"Ran into a chum with a bottle of rum,
and we wound up drinkin' all night" - Jimmy Buffett"Ran into a chum with a bottle of rum,
and we wound up drinkin' all night" - Jimmy Buffett
So, we are on our way back to Cancún, the girls in back,
Santanu and I up front. Leitha wants to photograph the poverty
that we pass, and quickly we all go silent. Leitha stretches her
legs out and puts her left foot on my lap. Whoa, what's going on
here? While feigning sleep, she begins to massage me with her
toes! And I thought I was going to have an icy ride back! Santanu
fumbles for his camera, trying to get a photo of what's going on,
because no one will ever believe it!
Santanu has (understandably) no interest in going out with
these two tonight. I don't blame him, but since it was Karen that
was a drag, I figure that Leitha is worth a shot. When Leitha
calls, I tell her that I would like to take her to dinner,
not go as a group. She says that Karen wants to take it easy, and
just play pool for the evening, that Karen would call it an early
night and we could then spend a romantic time together. Great. I
arrange to meet them at the pool club later on.
Santanu heads out with the car, and I show up at the pool hall.
Karen and Leitha are playing. When they get done, I ask if they
would like to play cutthroat. Karen hasn't heard of it, and says
she is not willing to try it. Boo. Hiss. So, I play Leitha (as
she won the last game) and win. Karen then tells me to sit down!
Wait a minute; I won. I should be playing Karen, but I am
a gentleman, so I sit down and let them play again. Leitha
disappears to the bathroom, and Karen orders a beer. When it
arrives, she moves to another table! What, do I smell or
something? What the fuck. I have given this girl every chance.
When Leitha comes back, I tell her I want to go for a walk whilst
they finish their game. Leitha is having a hard time figuring out
the tokens for the pool table. the tokens are $10NM each, and it
takes 2 to play. She tells the bartender that she wants $4.00US
worth, and the guy gives her four tokens, and some pesos. She
tries to figure out what each token costs in $US and then what
change from her $20.00US bill she gives him should be, then what
that translates into in pesos, which is what he gave her in
change. Whoa, wait a minute; why not convert the $US into pesos,
then subtract $40NM to see if she gets the right amount of
change.
Anyway, Karen finally leaves, and we get our romantic walk down
the beach. Only it's not so romantic. She stops and sits on a
chair, and will not sit on the beach next to me. I call it a
night and jam.
As I walk around, looking for a taxi, or one of those busses
that seem to run every 5 minutes, 24 hours a day, what do I hear
from across the street? Santanu's drunken voice loudly yelling "Cuba Libre!"
So, I saunter on over to find Santanu sitting at a bar on the
street, talking across the bar to two Irish blokes, sitting
between some passed out cretin and, of all things a woman.
Santanu immediately buys me a drink, and the bartender pushes the
slimy cretin off of his stool so I have a place to sit. The
cretin turns out to be a Limey, and shouts incoherently, holding
two fingers in the air at the bartender whilst walking away. I
must admit that the gesture, (which is the English equivalent of
holding up your middle finger in America), and language were
equally incomprehensible to the barman.
After ordering a pizza, The woman picks up her drink, (a rum
& coke, properly called a "Cuba Libre") and Santanu
promptly shouts "Cuba Libre!"
again.
At this point, the two Irish guys say in unison "You're a
bloody Indian! Why do you give a flying fok about Cuba
then?"
A long conversation about freedom fighters, hunger strikes, and
the evils of the English ensues. Some while later after emotions
cool a little, the Woman takes another drink, and Santanu again
shouts "Cuba Libre!".
OK, I get it, Santanu, in his inebriation, is simply excited
about her drink (teaching Spanish to an Indian can prove
dangerous).
The Irish guys, getting a little fired up (after all, they had
just gotten through explaining their cause) reply "Fok
Cuba, free Eireland!"
Another conversation regarding the relative merits of Che
Guevarra vs Bobby
Sands ensues.
We order another Pizza. The woman takes another drink. Santanu
yells out "Cuba Libre!" one more
time.
"Whats his foking oobsession with Cuba?" the bigger
Irish guy.
