Mexico, Part 8 - Taxco

"TIMMY! TIIIIIMMY! You'll never...*laughing*...fucking believe...*more laughing*...what the fuck just happened!"
"What?"
"*laughing* Dude, thank god for fuckin pesos, dude."
"What? I thought you went to the bathroom?"
"I DID!"

You'd think it would be all downhill for the day after The Legend of El Gas. It was pretty epic, after all. But...you'd be wrong. Less than an hour later, Milo had managed to worm himself into a situation that sounded oddly familiar (and gross), but almost as funny. And it didn't take long for me to sympathize with him (kinda).

I should probably set the scene for this conversation so it'll make sense. After Milo calmed down about the El Gas truck, he washed up accordingly and we got our stuff together so we could get up and on our way to Taxco de Alarcon, which was about 5 hours by bus from Puebla. After taking a cab to the bus station, easily buying tickets by writing down what we wanted (Milo's idea, and an excellent one), and Milo eating what was apparently the hottest chicken sandwich of all time, we made our way to our correct gate to wait for our chariot. Not long after he went looking for a bathroom, the above convo started. Here's how it continued...

"If you went to the shitter, what do pesos have to do with it then?"
"Dude, so you have to pay 3 pesos to get into the bathroom, but that's not what I'm talkin about. I sit down to do my thing, and there's NO toilet paper. None. The bathroom is full of Mexicans so I can't go search for any, so..."
"Please tell me you didn-"
*laughing* "I used a 20 peso note. I HAD TO!"
"You're the grossest human being alive!"
*uncontrollable laughter from both of us* "Freak!"

I soon had my own experience with that particular bathroom. As Milo noted, it's 3 pesos to get in. Once you put in your coins, you push through the person-sized triple-barred turnstile to get in. Well, most people do anyway. I waited in line, put in my pesos, pushed the turnstile, and...nothing. I pushed and pushed...nada. I put in 3 more pesos...nyet. I just walked away, confused and defeated, thinking I must have missed something somehow. After witnessing the next two angry dudes unable to get through the gate, it became obvious. Nope, I didn't miss anything...

I broke the motherfucker.

After scurrying away from that shitstorm (pun intended), it was soon time to board our bus. And what a bus it was. Comfiest. Bus. Ever. Plush leather recliners for all. Eventually, we arrived in Cuernavaca, the intended stopover. We knew we had to switch buses here to get to Taxco, another 90-odd minutes south. We didn't realize we had to go to another bus station though, so after some confusion, we went and talked to a cabbie chillin in the parking lot. We were in a lot that stretched directly off of a highway, double-laned in each direction, each direction divided by a grassy ditch about 30 feet wide and 6-8 feet deep. Why the hell would I point out this much detail?

Because a fucking car doing about 60 km/h flew off the road right into said ditch while we were standing right there talking to the cabbie, that's why.

You can guess our reaction. In unison: "HOLY SHIT!" The typically-Mexican cabbie didn't even blink. Why would he? He had a couple of gringo-fish on the line. Pablo just hustled us into his taxi. We had to go in the direction of the car to flip a bitch (U-turn) back the other way to get to the other bus station. I shit you not, in the 2 minutes it took us to get in the cab, drive down, and turn around, there were 6-8 people that had stopped their car on the side of the highway and were helping to push this car out of the ditch (with its driver fully alive and unhurt) up onto the road again...with no front left tire.

We laughed at the insanity of the scene, but looking back on it, it was pretty inspiring. I'm not sure North Americans would stop on a dime and help out their fellow man like that at all. It was cool...although I have no clue what they hoped to accomplish by pushing a 3-wheeled car back onto the highway.

Mexican logic at it's finest.

Upon arrival at the correct station, a quick perusal of the board showed that the next bus to Taxco left in 20 minutes. SWEET. And there were 22 people in line in front of us to buy a ticket. NOT SO SWEET. We figured we were doomed (because Mexican customer service is a gigantic oxymoron), but we lucked out. We breezed through in due time, despite my bitching and whining (par for the course), and lucked out with a really cute english-speaking girl as our ticket agent. One strange baggage check later, we were on our way to Taxco. The guidebook said it was "one of the nicest cities in Mexico"...but that was the underestimation of the century. By far.

The guidebook didn't really clearly identify that Taxco (pronounced Tassco) exists on the side of a gigantic mountain. The bus ride sure did though. Milo laughed at me while I took like 9000 pictures of the valleys we were coasting over, but he wasn't laughing anymore when we approached the city, because it was fucking unreal. I've never descended into a mountainside jungle town any other time, so I don't have a point of comparison, but it was fucking cool. The road weaved around hairpin turns along the side of mountains until the bus suddenly stopped, apparently in a town. A town beyond my wildest imagination.

The first person we met was an old man tout trying to pimp the hotel we were dropped off at. We couldn't afford that place, despite the view being crazy insane. He called us a cab to head up into the heart of town to another hotel he touted. Cool, right? WOW. We get in the back of a gutted Volkswagen Beetle, and the cabbie immediately turns left into an alley we didn't even see...that went STRAIGHT DOWN. It was so steep that we both involuntarily lurched towards the windshield and had to hold ourselves in place. You see those fancy highway signs that say "10 degree grade, air brakes required"? This was 35 degrees, easily. Seriously. And we're in a '75 Beetle. And I'm huge. Scary, you ask?

That was just the warm up.

After 10 minutes of a literal Beetle rollercoaster, we were dropped off and hastily walked into the heart of the town. Across the vista from the hotel we were just at, looking back at it. We grabbed cash and used the net for a bit, then eventually settled on a hotel right off the Zocalo. We stayed here partly because of the location, and partly because I was an overheated crybaby and I flipped out for no reason. Sorry Milo. He has more experience than I do with 3rd world countries though, so he got us a good discount by bluffing that we'd go somewhere else. He's better at this stuff than I am.

After being led into the dungeon where our room was, we walked across the Zocalo to check out the insane church that is the centerpiece of the city.

We were lucky enough to run into a guy that gave us a tour in English, and also directed us to the silver market so Milo could buy some trinkets. Whatever commission he collected was worth his time and attention. Milo then threw out a great idea: "We should get a taxi to give us a tour of this place". I've never been anywhere that a taxi tour was even an affordable option, but our English-speaking friend translated, and we had the services of a car and driver for an hour...for 12 bucks. So awesome.

He didn't speak English, but that didn't matter. He spoke Spanish slow enough for us to get the basics, and he knew where to go. Basically, we went up. WAY UP. Like I said, the town is built on the side of a mountain. We went up countless alleys and streets with insane slopes, barely missing buildings and people, while laughing and enjoying the shit out of it. Milo waved at everyone we passed, and everyone looked at him like he was retarded (which made me laugh). Eventually we emerged out of the city and went up a bunch of dirt roads until we got to Cristo.

Cristo is Christ. There's a gigantic statue of him that overlooks the town, and the entire valley. Sorta like Rio, but less iconic. The statue sits on a massive flat platform that also serves as a tourist lookout, and I shit you not when I tell you that it's one of the craziest things I've ever seen. I felt like I could see half of Mexico...it was fucking awesome. Taxco sits at about 1650m (5500 feet, or about a mile high), and Cristo has to be 1000 feet above that easily. I cannot express to you what I saw there, it was that awe-inspiring. I can show you pics, but they don't do it justice. People, I never say this, but...YOU NEED TO GO TO TAXCO, MEXICO. ASAP.

After Cristo, we went back down into the vicinity of town and stopped at a bread store (holy foreshadowing) and a few other places. The town was so unique and nice, it's hard to express. We were so impressed, we didn't even get drunk. After dinner and chillin in the Zocalo (the main hangout in town), we just went and sat on the roof of our hotel for a while, admiring the view and bullshitting about stuff. It was raining, but we didn't care. I know Milo would agree with me that we were just happy we found a place like this, so fucking unique and crazy. We didn't need beer or absurdity to make it better. Taxco truly is what traveling is all about.

The next day was another example. We got up and took a taxi down to the bus station. Ticket-buying was easy, but someone alerted us to a situation we had completely missed somehow - Netherlands was playing Brazil. WHOA. Milo happened to be wearing his ugly orange jersey, the game was about to start, and the bus was leaving in 2 hours. But...we had nowhere to watch the game. We searched high and low, no dice. No restaurants or bars were open at 10am. We just walked until Milo saw a TV...and absurdity reigned once again.

I'm walking behind Milo, and all of a sudden he disappears. Okay...I retrace my steps, and he's in a bread store. With a TV. Wildly gesturing at the TV and saying "We watch! We pay!" Obviously they had no fucking clue what he was saying, but they were smiling and laughing. His jersey gave him away, they got it. They grabbed us plastic chairs, and we settled into a working bread store to watch Brazil/Holland. Seriously.

People came in, bought 10 loaves of bread, and laughed at the gringos in bright colors freaking out in the corner. I feigned embarrassment, but I'm not gonna lie - it was super entertaining. It was an experience, that's for sure. I just kept saying "HOLA!" to everyone that came in. Milo didn't even notice other people, he was way too into the game.

Brazil scored first, but Holland evened it up and scored late to take a 2-1 lead, which was a HUGE upset and completely crazy. True to form, Milo went absolutely bonkers after the second goal and ran around the bread store, high-fiving all the people inside and tackling me out of my chair. Then ran outside onto the street and danced a jig. It was pretty epic. Milo-worthy, if you will.

Our bus was due to leave right around final whistle, so we lasted as long as we could, then hauled ass to the bus just in time. Holland won. They were now in the semis, with a dream draw to win the World Cup. Milo couldn't be happier. I had 22-1 on a Spain/Holland final so I was happy too, but that didn't matter that morning - I'll never, ever forget watching a World Cup knockout game in a bread store in a Mexican mountainside village. That shit doesn't happen to regular people.

The last few days in Mexico City couldn't compare to Taxco, but they didn't disappoint either. I'll write those before I go. More Lisette craziness is next.

The Legend of El Gas

The last time I saw Milo before we left for this trip, we went out to the pub for a few drinks. As expected, we were discussing all the crazy shit we were gonna do, how drunk we were gonna get, all the bitches that we were gonna fail spectacularly with...you know, the usual. I mentioned possibly leaving the city for a few days, and Milo actually surprised me when he made it quite clear that we absolutely HAD to leave Mexico City for at least a day.

