Dia de los Muertos makeup into the skull to commemorate my trip.
Offer to send him the photo but he insists on just snapping a photo of my phone screen then blowing it up for size.
“Okay…for this…uh…$350 US.”
“I beg your pardon….?!”
No way señor. You cannot take advantage of my gringo-ness that much. Not gonna happen. Not when I’ve paid the same or less for more detailed work back in the States. I’ll wait and have Joel do it once I get back. At least I know he’ll do a kick-ass job too since I’ve only had this guy here do lettering before. Oh well. So much for getting new ink.
Guess it’s time for early dinner before I hit happy hour. May as well eat my feelings. I drop by El Dorado for shrimp ceviche, fish tacos, and margaritas one last time. Such a fitting meal for my Last Supper. Supper is also a weird word. Why wasn’t it called the Last Dinner? Stupid bible writers…
I head off to Blondies after dinner because where else would I go for happy hour and to watch the sunset on my last night in town.
By the time the trip is over, I have become friends – in real life and on FB – with both of the owners, three of the employees, and the drag queen persona of one of the bartenders. I call that a resounding success.
After 380 pesos worth of slushies, I head home to charge my phone and finish packing. May as well finish tonight so it’s not staring at me in the morning. Ugh. I still do not want to leave.
Packing is done. It’s only 10pm. I suppose I’ll go back to Blondies. YOLO.
Buenos dias del aeropuerto. That means “hello from the airport.” I am exhausted and hungover and drinking water like I’m a camel preparing to be lost in a desert.
Last night was off the chain, on fleek, lit, or whatever the kids are saying these days. I wound up sitting at Blondies until almost 12:45am hanging out with the owners and Zac. Shawn and Dino – the owners – offer to let me stay at their spare condo downtown when I come back and let me snag it at the super cheap rate they reserve for friends and family. Done and done. They head back to their other condo in the hills, and Zac and I head off to the bars.
We stop to say hi to the hot doorman at Fiesta’s then go immediately to a dive bar without passing go or collecting 200 pesos to say hi to two of his friends. My Spanish is nowhere as good as I thought it was. I can’t understand anything so I stand and smile and laugh and drink and look pretty. Late-night 2×1 happy hour from 2-3am kicks off at La Noche around the corner so we head over to take advantage of 15 peso Pacificos. Two rounds later, happy hour ends and we migrate to Paco’s.
Beer. Jello shots. More beers. It’s now 4am and we’re hungry AF so we leave to find tacos.
The taco truck on the corner is out of corn tortillas so we go to some tiny corner joint that looks like the angela working the counter made a kitchen in her garage and threw in a few tables. I’m sure it’s not up to health code whatsoever, but I saw her wash her hands so I’m sure we’re good. We each order and destroy two chicken tacos each then head back to Paco’s. The people-watching is superb.
Swear we see Jiggly Caliente. As we leave later I ask her “May I call you Jiggly?” but she doesn’t acknowledge it. Perhaps it’s her stunt double. Or she’s just drunk. I snap a photo of her from behind and tweet it to Jiggly but she never responds so I guess the world may never know.
There’s also a girl at the bar who is a walking poster child for “white girl wasted” who is literally all over the place. She is only shown up by a hot white boy in a white v-neck and jeans with great hair and a sickening body who is dancing with an equally attractive Hispanic guy in a black t-shirt and jeans. The things I would do for that Klondike Bar…
We step outside to chain-smoke a few Mexican cigarettes. Zac assures me they’re healthier than American ones because they don’t have all the additives. It’s pushing 5am and I don’t care at this point. I’m not sure if he’s right, but they’re definitely different than American cigarettes. Terrible but good at the same time.
White girl and my future threesome stumble out of the bar. We start talking to them and find out she’d moved here from Ontario and he’s visiting from Vancouver – the island, not the city. Not sure if they’re friends or if they’ve just bonded since they’re from Canada but who cares because they invite us to after hours at her condo.
Two other guys tag along. The one is trying but failing miserably at getting with the Miss White Girl Wasted. As we’re standing on the sidewalk she asks if I’ll make out with her and tell her if she’s any good. Much to her dissatisfaction, I tell her no. Apparently she’d had the hot guy in the white v-neck make out for her earlier in the day but he wasn’t into it so it wasn’t good.
