Dancing with Bacchus and his ecstatic satyrs

The weekend that followed New Year was really just a prolongation of Friday's bacchanal. On New Year's day, while Mariana, Alex and I were recovering my cousin Magu finally showed up. His face, hidden underneath large shades and a cap, revealed his Friday night story. As I mentioned in the previous post, he suffered the consequences of hitting a liter of scotch and eating roast meat afterwards, being the following: vomiting all over his room, slipping over it while running to the bathroom and his mother who devoutly cleaned the entire mess up. His excuse? It was the roast meat who had done him bad. Ah yes, I've looked similarly over the years as a result of eating 'bad meat'. Anyway, Magu and I had planned to go to Tepic, a city about forty minutes away from the Pacific coast. Before we could leave however, his parents obliged him to attend mass at church as form of penitence. I decided to join him so we could leave immediately right after. Supposedly he's a catholic, but in fact spends the whole time observing attractive women and making immature jokes. I actually enjoyed myself in church for the first time in years.

Now, in Tepic we were offered to stay at Imelda's house, the girlfriend of Carlos who's a friend of Magu's, who stayed for two weeks at my place in Antwerp while he was studying architecture in Milan. After an hour and half of cruising on the road (it felt great to move fast again, especially after so many weeks of sedentary life), we finally arrived at the state's capital Tepic. Honestly, a pretty ugly city. We didn't stay long at the house. Immediately Imelda teamed up two friends to join the nocturnal journey. Two very lovely women, Sinahi and Alejandra. Perhaps the most pleasant girls I've met since Monterrey. The gang and I hopped only three bars, although enough for me to end up plastered yet again. In the second bar, were delicious draft beer was served, I quickly hauled in two one-liter cups of dark beer. While ordering my second round to the waiter I accidently ordered another one, who did not understand my sign indicating 'thanks'. To my surprise Alejandra embraced it and followed me all the way till the end. In a way it's pitiful, although also hilarious and maybe even typical, but Bacchus brought us together that night. In Belgium it is sometimes said that if you find a woman who drinks beer, you don't need to ask for more. Well, that Saturday was something like that, although not entirely true. Luckily, I've had the opportunity to talk to Alejandra with a sober conscious and it turned out be quite interesting. On that saturday night there were a number of memorable moments. In the last bar for instance, Alejandra and I were 'talking' when she suddenly fell from her stool. Since I was nearing the state of complete inebriation, not only had I no strength anymore, I couldn't stop laughing at all. Together with two others of the gang we lifted her up, luckily with no serious consequences. It wasn't my fault, seriously. Then, while driving back home Alejandra gave me - or I aksed her, I can't remember - her cell phone number. I was done typing the number into the device when suddenly, during an uncomfortable silence in the car, only disturbed by the radio, I asked her: "So, uhm, what's your name again?". Hyena-like laughter followed the question. That's Magu's version of the story. I, however, believe I was asking for her last name. Unfortunately, no one digs it. Luckily, we were both drunk which alleviated the humiliating situation a little. Back at Imelda's place we closed the night off with another beer, where those assholes were filling up my glass while I was giving a drunk sermon. Of course I didn't notice it and they were pushing me to drink faster. That marked the end of the writer's nocturnal escapade. Magu assisted me with removing my shoes and covering me with a blanket. That's what I call cousinly love.

The next day there was no time to recover from the hangover. The same gang minus Alejandra and I had full-day excursion to the sea. We went to a beach close the San Blas that's not infected by large buildings such as hotel resorts, restaurants and apartments. It was my first visit to the sea on this trip and as I far as I can remember, I had never seen such a civilization- and tourist-free beach. Apart from some palapas, dwellings with roofs made out of dried palm leaves, there was no more human construction to be found. We drove our car up all the way till the sand just like the others. You could see families with their cars parked near the shore sitting around fireplaces drinking, eating and most of all enjoying the view. There were actually plants and birds and things around. Before I went for a swim I gazed to the surroundings on top of a rock, contemplating about what had happened the night before and more. A beach like that definitely lends itself for any kind of meditation, just like standing on top of a mountain. While I was standing on that rock I concluded that the latter attracts me more. I'm definitely a mountain. Or maybe I haven't witnessed a sea which evokes the same melancholic feeling like a view from a peak does. Anyway, we stayed there for while, ate a little in one of the palapas and drove to San Blas. There, in a bar at around three in the afternoon we were hitting some cocos locos, coconuts filled with an undefined mix of strong spirits and coconut milk. I felt Bacchus creeping from behing the door again. It didn't escalate like the day before, though. The rest of the day isn't much worth mentioning. Back at Imelda's house Magu, Sinahi and I went out for some pizza. After she left, the two of us drank a last beer in the dark on top of the house listening to mariachi songs about shattered love and drowning sorrows in tequila. Jolly. New Year's weekend had come to an end, and good too. My body was broken.