"We have to go to a city called Puebla. HAVE TO!" he said. I had read about Puebla, and it seemed kinda cool, but I certainly didn't think it was a must-see. Milo thought differently.

"Dude, do you know about El Gas? El Gas is the funniest shit! BOOPITY BOOP BOOP...EL GAS!"

Besides the fact it was pretty fucking embarrassing sitting across from a person that just sang something resembling boopity boop boop in a crowded bar, I was mildly intrigued.

"Okay buddy, I don't humor you often, and I certainly DO NOT condone you attempting to sing, but what the hell is El Gas?"
"DUDE! You've never heard of El Gas? World traveler guy! How have you never heard of El Gas? It's the coolest shit!"
"Okay slow your roll jackass. What is it?"
"It's a gas truck that drives around the city! It plays this music that goes -"
"STOP. Do not sing again. Are you hearing me? We're in public! I like it when everyone's NOT staring at us."
"Fuck off guy. It's a truck that drives around going BOOPITY BOOP BOOP BOOP and then a guy yells out EL GAAAS!"
*pulling my hood over my head* "Good god. What the hell is the matter with you? That just sounds so dumb. Do you ever listen to yourself?"
"Shut up Timmy, it's awesome. I wish I had my laptop here, the shit's on youtube. You''ll love it. I'm telling you!"
"You worry me Milo. Really, seriously...you worry me."
"Timmy I'm telling you guy. You're gonna love it. We're going to Puebla, and we're gonna see the El Gas truck."
"It's a city of like 2 million people. How the fuck do you expect to find this thing?"
"Buddy, it drives around everywhere! IT WILL FIND US! BOOBITY BOO-"
"Fuck would you shut the fuck up! Fuck!"
" - EL GAAAS!"
"Holy fuck."

I had no idea how right he would be, and how funny it would turn out.


Fast-forward to our hotel room in Puebla. It's 9am, the day after our tequila-infused presidential rally. I started the day with an epic hungover meltdown, yelling/explaining to Milo that I wouldn't go to Veracruz, despite it winning the drunken coinflip, because the mosquitoes there have Dengue Fever and I didn't wanna get a disease. Yeah, I'm a fucking retard. Anyway, he didn't seem too bothered about going to Taxco instead, so we decided on that and started the process of heading out like babies. While I packed, Milo decided it was number two time.

(I'll apologize in advance to anyone that might find this too graphic, but it's really not that bad.)

I mentioned in the last blog that the hotel room had 20 foot ceilings, but the bathroom walls were only half that high. So when someone is doing something in the bathroom...yeah, there's no sound barrier. So I got to listen to Milo commentate to me everything that was going on with his morning shit, which was pretty fucking gross. I rushed over to the patio, whipped open the doors, and hung my head over the patio, desperate for fresh air. And the noise of traffic to drown out his commentary/morning glory.

His idea of comedy gold was interrupted though...interrupted by the sound of music. Music that sounded eerily similar to that stupid shit he was singing at the pub a month before. And suddenly things got flipped upside down in this here hotel room.

"...so here comes round 4! Timmy, it's ready! TIMMY, it's...wait. Wha-...what is that? TIMMY THAT'S IT! THAT'S IT!!!! EL GAS!!!!!"

.053 of a second later...here comes Milo, running out of the bathroom, halfway through the process of pulling up his shorts. And running towards me and the patio. RUNNING.

Since I had bathroom commentary the whole time, I knew precisely what stage of defecation was occurring. And it was nowhere near the wiping stage. Eight levels of disgust and hilarity overwhelmed me immediately.

"DUDE! Go wipe your-"
"TIMMY! IT'S EL GAS! MOVE!"

Now I've been forcibly removed from the tiny patio by a guy that likely has poo particles all over his hands, and hasn't even considered putting toilet paper anywhere near the vicinity of his buttocks.

It's not The Legend of El Gas anymore. It's The Legend of Swamp Ass.

"YESS! El Gas Timmy! I TOLD YOU! I TOLD YOU IT WOULD FIND US! EL GAS! YES! Where's your fucking camera! He's driving by right now!!!"
"Okay dude, I'm getting it. This is sensory overload for like 4 out of 5 of my senses right now."
"TIMMYITSLEAVINGHURRYUP!"
"TIMMYHESLEAVING!"
"TIMMYHESUPTHESTREETWHATTHEFUCK!"
"...okay, here it is."
*Classic Milo look of disbelief* "What the fuck dude! Was the camera back in Mexico City!?! I missed it! He's gone! I didn't get it on camera! I...didn't...get...it...on...camera. That. Sucks. Ass."
"Speaking of ass, uh...dude..."
"Fuck! It was right there! Now no one will believe I saw it! It was right here!"
"Uh, Rob? No one even knows what the fuck it is. No one cares. It's not like you just saw Bigfoot."
"Fuck!"

I could understand where Milo was coming from, sorta. Seeing something you had set your sights on, something that you had thought about for ages...it's right there in front of you, and you don't get any evidence for posterity. There's one minor difference between us though:

Tim's idea of things that fit the category? The Stanley Cup. Colosseum. Boobs.
Rob's idea of things that fit the category? A fucking Mexican gas truck.

The next 20 minutes were fucking depressing. Have you ever seen a grown man completely conflicted? Rob Milo was conflicted. He was uber-happy that he had fulfilled his dream of actually seeing The Legend of El Gas, but he was thoroughly disappointed that he had no evidence of it. Until...

...boopity boop boop ELLL GAAAS...

"TIMMY! TIMMY!!!! IT'S BACK! AND I HAVE YOUR CAMERA RIGHT HERE! YES!!!!!"


This story wouldn't be half as good if you couldn't experience The Legend of El Gas for yourselves. So, people....HERE is what Milo was so excited about.

Prepare for a quick laugh, a thought cloud above your head saying "WTF?", followed by...a strange impulse to want to hang out with Rob Milo. Because people, there's never a dull moment, that's for sure. Good on ya, buddy. Shit like this is why I'm glad I got to travel with you. Jackass.

El Gas in living color

Mexico, Part 6 - Puebla

Fresh off of buying a pill designed to kill any living sperm left in the tummy of a Mexi-German nutbar, Milo was finally ready to check out some other cities...so we were off to Puebla. First off, Mexico City is so big it has 5 bus stations. We took a taxi to the closest one. The entire taxi ride involved Manuel, our driver, trying to talk us into taking his taxi...just about everywhere. "Pyramids? Xochilmilco? Museum? You go with Manuel! No tour! Manuel take you everywhere, you no have to wait! Manuel allow you take your time! Manuel good price!" When we got out, he gave us his cell phone AND home number, just in case. Too funny.

We managed to get ourselves tickets to Puebla without too much of a problem, despite the lady and me going back and forth for 2 minutes about when we were coming back. I kept saying we weren't, she kept saying we had to. "No returno!" "Una dia!" "NO RETURNO!" "UNA DIA!" Turns out the discount fare was for same-day returns, not one-way. And obviously the old "add an O to the end of an English word and it becomes the equivalent word in Spanish!" idea doesn't work so well in practical application. Oh wello. Hardly a big deal anyway, it was like 11 bucks to get there...o.

The ride out there was pretty interesting. Mexico City started to fade from houses, to buildings, to older buildings, to...shacks. With tin roofs. Then just concrete foundations with thousands of laundry lines. And people everywhere. It got pretty ghetto. It was a looooong time before the city finally faded into the distance and we went into the mountains. Most people don't know that Central Mexico is actually really fucking nice. Rob and I sure didn't.

"Dude, Mexico has forests? When did that happen?"
"1973."
"What?"
"I dunno, I just said something random. How the fuck am I supposed to know? I'm as shocked as you are."
"Reaaal funny, Timmy. Reeeal funny."

We arrived in Puebla about 2 hours later, at a fairly large bus station on the edge of the city. One thing about Mexico that's awesome is that it's really fucking easy to take a cab if you don't really know where to go. Just say "Zocalo". He'll drop you off in the central square. Problem solved. After going through some slightly sketchy suburbs, we got dropped off in the Zocalo - and it was fucking awesome. We got out, gave the cabbie 40 pesos, took one look around on the spot, and yelled "AWESOME!" in unison, and high fived each other. This was even better than we expected.

The central square has a pseudo-amphitheater in the middle, with a huge fountain in front and a massive church behind it. It was super leafy, with trees and shrubs and stuff all over the place, plus a bunch of statues and sculptures. On either side, the entire blocks were lined with street cafes and restaurants, and the front side was a pedestrian walkway. It was...for lack of a more manly term, beautiful. Here's a couple of stolen pics.





Our first order of business was to find a hotel. After walking for a couple of blocks, we found one that seemed worthy. We walked in and I asked how much a room was, which made Milo laugh.

"Dude, the prices are on the wall right behind her head."
"Oh. Oops. Maybe they changed?"

They hadn't. Milo 1, Tim 0.

Our room was pretty funny. 20 foot ceilings, but the bathroom walls were only 10 feet high. Okay. Cool patio looking out onto the street, but a legit huge padlock for the door. Sure, whatever. It was like 31 bucks a night though, and had 2 beds and a TV. Tough to complain. Well, for now anyway.

After that, it was exploring time. Puebla is known as a pretty religious city, and supposedly has 365 churches, one for each day of the year. We found three things out on our initial trip around the city -

1. Yup, lotsa churches. Very nice.
2. Outside of the zocalo, there seemingly wasn't much goin on.
3. Puebla was hotter than Laura Vandervoort. (Look her up, you'll be happy you did).

Food/beers seemed like a good idea, so we went to a restaurant bordering the zocalo. I guess we weren't there during a regular mealtime, because an entire block of empty chairs awaited us. Luckily, a pretty lady offering 2-for-1 cervezas helped us make up our mind quickly. We grabbed some enchiladas with mole sauce, which Puebla is famous for. They were awesome. Watching the waitress try to explain the whole "red or green chili" thing to Milo was pretty amusing though, because neither of them had a fucking clue what the other one was talking about. I knew, because I went through it in New Mexico a couple of months before that, but awkward misunderstandings are pretty funny when you're not involved in them, so I stayed silent.

