Saturday, 26 February, 2011
the palm leaves (then comes back)
its snowing.
i slept in today, for the first time in over a week. drank my morning coffee at 11, instead of 7. my washing machine is full of loud, sweaty, bright-collared shirts. the hangers in the back of my closet wait with savage jealously, well-knowing of the stories that await them. the rants and raves of another daring and debaucherous trip to the sandy and soiled beaches of the mayan riviera. just meg and i this time, along with some flashy shirts, several pairs of cheap sunglasses, and a hat you'd hate.
the only time we ever used our alarm clock was to wake up, for dinner. stringent nap requirements for long days baked in hot sun, and soaked in cold cocktails. anyone who has traveled to mexico knows the word 'siesta.' maybe that's why i woke up at 6am every day, all on my own. no hazed-over mexican sleep-ins. up, jumpy, ripe, and poppy. a sun-slapped asshole wearing a hat you'd hate and skipping in sandals down to the beach to watch the sunrise. but more importantly, to stash our towels in the best beach spots. see, on these fancy beaches, there are several hundred beach chairs, all IN mexico, but some of them have more mexico. like wetter oceans and closer bars. meg and i found our favorite spot, and stuck with it most of the week. whether we returned at 10am, or 4pm, our spot went untouched, even among the greed and gamble of the tourist public. a towel on a beach chair is more powerful than an armed federale, and takes no piss breaks.
after claiming our prime preferred real estate, i'd head back to the room, for a pot of coffee, and the palm leaves on the porch. finger-picked guitar on a warm wicker chair. col time. leaning back on nothing. our view was simple, a quiet street bordering the resort. shared by the occasional jogger or golf cart. plenty of birds and extended sighs. the air, thick with heat, melting mexicans on rooftops in the distance. soon, the peaceful sound of meg singing in the shower would remind me that breakfast was near. the most important meal in mexico, my dad would agree. i enjoyed every meal all week long, but i enjoy every meal anyway, so maybe im disqualified as a legitimate, un-gouging judge. both buffets came well stacked with all the fruit and hash-browns a hash-brown like me could ever need.
wealthy and well-fed, we'd head to the water. usually around the the time the sun sobered up and staggered across the horizon to drink from the salty ocean below. our beach-chairs, safe with towel-power, under a sturdy umbrella tree, steps from the water. options: rest and burn, rest and read, or rest in peace. rest beside still skies over rowdy waves. rest and stare. i read 2 novels there, and drank rum, with ice. occasionally id walk out into the ocean and fall into the fight. there were at least 5 pools around the resort, including 2 swim up bars, but comparing a pool to an ocean is like comparing the front-shelf liquor to the 1-dollar-an-hour quality booze on the back shelf. we swam in the pool only once, for a quick game of colly-ball.
i find incredible relief in doing nothing, it always leads to something. paradise surroundings magnify themselves. the mind travels, like a detox dream on drugs, and everything slows down, and eventually passes out on the beach. it's that space in between awake and asleep, after the first snooze alarm goes off, and there's still time, and false promises fill the room, while the face lustfully reunites with the pillow in an orgasm of feathers and fools. but then that 2nd snooze goes off, and the dream is over. the reality of stupid dumb life drags you to the shower, to hose off any attempt at going back. in mexico, the 2nd snooze never goes off, and you get to spend all day in that warm pocket on the pillow. asleep enough to dream, awake enough to remember. plus there's free food and booze.
i counted 7 bars and 7 restaurants, consistently pumping the golden trough. we utilized most of them. the snack bar was a favorite on the 2's (AM & PM.) the sports bar had air hockey, ping pong, and pool. it was great spot to get ripped up before the discotheque. meg won our first game of air hockey, and i was forced to dance like an idiot for the rest of the night. some nights we played cards, some nights we watched loud mexican sitcoms. doing nothing usually leads to something.
the week flew by, as good weeks do. but the goal of melting the spine with relaxation has certainly been achieved. the last time i came back from mexico, i needed a vacation. this time, i come back to wind and snow and cold, but with enough satisfaction to stay warm til summer.
Hola Mafriends!
Recommended readings:
The Rum Diary by Hunter S. Thompson
The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald
Life of Pi by Yann Martel
Wednesday, 16 February, 2011
coliday
i run off all the time.
to exotic places like mexico and mexico.
with new hats and old ideas.
sprawled on a white beach near blue water with red intentions.
a brethren amongst the learny, guiding the first-time relaxers.
this way, you tired souls, lets go do nothing for a while.
its a megaday as much as it is a coliday.
she is very navagationary, and will soon loose need of my rambling bar-to-bar guidance.
her language skills tested the other day, when i said: taekiteas mafrends!
and she responded in perfect spanish, little of which i could actually understand.
i usually promise myself a bunch of great accomplishment, pre-paradise.
a story, or a song, or an album.
but not this time.
this is a trip to disneyland for the weekend achievers.
back-pay for a hard year of stalled laughter under low wages.
peons pawning soft landings with easy adventures.
oh, how the sea, sweeps me so silently away.
THE ROCK is back in the WWF.
Friday, 4 February, 2011
day 6
so, this is rehab.
i started dreaming again on wednesday.
only needed 1 coffee this morning.
heck of a trip last weekend.
didnt know PG could still do that to me.
maybe it was revenge.
flew in on thursday night, started drinking at the airport.
"do they sell beer on flights this short?"
"yes andrew, they do."
erickson got a ticket while picking us up at the airport.
so i paid his way on the free shuttle that takes you to bars in PG.
a free shuttle that picks you up at home, and drops you off at the bar*.
*a fabulously ingenious feature, installed as soon as the laws got mad.
night 1 was a warm arrival, with drooling teriyaki smiles.
lots of me getting over-excited, and andy wondering where pool tables used to be.
we survived, relatively unscathed, and humped the couches by about 2am.
the next morning andy had 3 screwdrivers for breakfast at noon.
it was show-day for me, so i had to keep my head above water.
mostly submerged, yes, but treading liquor with dry hair and agitated legs.
we were bowling by 2pm.
5-pin on 5th.
the trip already smelled like a massive success.
next we got shirts made.
"who the fuck is colin pearson?" - "get that pear off the stage" - "i miss you"
its pretty obvious who wore what.
the show was fun.
i had more fun off stage than on.
if singing simple songs brings friends together, ill do it forever.
saturday was our last full day.
so we spent it in the snow, drinking white russians, and breaking lawn chairs.
ran out of booze by about 3pm, and had to order more, delivery.
sometime during the day the sun went down, and the party moved inside.
i remember playing golden eye, and eating shepherds pie.the rest is mostly rumors and rhymes.
i woke up in erickson's bed, next to erickson.
andy woke up in erickson's bed, next to erickson.
erickson slept on the couch.
it was an awful morning, the worst we've had since vegas.
without colour, without laughter, bombed, blistered, and broken.three suicides please.
we tried to hide it with white spot.
andy and erickson both ordered milkshakes.
i ordered soup and a side slaw.
nothing worked, so we went to the airport.
cold, and wet, and useless.
but at least mike didnt get a ticket.
its friday now, the last 5 days have been a slow incline towards the sunrise.
and here i am, breathing properly and shit.
the fog finally wiped off from inside my eyes.
its friday, and im not drinking.
yet another adventure into a mysterious unexplored space.
all i can be is myself.
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