Another week passed by like a day with a few highlights here and there. Rendezvous with Alejandra, a family get-together, meeting Magu's friends,... Time is a terrible enemy. For the weekend that was to follow my cousin Andrea organized a trip to Tequila, birthplace of the homonymous spirit. The idea was to get together only the direct cousins, but everyone brought along a friend or partner. With a gang of about 13 people we stayed at an enormous genuine hacienda in middle of town. The house was easily over a hundred years old, including its furniture, paintings, books, etc. A true historical gem. My cousin Sergio's girlfriend Paulette - who is the living version of Minnie Mouse only without the big ears - her family owns the place. They use the hacienda only for recreational purposes and social gatherings of all kinds. With other words, we had a free place to crash and it wasn't the least. We only had to pay a ridiculous small amount to the lady who takes care of the house and even kooks for the guests. I've experienced some very interesting social differences while traveling and the weekend at the hacienda marked another highlight. Indeed, Sergio didn't choose the poorest girl on the street. Interesting how going with the flow takes you to places you wouldn't imagine going to. An interesting aspect of the house was its alleged hauntedness. Paulette had warned us in advance that many people had died in there and how sometimes creepy apparitions of a man in a black cape or a girl would hover around. There was also an American who had taken a picture of a mirror wherein the image of a deceased family member is visible. She told us that many hired shamans confirmed the spiritual gravity of the house. Well, for a sceptic, sober European like me it's hard to take those warnings serious. But here in Mexico, and perhaps in more Latin American countries, there exists a much stronger belief in the spiritual world and all of its manifestations to the human eye. Obviously, that creates a vicious circle where clever charlatans take advantage of easily deceived people who are ready to believe anything supernatural served on a plate.

Anyway, in Tequila my cousin Andrea proposed to the group to get on one of those ridiculous tourist cars that take you around town and to a couple of distilleries. I wasn't really fond of the idea, but we all accepted in the end and it turned out to be an entertaining ride. In the barrel-shaped tourist vehicle were already a few quiet families whose silence was abruptly disturbed by our tumult, mainly caused by my cousin Magu and his friend Carlos. It was hilarious alright, but I felt embarrassed sometimes because they wouldn't let the guide speak. Then, while driving the chauffeur - baptized by us as 'Paco' - would turn off the lights, crack the volume knob open and ignite the disco ball. Indeed, there was even a disco ball in that car. The tour consisted mainly of two parts: information about Tequila the town and the spirit, and samples. My noisy group of cousins and friends requested so stubbornly the tequila-tasting part that the guide actually gave up talking and led us straight to the bottles. It didn't stop there, though. In fact, it felt like going on an excursion with my class in secondary school: always making noise, never listening. I did however learned how to taste tequila properly, just like wine. Seriously.

After the party tour we bought everything needed to continue the night adequately: a five-liter plastic jar of white tequila, several bottles of Squirt, ice and crisps. The rest you can imagine. It was kind of the classic five-phase scheme of inebriation. The following morning I felt like absolute shit. The worst hangover I've had in years. All went well till I got out of bed, when yesterday's bacchanalia came to collect the price. Surprisingly, I was the only one in that lousy state. It was that bad that I couldn't even eat, just when the housekeeper prepared hot cakes. A truely sad moment. Oh well, that's a fair price to pay for alcohol-induced funtime. That sunday we rolled out with a relaxed visit to some beautiful springwater-based pools.

Good times, good times...