Tim 1, Milo 1.

The best part of lunch was the relentless shoe shiner. He attacked Milo like a Jew attacks a bargain. Milo said no about 30 times, but the guy just started shining like Milo wasn't even talking. Milo was wearing soccer shoes or something too, which made it even funnier. I think he even kicked the guy at one point, but Shiny wouldn't be denied. Finally Rob gave up fighting, and he did his thing...then tried to charge him some ridiculous amount like 100 pesos. I couldn't help myself anymore, I just about fell over laughing at the look on Milo's face. Utter shock. Milo's ended up giving Shiny 40 pesos or something like that, which was good enough for him. Shiny then took one look at me, and I just said "FUCK NO." And he walked away, just like that.

"How'd you do that?"
"I have no idea. I'm more awesome than you, I guess."
"Yeah right...it's because your shoes are brown, asshole! It wasn't you! It was them!"

Shiny 40, Milo 1.

Milo was pretty tired at this point, so we headed back to the hotel. He couldn't fall asleep though, so we discussed whether it was even worth it to stay the night here. We figured we had seen most of what there was to see, and it didn't seem like much was going on. It was only 3:30pm so we had time to go somewhere else. I was indifferent, but Milo decided we should give it a second chance and stay.

Hands down, best decision of the trip. For all the jokes and teasing I send Milo's way in these blogs, he deserves even more credit - he made some genius decisions and pulled the trigger on a lot of things I would have either passed up or been too timid and/or indecisive to do, and the trip was sooo much better because of it. Props, buddy. You're still a jackass though. : )

So, we stayed. And it didn't take long for the decision to pay off. After wandering around for a little while, we found the mother of all interesting streets. It was a wide pedestrian-only street, PACKED with all sorts of people. Deviants, clowns, tourists, salesman, elephants, vendors, sluts, everything. Okay, no elephants, but everything else is legit. It also had tons of interesting shops, people selling all different kinds of balloons (balloon sales are huge in Puebla for some reason), street performers, music blasting out of different places...then a beautiful church. Then more of the same. And another crazy church. For blocks and blocks. It was a people watcher's dream come true.

We spent over two hours walking up and down this street and checking out churches and markets and whores and stuff. I think some people were as amused by us as we were by them. Besides being gringos, they were laughing at us for being so entertained by the stuff they see every day - a stuffed body done up like a corpse, hanging from a tree; a church covered in balloons and decorations; either a street performer or a statue of Death outside a church (we couldn't tell if it was a real person or not, and we stared for at least 5 minutes); morally flexible ladies; and clowns. Fucking clowns. Everywhere. It was just the sort of authentic Mexico we were looking for, and we were pretty happy we stayed. And once the touristy shit was done...it was drinking time!

While we drank at a cafe on the street facing the zocalo and laughed at the cops driving golf carts and smart cars (seriously), people started showing up at the amphitheater. More, and more...and more. Pretty soon the seats were full, as were the cafes. A pretty good band came on stage and rocked out for a bit, while the Mexicans in the amphitheater sang along and danced. It was starting to get dark, and Milo decided it was tequila time.

Ruh roh.

Two double shots of white tequila later, we were flying. Right around then, the band stopped and a lady got on stage and started giving a fiery speech. We understood approximately none of it, but the crowd was pretty fired up. At this point, we started to notice all the red posters all over the place, with a guy's face on it. A guy who just happened to come out on stage right while we were coming to the realization that...we were in the middle of a political rally. Turns out this guy was running for governor of the state, and the election was 3 days away. Cool...or is it?

Normally political rallies in third world countries sounds like bad news bears for tourists, but this just seemed like a pretty killer party to us. Milo's infinite wisdom decides we're not gonna sit on the sidelines of this party though - we're going into the eye of the party hurricane, dammit! He drags me (okay okay, a tugboat probably couldn't drag me anywhere, I went willingly) right up the front of the stage as buddy's hitting the crescendo of his message. The people are hanging on his every word, screaming and yelling in unison, and jumping up and down.

"Timmy, count to five, look at me, and take a picture, okay?"
"Oka...what? Where the fuck are you going?"

Milo runs right up to the front of the crowd and starts jumping up and down with them.

Whoa.

I didn't take the picture at five. I was laughing way too hard. Basically Rob was surrounded by elderly Mexican ladies, who didn't give a shit that he was a gringo, three feet taller than them, and didn't understand a fucking thing that was going on. They were jumping and cheering. He was jumping and cheering. He became one of them. I finally managed to take a pic, which was even funnier than I expected. His eyes are closed, he's jumping and hitting his head on the gazebo thinger, balloons are all around his head, and people all around him are looking at him with the happiest looks on their faces. It was fucking priceless. Reason number 196935 why losing my camera sucked so bad.

Finally MexObama wrapped up and the music started again. Right when it started to rain. You think we got strange looks before? Well, Mexicans scattered in every direction like those cop shows where they pull over a van and 58 of them pile out and run in every direction. We had retired to a sidewalk restaurant, sitting at an uncovered table out in the open, sipping beers and tequila. I'm not a mind-reader, but it's pretty clear what these people were thinking: "Stupid Americans". Why do I think that? I distinctly heard "Americano" and "stupido" in the same sentence from multiple people. I guess the O rule does work sometimes. Bastards.

After a while, we tried to decide where to go the next day. We got it down to Taxco or Veracruz. The guidebook said Taxco was one of the coolest cities in Mexico. It said Veracruz was cool too, and on the beach. After weighing the pros and cons, we did what all hardened travelers do when they're forced to make hard decisions...

We flipped a coin. Veracruz won. And we high-fived for no particular reason. We didn't even end up going to Veracruz because I'm a baby, which makes it even funnier looking back on it.

After a few more drinks, we retired back to the hotel as very happy gringos. Puebla was awesome. Milo's decision was fucking brilliant. We were gonna get up in the morning and go somewhere just as awesome. You'd think the story ends there...but it doesn't.

Not even close.

See, I neglected to mention the reason why we came to Puebla in the first place. Yes, it's a nice place that a lot of people check out. But that's not why we were here. Oh, no. It was something WAY more lame than that. It was because of the Legend of El Gas. Milo's Holy Grail of Mexico.

El Gas you say? What the hell is that, Tim?

The Legend of El Gas has been told a few times (duh, it's a fucking legend!)...but the full story has never been revealed. The retarded, humorous, and slightly smelly truth will be revealed...

In my next blog. What? This one is long enough already. I'm a tease, am I? Don't give attitude, bitches. I'll cut you. Wait a couple days, anticipation is a good thing. The Legend of El Gas awaits....

Mexico City, Part 5

"You're an asshole."
"HAHA I know, but it was really funny!"
"No it wasn't asshole, it was embarrassing! I just saw a lady and got the fuck outta there as fast as possible. You should have seen the look on her face. Okay, okay...maybe it was a little funny."
"YES! I WIN!"
"Don't make me dance again. I'll do it right here, in this bar."
"Okay okay, I'm sorry. It won't happen again."
"Sure it won't. Asshole!"

What the fuck are we talking about? Well, we ended up back at the same bar we were at the night before, with the super cute waitress. I guess Milo didn't remember the night before or something, and asked me which of the two doors was the guys bathroom, "Caballeros" or "Damas". Now I know damn well which is which, but you can guess my answer. "It's Damas dude, the one on the right". Three minutes later, the above conversation went down. That might have been my single biggest victory of the trip.

So while we're discussing all of this, and many other things, Milo kept looking at the girl at the next table, who was sitting with her friend. He apologized to her for our behavior in Milo-Spanish, and she surprised the fuck out of us by responding in English. And telling us that she had been listening to us the entire time and that we're really funny. Heh, interesting. Her name was Lisette. She was from Mexico City, but had lived in Germany for the past 7 years and was home visiting family for a few weeks. Eventually her friend left, but she stayed. Besides being cute, she was super friendly and pretty smart. She definitely had personality too, swearing a lot and emphasizing a lot of what she said with spastic hand movements. A pretty Mexi-tard, if you will.

She wanted to go to the Zona Rosa, which is the main tourist party area in the city. I knew it was kinda sketchy, and we were staying down in that area in a few days anyway, but whatever. It was worth checking out. She went to flag down a cab and I insisted on a sitio (safer) one. "Awww, how sweet, you're trying to protect me!" she said. "Fuck no, we're trying to save our asses!" I said. Ultra-smooth, as always.

The area was pretty much what I expected. Lots of clubs and patio bars, similar to where we were, but way grungier. Kids and women constantly coming to your table trying to sell you trinkets. Waitresses doing their absolute best to rip you off. Weirdos all over the place. The beers were cheap though, so all was not lost. The oddest part of the night was a guy standing outside our bar, face to face with a naked woman statue, motionless, staring at it. For at least a half hour. Nothing distracted him. Weeeeird.

Besides Milo attempting and butchering Spanish with Lisette (he tried to ask about what her father did for work, but ended up basically telling Lisette to call him (Milo) her daddy, which made her laugh uncontrollably while we looked at each other, clueless), he was doing pretty well with her. Eventually we took a cab back to our hood, which consisted of me and the cabbie looking straight ahead awkwardly while Milo tried to swallow her face in the back seat for the entire ride. He then took her to some cheap hotel, while I passed out, envisioning Milo's robbery and death in a variety of ways. As cool as she was, I was still in Mexico Fucking City, and trusted approximately no one. Luckily (or unluckily, as he'd soon come to find out), he was more trusting than I and went off to toss a freaky Mexican chick all night.

Our plan had been to head out of the city to Puebla the next day, but since Milo went Sleepless in Lisette all night, he was in no condition to go anywhere but dream street. So he passed out for a few hours while I went down to make arrangements for the hotel room for another night and grab some food and shit. Eventually I come back, and Milo's awake...and pissed.

"I fucking lost my bank card!"

Oh shit.

After checking the fleabag hotel he was at the night before, he fucked around on the phone for over 2 hours trying to get it canceled. It was a nightmare. Luckily he had his credit card so he wasn't at a loss for money, but DF's not exactly the place you want to lose your bank card. Did she steal it? We dunno!