Here we go again. Santanu looks at me quizzically, like "Why
do they always want to talk about this IRA stuff?"
I go to the smaller Irish guy, "Look, he doesn't give a damn
about Cuba, she -" I point to the woman "is drinking a
drink called a Cuba Libre!"
"No, she's got a Rum and Coke, doncha Mary?"
Now, to make matters worse, Santanu pipes in "I do give a
damn about Cuba!"
GROAN!
Ok, it's starting to get light out. I ask Santanu for the keys,
as he is obviously too pissed to drive.
"No, I'm not to pissed to drive"
Ok, don't argue, simply outsmart him instead. I turn to Pedro,
our valiant mixologist, and say: "¿Mi amigo estan muy
boracho, no?" (My friend is very drunk)
A very stoic "No, su amigo son boracho" (no,
your friend is a drunk) from Pedro
"El tiene los llaves del mi coche" (He
has my car keys)
In a rush he says "Oh, [incomprehensible reply] no es
bueno" and comes out from in the center of the circular bar
and sneaks up on Santanu.
Well, this isn't fooling Santanu at all, and he runs away! Around
the bar! Pedro chases! This is so comical, I feel like breaking
into a round of the camptown races as the two go in alternating
circles around the bar. A Mexican speeds by. Followed by an
Indian. Then here they come the other way!
Pedro was finally successful, and retrieved the keys. As it
was now almost dawn, shops were starting to open up. We stop on
the way back, and buy two Cuban cigars, and some beer. Upon
returning to the hotel, Santanu can't hold it in, and strides
into the water, lit cigar in one hand, beer in the other, drops
his shorts, holds the beer and cigar to the sky and shouts
"This is fucking awesome! Here we stand in the
Caribbean Sea, drinking beer, smoking Cuban cigars, and taking a
piss while watching the sun rise!
I was standing right next to him doing the same thing. It was fucking
awesome!
Ring!.....RING!RING! Fuck! It's not even 08:00
yet. I just got to bed. Who the hell is that on the damn phone!
OK, I fall for it again and answer. "Hola"
The mysterious voice at the other end replies "¿Señor
Dasgupta?"
"No, he's asleep"
"I need to talk to him please"
OK, misery needs company. I toss the phone at my
slumbering friend and yell "It's for you!"
The woman was from the hotel, and wanted to know which tour group
we were with, so she could have them confirm our reservations for
the flight home. We were with no tour group. We came alone.
We decide to do nothing but hang out at the beach all day, and
maybe look for some gifts to bring home.
We are hungry. We have seen signs all over town for really
cheap lobster dinners. On the order of $6.00US. We choose our
restaurant. We order our lobster.
The waitress (a total knockout) forces us to consume
Jell-O shots with her. Darn.
We eat. Santanu gets up, and looks for the john. He returns dancing
with the waitress! As he sits down, I tell the waitress
"Hey, why don't you take my friend dancing when you get
off?"
She agrees! Santanu has a date!
After arranging when and where to meet her, we depart the
restaurant. Santanu refuses to get in the car, he's feeling ill.
After some air, we head back to the hotel, and both of us puke
our guts out! So much for the value of a $6.00US lobster dinner!
As Santanu leaves for his date, I decide to play it easy and just
get smashed at the hotel bar with the "West Ham" crowd. Their wives
are dancing on the bar in a very risqué contest (I was appointed
a judge). Around 05:30 Santanu shows up (after being stood up!)
and we call it a night.
knock.....knock-KNOCKBANG!BANG!BANG!
Fuck! It's not even 08:00 yet. Who the hell is that at the damn
door! My head hurts, some animal crawled into my mouth and died
there, and besides that I feel like shit. I guess I had better
get up and answer the door.
It's the maid. She wants to clean our room. She will not take no
for an answer. I swear at her in German. No use. I switch to
Italian. Then French and English. Still no use. Santanu tries
Bengali and Hindi. She still wants to clean. Oh well, I should
have tried Spanish.
While she cleans, Santanu takes a shower, and I investigate
ferry's to Isla Mujeres.
La Ruta
Maya (Part I) |