She’s crazy. I laugh at her yet she doesn’t realize I’m laughing at her.
Her remedy: Have white t-shirt guy make out with me and report back to her and tell her who was better. I happily oblige and start making out with him on the sidewalk. Viva Mexico! I secretly hope black t-shirt guy tries to join in but he doesn’t. Whomp whomp.
Zac is down the sidewalk at this point and is peeing on a bush and misses the whole make-out session. He is mind-blown when I tell him about it later. You snooze you loose.
Verdict is: I’m a good kisser. He’s decent but would’ve been better if he hadn’t hiccuped in the middle of us making out. He’s demolished and won’t remember in the morning/today but I don’t mind.
They start to pile into a cab to head up the hill to her condo, though I have no idea where exactly it is. Since it’s 5:30am at this point and I’m having second thoughts about going since I have to leave for the airport in 6 hours, I whisper to Zac that I’m not going and start walking off. He follows. They are too drunk to notice.
I will proceed to try and Facebook stalk the two guys later. Perhaps even post a Missed Connection post on Craigslist. Meh…no I won’t. That’s tragic. Plus they won’t remember it anyway.
Zac and I walk down the street to the town square park thing. We chain-smoke a few more cigarettes as he finishes his to-go cup of beer from the bar. I’m still mind-blown that they let you take to-go cups here if you’re leaving the bar at close. Zac is a little crazy and has some very differing opinions on a few controversial topics but whatever. I’ll hang out with him again when I come back to PVR.
We say our goodbyes and I head off for my hotel as the sun is coming up.
7am. I buzz into my hotel. They lock the gate at night. The night shift guy laughs and asks “Mucho fiesta anoche?”
Why yes, good sir, I did party a lot tonight. It was my last night so of course.
I lay down in bed and set an alarm for 9am and pray to Lady Guadalupe that I wake up on time for my flight with time to eat breakfast but secretly hope I sleep through it and get stuck here.
I successfully wake up on time. Early nonetheless. It’s 8:30am. I go back to sleep but wake up around 9:15 and decide I should shower, pack my toiletries, and go scavenge for food.
I walk down to Langostino’s to have one last meal. The servers all know me at this point and make me promise to come back when I’m in town next. I will. I tip him well and venture off for one last shopping excursion. Mom’s birthday is tomorrow so I may as well grab her a gift here where my money goes further. I settle on a blanket that’s supposedly been woven by hand for only 400 pesos which is a steal at only $20 even if she lied and made it on a machine in China. It’s blue and white and grey and black and would actually look cute in my place. We’ll see if I wind up giving it to her. I don’t.
I swing back to Hotel Amaca to squeeze the blanket into my suitcase then head downstairs to take advantage of the free wifi one last time before I catch a cab to the airport.
Of course, one of the employees waits until the last day I’m here to bring her dog Luna to work with her. I am in love and contemplate smuggling this bundle of joy home with me but am sure they’ll catch me at the airport.
I say my goodbyes to the front desk staff. She looks like she’s going to cry. They’ve seriously been amazing. I will leave them a rave review on Airbnb when I get home and will look into staying here again if Blondies condo is already reserved.
I lug my suitcase down all 104 stairs to the cab zone at the bottom of the hill. There’s a gondola going up the side of the hill but it’s never running when I need it to be. Go figure.
I catch a cab to the airport and breeze through security. Plenty of time to spare. The US could take some pointers from Mexican TSA.
Flight time means nap time which means I’m in Houston before I know it. Make friends with the TSA girl at customs who asks if I’ve been traveling alone because no one likes to spend time with me and also why I’m not traveling with a “special someone.” I tell her my mom had wanted to come as we share a laugh and a “definitely not” before heading on to the last leg of my trip.
I’m exhausted at this point and get stuck sitting next to a Chatty Cathy type who’s struck up a conversation with a guy from New Zealand in my row. As much as I love his accent, I’m too tired for this nonsense. Please just hush and let me sleep. I need a Xanax and an Ambient. I also have no legroom since people don’t know how to load the overhead bins and have their backpacks and purses up there instead of under the seat where they belong. Consequentially I now have both my duffel bag and my backpack under mine. All I have to say is if my artwork is crushed blood may be spilled.
Liftoff. Next stop: Chicago.
(and now if you’ll excuse me, I have cheap flights to look for)