As you can guess, the high stress level of that led to one thing - more beer drinking! And clowns. There's fucking clowns everywhere in Mexico City for some reason, and no one could explain why. Lisette claimed she didn't notice, even though they're EVERYWHERE. It'd be like coming to Vancouver and not noticing all the taxi drivers wear headgear. It's just another part of the weirdness that is Mexico City, I guess.

Since we had an extra day, we decided to make the most of it and sign up for a tour at a hostel that took people to...Mexican wrestling! Anyone who's seen Nacho Libre likely understands some of it, but Lucha Libre is fucking nuts, and super entertaining. We showed up at the desk ready to go, and were immediately handed tequila shots and a lucha mask to keep. For those not in the know, most Mexican wrestlers wear crazy masks that go back to Mexico's Aztec roots. Getting a free one was cool. So was the free shot - well, free shot for me. Free shotS for Milo. I think he had 4 in about 30 seconds. Needless to say, we were off to a good start.

The drive out there was a trip. Basically, Arena Mexico is in the hood. We spent the trip bullshitting with a Scandinavian couple and pointing out the crazy shit we were driving by, while the two Japanese dudes up front took pictures of everything. The outside of the arena is hilarious...it's designed like a regular apartment block, so you'd have no fucking idea it was an arena at all unless you went around back. Very weird. Unfortunately I wasn't allowed to take my camera in there for some reason, but since I lost it, it didn't really matter anyway. No matter what though, we got our fucking money's worth.

As soon as we sat down, we were accosted by vendors. Surprisingly enough, I wasn't gonna drink there because I thought they'd rip us off. I said that out loud, and the tour leader said "No man, you should buy a beer. You'll get your money's worth." Okay then. I ask for a beer, and the guy goes to fucking work. He pulls out a monsterous cup each for me and Milo, and cracks 4 coronas in about .034 seconds. He then just throws two bottles in each cup, upside down, and hands them to us. Uh, okay. 30 pesos each. Like 2.40, for two bottles of corona in a Big Gulp cup. Sweet. Right when I begin to wonder what we're supposed to do with the the empty bottles, he reaches out, grabs all of them, pulls them out, and walks away. Now that's fucking service.

Then the yelling started.

Lucha has a batch of hardcore fans on either side of the building. One side roots for the technicos (good guys), the other side roots for the rudos (bad guys). We were sitting on the rudo side, right below them...and they were fucking hilarious. It was eerily similar to the English soccer match I went to, with these nutbars singing in unison and chanting ridiculous shit the entire night. Now I don't speak Spanish, but I definitely know some swear words. And I learned about 20 more that night. Despite there being kids all over the place, these guys called everyone and everything the worst names possible, and were super entertaining doing it. For example, there are ring girls, sort of like the UFC, that come out in between matches. Every time they came out, for every second they were out there, 50 guys and one girl chanted "PUTA! PUTA! PUTA!" at her. Whore. Over and over. Eventually me and Milo joined in...having carte blanche to call a chick a whore for no reason is just fucking fun, dammit. I'm trying it at the strip club next time.

And I haven't even talked about the actual wrestling yet. It's super theatrical, with a lot of flips and dives and crazy shit. Way more fake than regular wrestling, but the characters and high flying makes up for it. Our favorite character, by far, was a huge fat dude who did nothing except rub his belly on people and drop belly flops everywhere. His name was Super Porky, and he was our hero. I didn't think I'd get into it, but by the end both Milo and I were cheering and yelling along with the rudo clique and generally making fools of ourselves. It was awesome. I will be Super Porky at the bar one day, and it will rule. Don't lie, you wanna see it.

Meanwhile, Milo was getting his first dose of the Mexi-crazy. Despite telling Lisette three times that we were going to Lucha, she flipped out on him for not meeting up with her in the Zona Rosa. Eventually she came back to the Centro and they took off to their love hotel again, but the crazy seeds were planted. The crazy flower was about to bloom. The crazy fruit was almost ripe. The crazy branches were...okay, enough stupid crazy references.

Eventually, Milo showed up in the morning after taking her to buy the morning after pill. Yes, that was necessary. Yes, Milo's not so bright. Yes, I teased him about his terrible decision making for many, many days. Anyway, after another 3 hour nap, Milo was finally ready to ditch the DF so we could head off to Puebla. Which turned out to be fucking sweet. I'll get to that next time.

Mexico City, Part 4

A new day begins in Mexico City, with what else? A pretty funny Milo story. Our go-to spot in the mornings was the Zocalo, since they were showing all the World Cup games on the huge screens. This was a particularly big day for Milo though, because his beloved Dutch team was playing. He donned his dorky orange jersey, and off we went to sit in the square and watch. He was pissed that there weren't more Dutch fans there, and he was pissed at the ones that were there for not being enthusiastic enough. Milo anger is always humorous, so I was just going along with it. Finally though, one moment made all his frustration evaporate away faster than a Mexican runs out on a bar tab...

The Dutch score a goal. And Rob loses his shit.

Folks, it was embarrassing and hilarious at the same time. First, he screamed like a tard when they hear the school bell. Then he jumped up and decided to tackle me while yelling in my ear. Then he got up and did, quite possibly, the worst dance of all time. As soon as the cameramen saw him (cameramen film the crowd during every game for clips to put on the news and FIFA's website n shit), they all came charging towards us. He was almost done by that point, but Milo's an obvious attention whore, so you can guess what he did.

He fucking started the Downy Dance all over again. That's what.

By this time, we've got 3 camera guys and a few photographers capturing this moment for eternity. He was quite impressed with himself, of course. I was embarrassed, of course...but this is par for the course when you chill with Rob Milo. I've seen the guy fall asleep, faceplanted, against the sliding glass door at the Cambie. Standing up. He's all class. The worst part was, when he finally calmed down and stopped talking about his awesome dance, a photographer came over and asked his name, because they were gonna put him in the local paper. "TIMMY, I'M GONNA BE FUCKIN FAMOUS!" Greeaaaaat. That's okay though, because this led to a better story later on.

Other than his dance and a guy using a bicycle as a pillow while he sprawled out on the ground to watch the game, the rest of the morning was pretty uneventful. Next up for us was the Turista bus. It's one of those hop-on, hop-off tacky tourist buses you see in every big city. Since the DF (Districto Federal, another name of the city/state) was huge, this bus would save us a lot of time trying to find shit on the metro. Our goal was to get off at the Anthropology Museum, one of the best museums in the world. We did a dandy job of that, just to find out...the fucking museum is closed on Mondays. Fack.

The next bus wasn't coming for an hour, so we decided to walk up to the next stop, just to see what was going on. Unfortunately and in true Mexican fashion, the next stop was completely hidden...so after checking out the arena, we had to walk all the fucking way back. I was sweating like a...well, like a fat guy. It's the best analogy I could come up with, fuck off.

Anyway, once we got back on the open-air bus, we climbed up top and took it all the way around the rest of the loop.

Three hours. No sunscreen. Motherfucker.

Other than a horrible sunburn, it was pretty cool. There are a lot of upmarket suburbs that are really nice. That opened our eyes to how awesome DF really is...it's actually one of the nicest cities I've ever seen. Mexico City is like a lot of women though - really pretty, but once you dig a little deeper you just know you're gonna find the crazy eventually.

In Mex City's case, the crazy started with the parks. For some reason, DF turned over park patrols to the military instead of the police, so it's like a full-on war zone in there. Soldiers everywhere, hiding behind trees and shit. And tanks. TANKS. In the middle of parks! It's was fucking insane. At one point while we were waiting for the bus, a massive tank rolled right past us, on the busiest street in the city, with 5 soldiers hanging off of it with AK-47's. And two were swinging a fucking fully loaded GATLING GUN from side to side...and staring at us. Hey, I'm all for security, but I didn't realize that we were in fucking Baghdad. Nuts.

As the tour continued, we got to see more pretty and more crazy, side by side. Beautiful architecture, check. Massive military attack helicopter landing beside it? Check. Amusement park, check. 20 soldiers manning the razor wire fence around the park? Check. It was unreal. We definitely learned about both sides of the city that day. Oh, and Milo got whacked in the face by tree branches about 5 times, since we were on the top of the open-air bus. Every time something freaked me out, he'd get bitchslapped by a tree and everything would back to normal. "Wow, that's some freaky shi - OWW FUCK WHAT THE FUCK!" I laughed out loud just thinking about it right now, and the chick sitting next to me on the train gave me a strange look. She wants me, I know it.

Where was I? Oh yeah, DF. After our big city adventure, we bought some sunscreen (a little late!) and chilled for a bit before heading back to Bar St to down some wobblers. I'll save that for the next part, because...that's where the crazy truly begins. For Milo, anyway.

Tim and Milo Invade Mexico City, Part 3 - Booze and Beaners

Yes, I'm incredibly lazy about writing these things. Deal with it.

The last you heard from us, we had just finished watching the most insane sporting event of all time. After all that madness...we needed some beers, stat. We ended up walking all the way to an area of town known as Plaza Garibaldi. It's normally where shitloads of mariachi bands hang out...people drive up, negotiate a price with them to work a party or whatever, and they take off. Like hookers, but you get shitty music instead of herpes.

This music hookers are usually there at night though, and we got there about 4pm on a Sunday, right at the tail end of the biggest Mexican sporting event in many years. So...everything was closed except one bar and one restaurant. One bar is better than no bar though, so it was go time. It turned out to be our first legit cantina, which was awesome. Cantinas are hole-in-the-wall bars where there's usually just a few tables, super cheap beers (20 pesos, or about 1.65), and old Mexican men. We shotgunned a dos Equis, then switched to Indios (really good beer) at the barmaids suggestion. By "suggestion", I mean we said "cerveza" and that's what she brought. Uh, okay.

Milo got hungry and went next door to the restaurant (which involved him playing charades with them for 10 minutes before he actually got any food), while I stayed and watched TV. Outta nowhere, the barmaid showed up with a plate full of what the Spanish call tapas...I dunno what Mexicans call them. Botatas? Bar snacks, basically. This particular one was some sort of fish pate on flat tortilla shells, and they were fucking awesome. There were like 5 of them too...it was a full meal. I couldn't even finish, Milo had to have the last one. We turned back into language failures pretty quick though.

