8 a.m. – Wake up, sun rise, and I’m nice and rested. Matty arrived around 3 a.m. and while I did wake up to say hello, I returned to my puddle of drool on the pillow. Clicked on the TV and tuned into a Mexican cartoon channel. It was a little strange seeing Daffy Duck, yet hearing a dubbed voice in Spanish (without a lisp). But, ironically enough, the role of Speedy Gonzalez was not dubbed. I believe he is a national hero.
9:38 a.m. – “Any party favors, guys?” Consider that the second offer of drugs for the day for las gringos.
9:52 a.m. – Breakfast time. Coffee…and chicken enchiladas. I am going to get used to this.
10:23 a.m. – Seriously, these are the best enchiladas verde I’ve ever eaten. And it’s phenomenal coffee. “No, Ron’s coming. It’s the enchilada breakfast. We do it every month.”
11:27 a.m. – Just saw the inspiration for Tony Montana’s house.
12:29 p.m. – Just past noontime…which means it’s prime time for a Hurricane (aka – the beginning of the end). But shampoo it. We’ve walked about 3.5-4 miles this a.m., so consider it hydration. Plus, I get to cross off another Patty O’s off the list.
On the TV screens, they were playing the live U2 Elevation tour DVD. Next door, at one of those soulless American chain restaurants – Applebee’s, Bubba Gump’s, whatever – Billy Ocean’s Caribbean Queen was audible. So far, DJ’s in Cancun get an A+ in my book.
12:55 p.m. – Lucky Star by Madonna. 4.0 GPA.
1:11 p.m. – Matt and I have just solved pretty much all of the world’s problems and answered the questions that, for most of eternity, have been enigmas. You’re welcome.
Now, I’ve been trying to think in Spanish, yet I keep reverting to my training in French. After Hurricane #2, if I start picking up Arabic, call the authorities.
Matt, by virtue of where he is and what he is doing speaks Spanish pretty well. It’s a far cry from our college days when, trying to speak with a beautiful, supermodel-esque female from Ecuador, we hit a brick wall of language. But he now makes every effort to speak the local tongue and I think it’s probably a good idea if I try to as well.
Here, since it’s touristy, they speak some English. But hell, if you’re in another country, make an effort. It’s only proper.
2 p.m. – David, the waiter, thought it would be a good idea to send the attractive hostess out to sit with us. She didn’t speak English, I don’t speak Spanish. That was fruitful.
2:07 p.m. – Matt returns from the bathroom. He speaks Spanish. She speaks Spanish. I now have a zero Q rating.
2:47 p.m. – Senor Froggs next. I needed to relieve myself, so we stopped into this bastion of tourism. And, well, we probably needed to have a drink. So we did: two small garbage cans filled with Sol. I’m going to be fluent in something by the end of these, I reckon.
2:57 p.m. – Seriously, these beers are the size of Michigan. Donde esta la piscine? O guess what, I talk Spanish good now.
3:24 p.m. – Jimmy Cliff’s “The Harder they Come” on the airwaves (prophetic?) and another great conversation with Matty. Any remaining world problems/mysteries were taken care of.
8:01 p.m. – Took a dip in the ocean, pool, and pond (pond would be good for you…). Then finished in the whirlpool. Hace frio, but nice nonetheless.
Since our desayuno was liquid, we needed a proper dinner. So we headed to the Taco Factory for…you guessed it. I took 7.6 seconds to find my poison: pastor style pork tacos. I put on a little too much of the green pepper sauce. I think it could fuel a small New Hampshire town. It was a little hot. And by a little, I mean saying the F word repeatedly.
9:45 p.m. – Senor Froggs, and we skip the line. Rolling right along, we thought it was karaoke night. It was not. The bar smelled like puke and 18 year old sin. Quick departure.
11:22 p.m. – Landed at La Ciudad. Ordered two Corona’s, got four. Cue up the inner Chris Tucker: Do you understand the words that are coming out of my mouth?
Apparently we’re VIP. I tried to explain to them who I was, and more in the reverse fashion: no, I’m just a gringo in a gray t-shirt. I guess that qualifies. I’m more curious to see who they’re rejecting.
12:08 a.m. – Please stop playing “Bring ‘Em Out.” Forever. Please play more Kanye. Thanks.
12:44 a.m. – Sleepy time for me. Taxi, please. And just a taxi. No whores, coke, or splitting aces.