Baja Entry #7

1/18/09 3:30PM Sea of Cortez, Mandan (Captain Jack's boat)

Yesterday we pretty much laid around all day. I rallied Courtney, Mingo, Blackness, and Lemur to go to the restaurant on Playa Santispac, Ana's Cantina. We got there at 1:30ish, but they didn't open until 2PM so we dilly-dallied, throwing shells into the ocean and sitting on the beach, until they opened at 2:15 or so. There were a number of older folks in there already, retirees who lived in the surrounding areas or traveled down to Baja via RVs with every imaginable luxury added on. Apparently they play poker together every Saturday, all the old farts. We drank Bloody Marys and Pacificos, ate delicious tostadas and enchiladas, and worked our way towards tipsy. We socialized a bit with the older patrons, as well as the staff of the Cantina, primarily the bartendress, Zulema, and promised to return later, as they have dancing on Saturday nights. The DJ was setting up as we ate. We stumbled back to our campsite, the sun high over head and the Bloody Marys doing their best to influence our behavior.

We returned to camp to find Carl and Captain Jack chatting up a storm. We were getting silly and kept on drinking, then Carl asked us to go get mas lena and a tub of water for showers the next morning. We went back to the cantina and saw Zulema again, who had created such delish Bloody Marys earlier in the day. Lemur ordered another round of them and we drank and hurried back to camp, stopping on our way out to pet Tigre, the brindle pit bull mix that likely belonged to the gringo who owns and operates Ana's Cantina. We pretty much got stupid drunk after that. Later, after dinner at the camp, we returned again to the cantina. Mingo and I had taken to multiple sloppy makeout sessions. On the walk to the cantina I fell hard on the ground, scraping my toe, knee, palm of my hand, and even part of my face. I also busted my fingers, the ring and pinky ones on my right hand, and that is definitely impairing my handwriting at this moment. I think they're broken...Anyways, at the cantina Zulema passed off a joint to Courtney. I don't know why Zulema had it, but apparently she doesn't like the mota because she claims it makes her paranoid. So Mingo and I went out front and smoked it, careful to avoid (as Zulema put it--"the old fuckers") other interested parties. We danced and carried on in our silliness, Courtney informing the other patrons that Mingo and I were "newlyweds" in order to better explain our ridiculous behavior.

On the walk back to camp Mingo and Lemur made out. Mingo claims he did so because Court promised she'd kiss Lemur if the boys made out first. But she didn't make out with Lemur afterwards, so Mingo and Lemur made out some more. I was told that when we returned to camp we ate a bunch of food, mostly scraps form the pollo we had for dinner. I was also told that Mingo was gnawing on bones without meat on them, still convinced that he was eating something. I passed out soon after that, or at least I think I did...

However, Mingo woke up our entire camp around 2AM. He got up for water and ibuprofen, and claims he saw a man running full speed from the ocean to the little inlet that runs behind our palapa, full of mangroves. He said he saw him run, then stop for a moment. Mingo yelled into the boys' tent, "Carl, someone's out here!" but when he looked back the man was gone. Meanwhile Carl had armed himself with his giant machete and was standing outside the tent, looking for whatever the hell Domingo had been yelling about. After they both agreed no one was there, I heard Lemur mumble, "Can someone get me some water?" Mingo and Carl returned to the tent, Mingo saying, "You guys are going to give me lots of shit, aren't you?" We confirmed his suspicions, referring to the "man" he saw as the leprechaun-chupacabra, or in reference to Zoolander--"Mer-man, pop!" Yes indeed, we gave him lots of shit for it today. Anyways, I'm going to cut this entry short here. My hand hurts and we're sailing on the Sea of Cortez in Captain Jack's boat. Jack has made a point to show me his vast array of canned goods, which he claims he could live off of for months. Good for you, Jack.