Barmaid, pointing at tray: "Mas?"
Milo: "They were great!"
Barmaid: "Mas?"
Tim: "Yes, very good. Muy bien. Gracias."
Barmaid: "Mas?"
Milo: "Muy bien!"
Tim: "Very tasty!"

...*repeat 3 more times*...

Visibly annoyed Barmaid: "MAS??"
Confused Milo: "What the hell is she saying dude?"
Embarrassed Tim: "I don't...Oh shit."
Milo: "What?"
Barmaid: "MAS?????"
Tim: "...No, gracias."
*barmaid leaves*
Milo: "Dude, what the fuck?"
Tim: "Mas means more, man. More. She was just asking if we want more. I can't believe I didn't remember that."
Milo: "HAHA, oops! Stupid gringos!"

After hightailing it out of there, we walked back towards our hotel, and a side street full of bars that we had noticed the night before. It had a convenient name: Bar Street. Mexican creativity at it's finest. As soon as we sat down at a patio bar, four Mexican guys who were just leaving came over to talk to us. All four were less than sober. Three spoke passable English, the one that couldn't could have passed for a midget. He was like 4'8 or something. We invited them to sit down, and we all bullshitted for a while. They were all from different cities and suburbs, in the city for the day to watch the game. Pretty soon, we were the center of attention, like it or not.

One of the dudes was super chill, I spent most of my time talking to him. The little guy was just randomly yelling the few English words he knew - "Beckham!" "Pantera!" "You fuck!" and freaking out about "Gigante" whenever I stood up to do something. The oldest guy actually had family in Quebec, and freaked the shit out of me when he said "Parlez-vous francais?" He knew more French than English. The last guy, Isaac...well, he was a trip. He was the drunkest of the 4 by far. He was mostly talking to Milo, playing metal songs on his phone and yelling "I'll kill you, motherfuckers!" over and over. Spilling beer all over himself, speaking gibberish (gibberish in Spanish sounds like Portuguese!), the whole deal. Yeah. Everyone around us and everyone walking by was giving us the Mexican stare of death, which I assure you is much angrier (and probably paid less!) than your average stare. We didn't really care though.

At one point, Isaac saw some kid with a soccer ball, so him and Milo went out onto the mini-street to kick the ball around. Milo got 2 chances with the ball, and both were epic wins. The first one, he kicked it straight through the doors of a church. With people entering and exiting at the time. Seriously. People just scattered. I didn't think he could top that, but once it got fished out of the church, he was given another pass, and he just fucking LAUNCHED the ball down the street. Across to the next block. FAR. All the kids just stopped and looked at him like "Whitey, what the fuck?" Typical Milo response: "Sorry dudes! HAHAHAHA!"

The Mexican guys wanted us to go down to Xochimilco (a southern suburb of Mexico City) to party there, but we hadn't been there long and didn't trust that it was safe, so we politely declined. Finally the bar staff got sick of us and brought us plastic cups to put our coronas in so they could close up. Apparently our friends were "loco" to the bar staff, but we were "happy gringos". Cool? I guess. We told them we had to go back to the hotel to grab some cash, and we'd be back in 20 minutes. I guess they thought we were ditching, because they weren't there when we got back. Well, most of them weren't...

We came back and hit up a different bar right on the edge of Bar St. Beers were a pricey 35 pesos there (2.90 Canadian), but it had a super cute waitress and a great view of the street, so we just chilled and watched the insanity go by while we sipped some Indios. The waitress laughed at our butchered Spanish and spoke slowly enough that I could somewhat make out what she was saying. She was the only person on the entire trip that made a point of saying "de nada" (you're welcome) every time I butchered "gracias." So cute. At that point, she was the best part of Mexico City so far.

Anyway, speaking of insanity, the two familiar pieces of it showed up pretty much right away.

Contestant number 1 - The sketchcase from New Orleans we had seen both other days so far. "You again? What the fuck dude?" This time he tried to sell us some fake jewels, which was really funny. "Buddy, come on...we're not fucking stupid." "Ehhhh gimme money for a sandwich and I'll leave." "No." "Fine, assholes. ASSHOLES!" He was with a different girl all 3 days we had seen him, which was a running theme for the rest of the trip.

Contestant number 2 chose right then to show up - Isaac. Ruh roh. Milo noticed he was wearing different clothes and seemed somewhat sobered up, but as soon as he saw us, he just stopped in the middle of the street and screamed "MOTHERFUCKERS!!!!" and charged directly towards us. Apparently his friends had taken off too, so it was just him left. Greaaat. We bought him a beer and he chilled with us for a while. He was a lot calmer than before, other than randomly screaming MOTHERFUCKER or FUCKING BITCHES at no one in particular. He told us that he worked at the University, and had to work at 7am the next day. It was now about 10pm, but he figured he'd just drink all night and go to work. Uh, okay. After explaining that, he said he had a "present" for us. Uh oh. He got up and disappeared...

And came back with a mariachi band. Well, 2 members of a band. And made them play for us. Fuuuuck. We had to sit there through 2 LONG songs, with these two dudes about 2 feet from our faces, while Isaac danced around behind them yelling "MOTHERFUUUUCKER!" every 10 seconds. We tried to pawn the 3rd song off on a couple a few tables away, but no dice. So, one more song. 8 more "motherfuckers". Then, Isaac was nice enough to make us pay them too...100 pesos. Only like 8 bucks, but what the hell? Mexican hospitality at it's finest, I guess.

We sat there for the next couple of hours with Isaac, discussing different stuff and listening to him swear and tell us about all the fucking bitches on the street he was going to fucking fuck. Apparently Dana White taught this kid English. He told us we should go to a club across the street that was really good, but it had a 200 peso cover charge. We thought that was retarded, so we declined. Eventually that bar closed, and we went to a bar next to the club. The club was actually a touristy cantina that didn't even charge cover, despite Isaac insisting it did. Milo even walked inside to prove his point...nope, it was 200 pesos to get in. Sure bud. Sure.

At that point, we were fed up with Mexican hospitality for the night and decided to make like babies and head out. After explaining to Isaac for 15 minutes that he couldn't come with us. You ever decided to pet a cat on the sidewalk, then it follows you for 4 blocks? Apparently Mexicans and stray cats have more in common than I thought they did. Besides being FUCKING CRAZY. Just kidding Mexicans!

After a long day of crazy Mexico City, it was off to sleep. We weren't done with that bar, or with crazy Mexicans yet. Far from it. Milo hadn't met the newest love of his life yet. Mexicans like to say they're not crazy at all, and they're just "fiery" and "passionate". And we actually believed them...for a few days at least. I promise I won't keep you waiting long until you get to meet Lisette. You're gonna loooove Lisette.

Tim and Milo Invade Mexico City, Part 2

It was now Sunday morning, and we knew it was going to be a big day. First of all, England was playing Germany in a game I was very, very scared to watch. And after that was another game I was pretty scared to watch, but for a completely different reason:

Mexico/Argentina. In the Zocalo. With a whooooole lot of people.

After a strange hotel breakfast where we witnessed Mexican family ceremonies and couldn't get any bacon, we headed to the hostel bar so Milo could buy a Mexico shirt and get his face painted (really). Then we went to the square to catch the 2nd half of the England game. It was already 2-1 Germany (should have been 2-2, motherfuckers!), and the square wasn't that packed. Germany quickly made it 4-1 while Milo laughed at me. There was plenty of time in between games, so we went for a walk, thinking it wasn't going to be as busy as we thought.

Wells, we were fucking wrong.

When we got back, there were people EVERYWHERE. The entire square was full. Every side street in every direction was jam packed for at least a block. We managed to wade through the crowd and get inside the square. Every Mexican was being thoroughly patted down and having all their shit confiscated. Milo and I? Waved right on through, didn't even touch us. Goooo being white!

We we absolutely surrounded by people. The dudes in front of us were wearing Mexican flags as capes and lucha masks and looked pretty funny. Milo wanted me to take a picture of him with them, but I was still a bit creeped out by this many people in one place and was a bit testy about that. Sorry, dude. People weren't allowed to bring bottles into the square, so a lot of people had plastic bags full of water or pop. It was brutally hot and there was no shade to be found. Oh yeah, there was one other thing not to be found:

Bathrooms. NONE. For that many people. What the hell?

It turned out that there were about 250,000 people in and around the square for the game. It was absolutely insane. Along with them, there were at least 3000 riot police, 4 deep, surrounding the entire square. All with their full shields, machine guns, and gear. There were 5-10 police helicopters constantly circling over top of us. And SNIPERS on the roof presidential palace. It was fucking unreal.

I was way too scared to take pics of any of them, but Milo was all over it - he took a pic of the riot cops that turned out pretty funny. Half of them were pointing at him to lower the camera very sternly, and the other half are smiling and cheesing it up. It's too fucking bad I lost my stupid camera - it was pretty cool.

The anticipation was unlike any sporting event I had ever attended or watched before. Mexico got a chance in the first few minutes, and I couldn't even hear myself think it was so loud. Unfortunately Argentina got a BS goal where Tevez was waaay offside pretty early, and that sucked the life out of the crowd. By halftime it was 2-0, very hot and stuffy, and there were no BATHROOMS, so we decided to get the fuck outta the square and catch the 2nd half somewhere else. I'm really glad we did, because one of the highlights of the trip (for me at least) happened on the way out.

After wading through thousands of people and police officers, we got out to the street. A bunch of kids were hitting a big (but heavy) beachball around in the crowd. We walked by...and some dude just fucking spiked the thing right into the side of Milo's head. I'm not lying when I say that at least a thousand Mexicans and one gringo (me) burst into hysterical laughter, while Milo rubbed the side of his head and wondered what the hell just happened to him. Once he figured it out he was laughing too, but it was unbelievably funny. A "had to be there" moment probably, but any public embarrassment Milo suffers is always hilarious. And common.

