You want some Tequila?

Loma de Flores, Salamanca, Guanajuato, Mèxico

¿Que paso, amigos?

It’s come to my attention that if i’m to turn my writings into a book someday, I can’t use Facebook notes, becuase Facebook apparently owns them. Consequently, the next updates after this one will be on a persoal blog that I’m going to create. I’ll sent notifacations to those who want them, just send me a message telling me you want one. Anyhow…

I’ve been here in Loma for about a week and a half now. It seems like I always end up staying more time in places then I plan on. But I’ve had a blast in my time here, and I’m glad I’ve stayed. However, as usual, I’m antsy to get back on the road. My friend Jorge wants me to stay here for months and get a job so that I’ll have some money, but I’m not too keen on the idea, first off because a job would mean responsibilities, and second off, because I really don’t feel like staying here for months, as much fun as I’ve had here.

So the first few days after I posted my last note here were relatively uneventful. I traveled to Irapuato a few times and checked out the town (it’s pretty much like allll the other small to medium sized Mexican towns I’ve visited so far) and did a lot of meeting the local people here in Loma de Flores. By now, after being here for roughly ten days, nearly everyone knows my name, or at least knows of me (Gringo! Gringo!) and I’m beginning to feel like a local myself.

Here in Loma, I find it really hard not to get wasted all the time. I can be simply going two hundred meters down the road to get a cigarette, and on the way two different groups of people will stop me and offer me a beer or a tequila. I am seriously not kidding. Just on my way to use the computer just now I had to fend off a group of people pratically insisting that I take a shot.

So I hung out with Jorge’s family a lot. His aunt, mother, 2 sisters and his very old and very blind grandmother. Every time I even walk by that house and someone inside sees me, I’m fed food. If I say I’m not hungary (¡Yo no tengo hambre!) I still find myself ten minutes later force feeding myself tortillas, rice and meat. It’s considered rude in Mèxico not to eat what’s put in front of you, so I just gotta chomp it on down.

Jorge’s grandmother is the laundry queen. That old lady can wash the shit outta some clothes. When I get mine back after a session with those withered old hands, they’re cleaner than they would have been if I had put them in a washing machine.

There is about a hundred billion flies in this town. No matter where you go, there’s always at least a hundred in the room.

There’s an old guy here who walks approximently at the speed of continental drift. I would be going on a smoke walk, see him, come back by the same street an hour later, and he will be about twenty feet from where he started. I come back in another hour, and he’s made it to the corner store, and has stopped for refreshments (beer.)

People in Mèxico communicate largely by whistle. There’s a whistle for how are you doing, a whistle for see you later, and a whistle for, get your ass out here!

There are many cars and trucks with megaphones on them here. They make laps through the town, play music and advertise products.

So when New Years Eve came around, that’s when the party really cranked into high gear. Every single person in town was out on the streets, drinking, setting off fireworks, and shooting (fully) automatic pistols and rifles into the air. It was a blast. I’ll admit, I drank myself silly. When I got tired of hanging out with one group of people, I’d just walk about fifty feet down the road and another person would see me, call me over, and give me more alcohol. This went on until about five in the morning. I vaguley remember dancing in the middle of a circle of about a hundred people with some random person for about forty five straight minutes. I recall someone filming it. It’s probably on YouTube. Try searching for “Gringo borracho.”

So I woke up the next morning with a wicked hangover. I went over to the corner store to buy a cigarette, when the guy who works there, who I was by now friends with and had partied with the night before, asked me how I felt. I told him like the bottom of a birdcage. So he then gives me an old Mexican remedy for a tequila hangover:

More tequila.

Hoo-rah, here we go. One bottle later, my hangover was but a memory. Me and the store owner (Juan) went to a pool hall and shot some pool. And drank beer. This went on for about four hours. I then got tired of the pool hall, so I just simlply wandered off. I tend to do that when I’ve been drinking. I stopped and watched some of my friends rehersing for a Quincienera, where there was choreography and everything.

Later on, I was just wandering around when another guy stopped my, gave me more tequila, and then asked if I wanted to go to his house and drink with his friends. I told him hell yeah! So we started walking. He is really drunk, more so than I, and he’s walking his bike and he keeps falling down. It’s hilarious.

So I figured that this guy’s house was in town somewhere, but I was wrong. We walked for an hour away from town, into the middle of the middle of nowhere, where the only light you could see was the moon. We even had to ford a fucking river (that smelled like poo.) Finally we got to his town, and hung out in front of a store with some of his cousins and drank some more. They tried to sell me weed, but I didn’t have any money. Then, they asked if I was hungary. I told them yes, so we headed to their house.

They fed me some cactus and tomatillos. It was pretty delicious. Then they started insisting that I stay the night there. This was something I really didn’t want to do, for various reasons, such as: I didn’t want my friend Jorge to wonder where the hell I was all night, and the fact that these guys looked like the kind of people who just might steal one of your kidneys while your sleeping.

So I slipped away. This was no easy task. I told them I had to go back to Loma to let my friend know where I was. They wanted to come with me, but I kept trying to convince them not to. Finally, some neighbor came along and distracted them for a bit, and I casually wandered off.

Finding my way back to Loma was not as easy as I thought it was going to be. On the way over there, my family called, and I talked to them for about an hour, and I totally didn’t pay attention to where me and my friend went. I remembered crossing a river. So I wandered around for nearly three hours trying to find my way back. Finally after two hours of wandering around on dirt trails in the middle of the night, I found my way back to the main road. This certinly wasn’t the way I took to get out of Loma, but it would take me back. Eventually.

Upon my return, I found one of my friends popping firecrakers in the streets. I hung out with him for an hour or two, then decided that it was time for bed.

The next day was the day for two different quincieneras. That morning, I watched my friend Ray slaughter no less than three pigs, and proceed to use every single part of them. I went to the first party, watched some dances, drank, ate, bullshitted with my friends, drank, danced, drank, rode around in the back of a pickup that was just going around in circles, and drank. Oh, and I lost my phone, so Mom and Dad: cancel my cell phone service. It probably fell out of my pocket when I was dancing. Oh well, not like I used it much anyways.

Then yesterday: there was yet another quinceanera, (I don’t exaggerate when I say that every day in Mèxico is a party) I was getting really tired of drinking by now, so I only drank about ten little tiny beers throughout the whole day. And a shot of tequila. But I by no means got drunk. I can still feel my liver crying out in agony, recovering from the three day New Year’s party.

At the dance, I just danced. Towords the end of the party, though, I caught a wiff of my favorite smell…weed! I stopped, sniffed, and followed my nose.

Pretty soon, I found it. A group of guys leaning up against the stage, passing around a FAT ASS joint. Hell yeah. I haven’t smoked in awhile, not since I left Leòn. So these guys smoke me out, and I just wander home blazed. Good times. Free weed is the best kind of weed, especially when it’s chronic…

So today, I pack up, and wash my clothes. Tomorrow, it’s back to the road. I am super ready. Quite frankly, I’m exhuasted from all the partying I did here. I need a nice week or two with nothing but fresh air, walking, and crossing international borders.


The Modern Nomad