Before today I thought i had experienced bad hangovers. The hangover can come in many different forms, whether it's headache, nausea, both, whatever. But the one from four cumulative nights of the hardest drinking i have ever accomplished had me not only wanting to die, but imagining (foolishly so) that i might actually die. What's a person to do when but a milligram of energy is left, sleeping is impossible, eating is impossible, hydration won't work, and the only road to recovery is time? But we'll come back to this subject later.
I knew not what to expect prior to visiting this wonderful, horrible, yet awesome party town at the tip of the Baja desert. I thought it might, and it is to a large extent, be just some commercialized, civilized little town where everyone spoke English and was nice to you. In reality, days were swell, nights were hell. And by nights i mean after the club, when sleep is the only thing on the blacked-out mind.
Being homeless in Mexico has taught me a number of things. There is very little that scares me now. I saved money. Couple of pretty sick comments if you ask me. Well listen, it's not what i originally intended, for like so many other Cabo-goers I had planned to stay in a room with too many people with the hopes of saving a few bucks. Two things i overlooked: night watchmen, and gates to keep drunkards away. The first night was a tricky little bitch, and i came away luckier than the two bros i was with. Arturo's the name of asshole numero uno that so effectively pwned us during the wee hours of the morning. The three of us are walking along the beach - it's pretty effin' cold mind you, and we expected to waltz right into the hotel where some sweet sorority women were staying. Stupid. Thing is, there were more than one person keeping unwanted's out of the hotel, but Arturo, with his ear piece and a brazen attitude strutted over to the three gringos clipboard in hand. Why is it that our "y" often sounds like Spanish's "j" but when Arturo says, "you're" it sounds like "jyour?" And instead of "yes," it's sort of a "jyess."
Anyway, that's besides the point, which is that Arturo was awfully skilled at stating the obvious: "Jyour not Shareel, jyour not Britt-any, jyour not Kayleigh (he could say this one), and joo are not Court-any." Hence three college boys sleeping on the beach, but no. We weren't giving up that easy were we? After sleeping on the windy beach for a couple hours we decide to better scope the perimeter of this damned hotel to end up trying the front door. Pwned, Arturo round two, "Jyour not..." ~4 AM, trek to the one and a half star establishment where our buddies that took a combination of busses and planes down were staying.
There's a wall just past the gate, and the scratches on my wrist will confirm scaling this bitch. Unfortunately i was caught upon landing on the other side. Terrified, especially so when the night watchman mutters something about la policia, i chase after the bastard (after warning Scott better not follow my lead), saying no no, senor this, i have amigos here, etc. Luck was the theme of this trip, and who shows up outside the gate Albers. Solomente, he approaches the gate, while I'm pleading in broken English, and long story short, he pays some 500 pesos so I can spend the night, while Scott and Kris watch from the other side of the gate. They return to the beach, tough bastards. That night watchman was a dumb, two-faced bastard. Somehow, after threatening to call the cops on me, he shook my hand after our chat, but two nights later he dismissed my sorry ass at the gate. That's another story. Later that morning we laugh and joke about what happened as expected and met up with the other peeps on the beach to resume drinking, debauchery, and twin-watching.
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