After walking by some Mexicans who stole a mascots costume head and were having pictures of themselves with it on while smoking a cigarette (yeah, weird but funny), we got away from the crowd and just wandered around the Centro. Every little store had a small TV set up and everyone was watching the game. The streets were pretty much deserted, which was ridiculously weird after watching 20 million people stomping around 24/7 for the last 2 days. Mexico finally scored, and even though we were nowhere near a TV, it was blatantly obvious. The entire neighborhood just blew up with cheering from every window, every store, every car. It was amusing.

We wound down the day with some retarded antics I'll describe in the next part, but that was our Mexican soccer experience. The biggest reason for this trip was to go to a country that was playing in the World Cup, and we got to see firsthand how fanatical Mexican fans were. And how surprisingly accepting they were when they lost. No rioting, no crazy shit...just acceptance. It was cool.

This was not our last soccer story by a longshot though. Milo's love for the Dutch team led to many more strange and amusing tales. Stay tuned for more.

Tim and Milo Invade Mexico City, Part 1

We've been back for almost 2 weeks now, so I think it's about time I get my ass in gear and start writing about this shit. For those of you that just clicked on the snappy title and don't know what you're getting into, I'm going to warn you right now - this isn't going to be very mature. Most of our stories involve stupidity on at least one of our parts (usually both), and there's not going to be a lot of class involved here. This should go without saying for anyone that knows us, but I'm just letting you strangers know. We're dumb. But we're funny!

Okay, with that outta the way...here we go.


...the story fades into a scene where two goofy-looking, half-drunk gringos are riding in the back of a nice taxi. The taxi is surrounded by other shitty red and yellow taxis, buses of all sizes and shapes (most missing doors), and the sounds, smells, and sights of the 3rd biggest city in the world at midnight...

*HONKHONKHONK*

"Traffic's crazy here, eh? What's with the honking?"
"I dunno dude. We can't exactly ask the cab driver. Hola!"
"Sweet, we're moving. Hopefully we should..."
"Should what?"
"Dude...is that...a body?"
"...."
"....dude..."
"Holy shit. That's a fucking dead body."
"Oh...whoa. Holy fuck. Whoa."
"We've been here 10 minutes and we've already seen a fucking body? WHAT THE FUCK ARE WE DOING HERE TIM! WHAT THE FUCK!"
"This was all your idea."
"My idea?!? You...what the...fuck you!"
"Welcome to Mexico City!"

Let's back it up a bit for a second, and explain how we ended up here. Milo called me up one day and demanded to go "backpacking" somewhere. He's demanding when he drinks, you just get used to it. Eventually, after working our way through planning a trip in some incredibly dangerous South American countries (notably Venezuela and Colombia), we decided on Ecuador. We only had 10 days, and it was a small enough country that we could cover a fair amount. It was exotic, cheap, and a fairly inexpensive flight.

Well, it was...till the flight price basically doubled overnight. Fuck.

So, all that planning went out the window. After some more nerdy net research (I'm good at it, leave me alone), I found a flight to Mexico City for 500 bucks. A steal of a deal. After showing Milo some of the cool shit there, he was down. He didn't seem concerned about the city's reputation at the time. Namely - crime, violence, and corruption. If he was down, there was no way I was gonna puss out...so Mexico City it was.

AFTER we booked the fight, Milo finally decided to do some internet research. And got very, very scurred. He'll deny it in the comments of this thing of course, because he's an internet tough guy, but it's true. He almost cried. It was pretty pathetic. I laughed at his tears, until I started reading...then I got scurred too. And others laughed at my tears.

Screw all this drug violence crap you see on the news, that's not a big thing in Mexico City. A drug war? They don't need no fucking drug war! The sun coming up there is a good enough excuse to rob, rape, and kill people left and right. It's just part of their charm. But the police will protect you, right Tim? Nyet, they're corrupt. But you can just take taxis between places to stay safe, right Tim? Wrongo, those fuckers wills robs yous like the refs robbed England in the World Cup. But, at least the food's great, right Tim? False, the bacteria in the food and water will make you more nervous and sick than Len Edwards on Father's Day.

So with all that lovely shit firmly planted in our little brains, we set off on our "adventure". Sure sounds like a fun destination so far, don't it!!

...we'll pick up the scene just after our two fearless world travelers have arrived at their hotel, shaken by the sight of a lifeless corpse on the street minutes after their arrival in the city...

"That's it? We're checked in?"
"Guess so."
"They didn't ask for our ID's? Or cash? Or a credit card?"
"Nope. Weird, eh?"
"Yeah. Okay, I guess we're set. Now we need food and beer, stat. Excuse me sir, where could we get food and beer?"
"Senor, there is a 7-11 across the street. And there's a taco stand just to the left."
"Sweeeeet."
"Wait...we're going outside? Past the padlocked door with the guard attending it? At 1am? Seriously?"
"Tim. There's beer out there. You need beer."
"Right. We can do this. Eyes on the prize, EYES ON THE PRIZE!"


We dropped our bags off in our room, and opened the patio doors. Sure enough, directly below us was a 7-11, and there was a taco stand across the street with a few people milling about. Other than those people, there we no one else out on the surprisingly clean streets. The ever-present sound of honking street taxis were the only noises emanating from the night. It seemed normal enough.

...5 minutes later, the scene picks up with two confused gringos standing in front of a gigantic hunk of mystery meat on a vertical stick, with what looked like a welding flame blowing up on it from below and enveloping the lower half of it. Next to it, a huge grill is set up facing the sidewalk, where a typically short Mexican man is working his magic with fresh (?) ingredients, butcher knives and a spatula...

"This is a trip dude."
"Fuck yeah man, this is nuts. It's just right here on the street. Like, ON the street. What the hell is that meat?"
"Dude, I have no idea. I'm more concerned with what we should order right now. I have no idea how to order anything!"
"Obviously I don't either. *staring at the menu* Uhhh...pollo means chicken. That's about all I can help with."
"Thanks, fatty. What the hell do we do? Just point at something on the menu?"
"Dude, I dunno. This was your idea. Street food 10 minutes after arrival wasn't exactly on my Mexico City to-do list! That's why I bought sandwiches at the 7-11!"
"Whoa...whatever he's making right now looks pretty fuckin' good dude."
"Wow, it really does. This cook's a magician."
"Maybe we should just get what that guy's getting."
"That's the best idea you've had all day Milo. Certainly better than trying to invite the little LA guy from the plane back to the hotel with us!"
"Fuck off, I know...that was a bad move. At least we ditched him at customs."
"I still can't believe they spoke English at customs. Fuck it, okay, we'll get what he's getting."
"It's gonna be awesome dude!"

It WAS awesome, and a great call by Milo. It was some sort of quesadilla with ham and egg and cheese in it, and it was fucking delicious. We got 3 huge ones each for 48 pesos, which is 4 bucks. We forgot to buy water, but there was a tap next to the ice machine on our floor that said "purida water"...so we risked it. Between that, a bunch of pepto bismol pills, and some 7-11 beers that Milo deemed "not alcoholic enough" because it was only 3.6%, we chilled as happy gringos on our first night in the belly of the beast.

...and the scene fades into a fuzzy view of an overdressed fat guy and an obvious tourist wearing shorts and a t-shirt standing on a street corner in the bright smoggy morning, stunned by their surroundings...

"Holy shit dude, there's cops everywhere!"
"I know, I've never seen anything like this...ever. How many are on that corner? 5?"
"I count 7. What the hell man! This is insane! And there's a bunch right over there!"
"I'm not sure whether to feel comforted or scared. Which way's the Zocalo?"
"I think it's up that way...where there's more cops."
"Makes sense. The streets are actually pretty clean, eh?"
"Yeah, and look at the women. Mexican bitches are hot!"
"All class Milo...all class. Hey, did you notice you're the only one wearing shorts?"
"I am?"
"Yeah dude. People dress pretty conservatively here. Pants and nice shirts. You're just a mark for robbers dressed like that."
"I was wondering why you were wearing such a stupid shirt."
"I hope you get robbed right now, asshole."
"You're funny Timmy. Reeeeeal funny."
"Is that the Zocalo?"
"Sure looks like it dude. I see all the FIFA stuff. Can you hear that?"
"Yea, it sounds like a very excited soccer announcer."
"Whoa dude, this is outta hand."
"I know man, I know. This place is gigantic."
"Let's watch some of the game."
"The Mexican announcer is way better. More energy."
"I agree. The vuvuzelas are 100 times as loud in this stupid square though. This is gonna drive me fucking bonkers."

Quick geography lesson - The Zocalo, or The Plaza de la Constitución, is where the Fan Fest took place. It's 10 acres in size. Yeah. That massive cathedral behind the screen is called the Metropolitan Cathedral. I'll get back to it's wackiness later. The left side and bottom, where the pic was taken from, is all federal administrative buildings. The right side is the presidential palace. All the buildings are over 220 years old.

After taking in two games there, we spent most of the rest of the day walking around the Centro Historico. We discovered a whole shitload of people going about their day, in a pretty clean downtown area with a lot of pedestrian-only streets. Taxis were absolutely everywhere, making a racket. And cops. Lots and lots of cops. So many that we never felt remotely unsafe that day, or any other day that we hung out in the Centro. After sampling a few touristy bars, it started to get late in the afternoon, so we decided to walk down to the Alameda, which is a big park to the west of our hotel that people hang out in.

On our trip over there, one thing stood out...we both noticed that there were some weird people around. One was a dude from New Orleans that tried to sell us weed. We blew him off pretty quickly, but he'd reappear many times. Other than that, it was more of a vibe.


...the scene fades in right as your two clearly troubled travelers arrive in Alameda Park, confused by their surroundings...

"Dude, did you see all the rainbow flags back there? There was one hanging from a window in our hotel too."
"Rainbow flags? Is that what they are? How do you know that anyway?"
"Fuck off, I spent a summer refitting the Dufferin when I was working construction. You learn some stuff."
"Wait, YOU LEARN SOME STUFF?"
"Not like that you asshole. You didn't notice anything...different...on the way over here?"
"Well, I noticed the dance club with the shirtless dudes hanging off the balcony. They were kinda hard to miss. And now that you mention it, I think I saw some dudes holding hands. The girls do that here, but that's a friendly thing...I just figured the guys do it too?"
"You wanna hold hands Timmy?"
"Fuck off and die Milo."
"Seriously though, look over there...are those dudes kissing? What the fuck!"
"Yeah, thanks for pointing that out. Really, thanks for that. I need more pepto pills now."
"Whoa dude look at THAT transvestigation! Is it on stilts? IT'S ON STILTS! HAHA!"
"Wow. I have no words. That's...wow."
"Let's go sit on over there and just watch this craziness!"
"Uh, okay. *walk over to a bench* Uh, Rob...ROB. Look at that creepstar."
"HOLLLEEE SHIT that's nuts dude! NUTS!"
"Literally. Eww."
"I think it's time we get outta here. I thought you said the gay area was far away from here!"
"It is man! The Zona Rosa is like 3km from here! I don't get it! There's nothing in the guidebook about THIS!!"

I'm gonna go on record right now and say that neither of us have any particular problem with gay people. They're just like any other people, no big deal. I think we were just shocked because we didn't expect it to be so...blatant. The walk back was even more full-on. We were surrounded by gay dudes in various states of undress, partying the night away. It was right then that the light bulb came on for both of us when a tranny dressed as a vampire walked by...

"Milo, you think this is the way it always is here? Or did we show up for some festival or something?"
"Dude, it looks like Davie on Pride weekend..."
"Oh shit."
"HOLY SHIT DUDE! You fucking booked our trip to Mexico City on their Gay Pride weekend parade type shit didn't you? HAHAHAHA!"
"Oh no. Oh fuck."
"HAHAHA FAG!"
"Fuck! Never tell anyone of this!"
"Yeah right dude! I'm updating my facebook status as soon as we get back and telling everyone all about it!"
"I hate you. I DIDN'T KNOW! I DIDN'T KNOW!!!"

Sure enough, get back to the hotel and look on the net...yup. Gay Pride weekend. Gigantic parade down the Reforma. Big party all day. Well at least it made sense now. Dammit.

"Dude! I DIDN'T KNOW!"
"Suuure you didn't know. Sure. Suuuuure."
"Die Milo. Die."
"HAHA Timmy. You're a fucking dipshit. That's too funny. Fuck, what an idiot."
"Well, I might as well just fucking post it on facebook too. Fuck."
"Hey Timmy..."
"What?"
"You wanna hold hands?"
"YOU'RE FUCKING DEAD MILO. YOU HEAR ME? DEAD!"

Europe Trip, Final Chapter - Oslo

In the Copenhagen airport, I had a beer while waiting for my plane. It was just under 11 dollars Canadian. It was the most expensive beer I had ever bought. That record lasted approximately 5 hours...

It was snowing when I arrived in Oslo. Not exactly a surprise, it's fucking Norway after all. But this was a LOT of snow. Everywhere else in Scandinavia, I had heard the same thing over and over... "This is the worst winter we've had in __ years!". In Oslo, the blank was filled in with a big 20. And I actually believed these people, because it was fucking nuts!

I got onto the airport train (37 dollars for 20 minute trip), and tried to get a glimpse of the city on the trip in. Unfortunately that wasn't going to happen, due to the combination of a heavy snowfall and the train doing 220km/h. It was the whitest whiteout I've ever seen. It was so bright I couldn't even look out the window. It was whiter than Barack Obama. I've never seen anything like that.

So, I arrive downtown and FINALLY see Norway. It's pretty cool. When I planned the trip, I picked a hotel that was only 3 blocks from the train station because it'd be easy. Uh, no. Due to the insane snow and my shitty sense of direction, it took an hour to traverse those 3 blocks. Dammit. All was not lost though, because the hotel girl upgraded me to an apartment just because I was from Vancouver. Score!

After dropping off my stuff, I immediately went for a walk. The hole in my shoe was acting up again due to all the snow, but whatever...I'm tough. Unfortunately, all the cool stuff in my tourist guide was completely covered by snow too, which made the things less than enthralling. I seriously didn't find 2 or 3 of them until I was standing right in front of the things, because the snow completely covered them up. And these things (statues, BUILDINGS) weren't small. The harbor was absolutely awesome though, snow or not.

The streets were pretty clear of snow, but it was still a bitch to get around anywhere. I think you know what that means. A nice comfy seat in a pub, stat. I found a pub called The Dubliner. Now, anyone who's traveled a bit knows that Irish pubs in other countries are NEVER actually Irish pubs. They're decorated like one, but there will invariably be a local behind the bar, who doesn't speak English, and there's not an Irishman in sight.

Until this pub.

I walked in, and the bartender was Irish. The customers were all Irish and English. There was rugby on TV (coincidentally a game between England and Ireland). It was awesome, for about 45 seconds. I ordered a pint, and the nice bartender said "71 kroner please." A simple math equation in my head stupefied me.

The pint was 13.50 Canadian. Ouch.

I figured maybe I ordered the most expensive type of beer or something, and sort of blew it off. It was my last stop and I had money left, no biggie. The two Irish guys next to me were babbling about something or other, and they were super funny. Turns out one is a comedian. We talk for a bit, and after I inform him that I'm Canadian, he says to the bartender:

"Aye! Barkeep, get a beer on me for my new moose fucker friend over here."

Moose fucker? Really? That's what we're called in Ireland (and apparently Oslo)? Wow.

I certainly wasn't complaining though, since beers were worth more than Milo makes to work a 24 hour shift as a paramedic. I happily consumed that pint while the Irish guy took off to watch the game in the back. I offered one in return, which is usually the rule, but he turned me down and said it was okay. Super nice guy. With my newfound wealth, I figured I should order some food. Fish and chips seemed reasonable in a place like this, right?

31 dollars. Yeah. After that raping, I decided to call it an early night before I had to call my bank to get my credit limit raised.

I got up early the next morning (which was the norm for my trip) to go for a longer walk around the city when there weren't many people around. As expected, it's really very nice. Still lotsa snow though:

These people had left their bikes there 4 hours before that. Seriously.

I had heard the people were cold (no pun intended) and would try to avoid speaking English, but I didn't find that to be the case at all. Everyone was super friendly, curious about my motives for being there, and eager to direct me to cool stuff in the city. It was a very enjoyable cruise around, which had me end up at the harbor again because it's really cool. Here's another harbor pic, just for fun:

I thought the Canada/USA gold medal game was going to be at 2am Norwegian time, which would have made things very difficult for me since I had to be up at 6 to begin the long trip home. To my elation and surprise, I walked by the TGI Fridays and saw the sign out front: "Canada vs. USA Hockey: 9pm".

9pm? YES! I could watch! I immediately became very excited and did a little dance, which earned me a few odd stares, but I didn't care. Canada was gonna win the gold, and I was gonna see it!

I spent the rest of the day alternating between walking around the city and anxiously waiting for the game to start. I could have watched in my hotel room, but that didn't seem like much fun. Why not go to TGI Fridays? Even if I was the only person in there, at least someone else would be bringing me (expensive) beers, right? Right, dammit. After purchasing an energy drink for 45kr (about 8 bucks!) to make sure I stayed awake...it was fucking game time.

So I walk in and take a seat in front of the big screen. Predictably, it was dead because it was a Sunday night. I was perfectly happy watching by myself, but nooo...someone had to ruin my fucking serenity. Who you ask?

The people that ruin EVERYTHING. Americans.

They weren't even cool Americans either. There were 3 of them, 2 guys and a girl. One had a Team USA jersey on, which almost made me hurl. Of course, they sat down right beside me and talked to me, because that's what ignorant people do. I resisted the urge to Ric Flair chop all of them, and found out they were from Denver. The one wearing the jersey said they weren't really hockey fans, he just bought the jersey because "the colors were nice". What the fuck?

I spent two and a half periods drinking pricey beer and going completely bonkers over every little thing. The waitress asked me, in a very, very polite way, to keep it down a bit, but eff that. I couldn't help myself. The Americans didn't really do or say much. The girl was even reading a book for part of it. I was surprised any of them actually knew how to read.

So, 30 seconds to go, we're up 2-1. Then...Parise scores and nearly crushes my bloated heart. The Americans don't even jump up or do anything in particular...they just say "We tied it up. Great." That was both good and bad, because if they had blown up I might have clubbered one of them...but it was just retarded that they didn't react at all. Way to be a debbie downer, nerdbombers. I went for a walk in the intermission, because I was pretty worked up.

I came back, and...the game wasn't on. Some Norwegian news show was. I thought it was an intermission show, but...it didn't end. I frantically ran over to the waitress and asked about it, and she changed it to another channel that was now showing the game. I was hugely relieved, but what the fuck? Who changes the entire STATION that's carrying a game right before overtime? Fucking Norway.

So, overtime. Some oohs and ahhs, nailbiting, etc...then Crosby scores. I go absolutely nuts and start running laps around the bar screaming and yelling "YESSSS MOTHERFUCKERS WE'RE THE FUCKING BEST MOTHERFUCKERS" I stop back at our table and show what a good sport I am by yelling "HOW YOU LIKE THEM APPLES MOTHERFUCKERS!" at the Americans.

Aaand I was removed from the premises.

I went peacefully, but managed to yell "I'M GOING TO SING MY NATIONAL ANTHEM BACK AT MY FUCKING HOTEL! WOOO!!" for some reason as I went through the door. Go 13 dollar beers. I'm nice and mature.

I raced (well, waddled) back to the hotel and caught the medal presentation, and, true to my word, stood up, took my hat off, and sang O Canada as loud as I could. Alone in my hotel room. I don't care if that's weird, it felt right at the time, okay?

I went to sleep as the happiest fat Canadian guy in Norway (or the only one, take your pick), and got up in the morning ready to tackle my multiple flights home with a big sloppy Canadian smile on my face. At the airport, I had 420kr left. That's about 75 bucks, give or take. Lotsa money. I also had 3 hours to kill, so I went to the pub.

85kr for a beer. Around 16 bucks. Officially the most expensive pint I will probably ever buy. I actually kept the bill in case people didn't believe me. I just checked the exchange rate, and it's actually gone down a fair amount since I was there. Today, it's a nice tidy 14 bucks. Like that's any better. So after that pint, I had 325kr left. I thought "I don't even have enough left for 4 more pints." With just under 60 bucks in my pocket! Besides the fact that those are probably the thoughts of a degenerate liquor pig who obviously doesn't have his priorities straight...what the fuck!

I realized I didn't have a book for the flight home, so I went over to the bookstore, terrified at the thought of the prices there. I picked up The Heroin Diaries by Nikki Sixx. 139kr. A relatively paltry 27 bucks. I needed a book though, so that was that. I had enough left for two more pints, so I savored those bitches like they were the last piece of poon I'll ever get, and eventually it was time to go home.

I was actually sad to be leaving Norway, because I really liked it. I wish I had more time, because there are plenty of other places in Norway I'd love to check out. Of all the Scandinavian countries, it was my personal favorite. The only problem is how ridiculously expensive everything was. I'd have to save up for a looooong time if I wanted to go back. Once I hit the rest of the countries in the world, it's at the top of the list for a repeat visit though.

On the plane, I thumbed through the airline book to the menu page. A beer was 28kr. 28. Just under 1/3 of the price in the Oslo airport. Absolutely unbelievable. At that point, I demanded a recount and immediately renamed Iceland as my favorite Scandinavian country again. I can do these things. Why?

I'm cool like that.

Europe Trip, Part 7 - Copenhagen

I arrived at the Manchester airport, still not knowing the score of the Canada/Russia game. I immediately went to an internet kiosk after clearing security, and impatiently waited while TSN loaded. When I saw 7-3 Canada, I just yelled "YEEEESSSSSSSSSSS!" as loud as I could, completely oblivious to where I was. Everyone in that entire section of the airport looked at me, and that was a lot of people. Still oblivious, I looked in their general direction and yelled "CANADA WON!"...to which everyone either laughed or just went back to their own business.

After a couple of seconds I realized how incredibly embarrassing that was, and turned bright red and sunk into my little kiosk as much as I could. Which, let's face it, wasn't much because I'm huge. Every time I looked up for the next 10 minutes or so, someone was still looking at me or laughing. Again, slightly embarrassing...but that's how I roll, bitches.

So, onto Denmark. Copenhagen's airport is very modern and laid out very well, which made it easy to find the train station. Unfortunately, the next 3 trains into town were canceled so I sat there and waited for almost an hour. Once it finally showed though, shit went smoothly and I was in the center of town in no time.

I was starving by that point, so I decided to grab a hot dog as I was leaving the station to walk to my hotel. He asked me what I wanted on it and I said nothing, but apparently "nothing" means "everything" in Danish English, because I got this hot dog with all kinds of shit on it. 9 sauces, relish, onions, you name it. I like approximately none of that shit, so I did my best to try and scoop it off.

Nyet.

I just ended up with goop all over my hands while people all around me laughed and probably taunted me in Danish. It just wasn't my day for impressing the public, that's for sure. After grabbing about 90 napkins to wipe myself off, I finally took off towards my hotel. Oh, and I smelled like mustard for my entire time there, despite having about 5 showers and scrubbing like a rape victim. Weird.

So my hotel was one of these new ultra-modern technology places. The idea is that you use kiosks to check in and get your key, so you don't have to wait in line for a hotel employee. You do it the same way checking out. Too bad the kiosks were all retarded and worked for nearly no one (including myself) so I had to...you guessed it, wait in line to fucking check in/out with a hotel employee. The hotel was brand new and in an industrial area, which meant that there was pretty much nothing around it except for construction sites. To buy or see anything, I had to trek the 10 minutes back to the bus station area. Slightly inconvenient, but the hotel was a fucking steal in Copenhagen, which is a very pricey city, so it was worth it.

I think I was still in chill mode from England, because I didn't do much of anything the first day there. I went for a short walk around the station area and checked out a few things, but I was really unmotivated. All the rain didn't help either. So...I did a whole lot of nothing. Drank a few Carlsbergs, watched some Olympics on my fancy flat-screen TV, and caught up on what had gone on in North America other than the Olympics for the past 2 weeks or so.

About the only interesting thing that happened was when my room door suddenly swung open, revealing a fucking super-hot blonde maid. Porn music kicked off in my head pretty much immediately, but it was not to be...she apologized profusely for having the wrong room and took off. Denied, as usual.

I decided that since I had wasted pretty much an entire day in a city I always wanted to see, I'd have to go into overdrive the next day to cover as much as I could. I spent about 4 hours walking around, and saw lotsa cool shit. My personal humorous highlight was walking through the red light district, where the hookers just stand there and go "PSSSST" at you, trying to get your attention. It was pretty odd...it made it seem like she was more interested in telling you a secret than anything else, which made me laugh at the idea of it. Anyway, Copenhagen is a beautiful city full of amazing buildings and sculptures and stuff, and the canals are awesome too.

The main area was a little smaller than I expected though, so by mid-afternoon I had seen pretty much everything I had set out to see. You know what that means...pub time!

My friend Kate used to live in Copenhagen and told me to go to this bar called the Moose, which was like the Cambie of Copenhagen. Unsurprisingly, I couldn't find it and got lost. I must have set some kind of world record for the number of cities I got lost in on this trip.

Anyway, after I finally gave up on my Moose dream I just went into the first pub I saw - an Australian pub. I know, I know. You'd think I'd aim for an actual Danish pub or something, but noooo. I actually went in there because I could see their TV through the window, and a gorgeous girl was in a music video. Finding out who she was provided me with all the inspiration I needed to go inside. Well, that and the beer. Obviously.

7 bucks, Cheryl Cole, and a crossword puzzle. Those are the answers. The questions? In order - how much they charged for my first beer (in Canadian), who the hot girl was on TV, and what I did in the pub other than drink. There was no one in there except for the owner when I stepped through the doors. A little odd, but that's never stopped me before. After serving me up a Kilkenny, he demanded that I help him with his crossword puzzle in exchange for a discount on the 2nd beer. Hells yeah I can do that. Finally my intelligence could be used for a worthy purpose!

Uh, no. This was the hardest fucking crossword puzzle of all time.

I got one thing right. ONE. He got about three. The rest of it was just us looking at each other and alternating between "what the hell?" and "who made this up?" with a few swear words interspersed at regular intervals. I felt pretty fucking stupid after attempting that thing. I did get a free beer out of it though...but it was probably out of pity more than anything. Who cares though, free beer is free beer! After another one and some time admiring about 10 Cheryl Cole videos in a row (look her up if you don't know who she is - gorgeous), I had a good buzz and decided I was going to walk around Copenhagen some more.

As usual, my motivation evaporated quicker than Milo's memory (he's sitting right beside me, so he seemed like an appropriate target for a joke...plus, the guy forgets everything you say 5 seconds after you say it...he's like a goldfish!), I somehow ended up sitting on a bench which overlooked one of the bigger canals in the city. Me, my ipod, a Carlsberg or 4, and the canal just hung out for a while. It was completely frozen over, since it was about -5 outside. Yes, I like cold weather...we've gone through this already.

A couple of people rode by on bicycles and gave me odd looks, but I was used to that by now. I just sat there and mentally flipped through my last couple of weeks, laughing at my stupidity and marveling at all the shit I had seen. It was pretty peaceful, until I decided to leave. I got up, walked about 3 steps, and slipped and fell on my ass. I'm all class baby! It was dark by then, and I couldn't really head out to another pub because I had to leave for Oslo early in the morning, so I decided to call it a night.

Overall, Copenhagen was awesome. I don't want to use a stupid faggy word like enchanting, but it has a lot of character and I can definitely see why people call it the most fun city in Scandinavia. The people are more outgoing and they all come across as pretty happy. Everyone rides bikes around the city, which adds to the charm and means the city isn't as choked with traffic as most major cities. Take all that and throw in the architecture and canals, and you've got a hell of a destination. I'd highly recommend it.

Europe Trip, Part 6 - Leeds

I'm now on a bus between Taxco, Mexico (insanely cool city) and Mexico City, so it's time to continue the blog with Operation England. The reason for this off-the-tourist-trail destination was simple - my brother Terry lives there. He and his family were nice enough to put me up for a couple of days, which is always a plus.

After my flight into Manchester and a short train ride, I arrived in the Leeds train station. Terry said to meet him in the pub there, so that's what I did. I was pretty hungover, but I figured a pint or 2 would make me feel a little better.

It did. But that's not exactly how it went down though.

After Terry arrived, we went on a pub crawl through the center of Leeds. A similar one to the one we went on 6 years ago when I was there, but there were 2 major differences. I wasn't brutally hungover then, nor did I have to drag a suitcase into every bar. If you ever wanted to announce yourself as a liquor pig tourist, try wheeling your suitcase down a bunch of narrow alleys into pubs...at 1pm. I got some great looks of amusement. It was a lot of fun. The two trips did have one thing in common though:

This was my second time not remembering a damn thing about most of these pubs.

I think we ended up going to 5 pubs total...maybe 6. It's a little foggy because we were just mainlining pints and bullshitting about everything. Terry's a super intelligent guy and despite growing up in different worlds, we have a lot in common so I always enjoy getting to hang out with him. So after a few hours of that...yeah, I was pretty drunk. I don't think he was too far behind either. We headed back to his place so he could have a nap before we headed out that night...to a soccer game.

I probably should have slept at that point too, but instead I played on their computer and listened to my ipod really loud like a moron in their kitchen. So loud that I didn't even realize it when Shelly and Ryan got home. Shelly is Terry's super-nice girlfriend, and Ryan is their 16 year old son. They walked in to see me swaying around like a retard and singing along to something terrible, which is always the best way to re-introduce yourself after 6 years or so.

By the time we headed out, I had sobered up pretty well (surprisingly). I had always wanted to go to a real live English football match, and this was my chance since Shelly had grabbed some free tickets from work for the game. Leeds United used to be an elite team, but had fallen on hard times both financially and on the field in the past few years, and had plummeted down to the 3rd tier of English football (somehow called League One - yeah, I think it's dumb too). Shelly drove us over, and Terry, Ryan and I went up to our seats in one of the ends behind/above the net. Folks, it was a trip.

The ends are the cheap seats, where all the rowdies hang out. Terry had told me not to bring my camera to the game because of where we were sitting, and now I knew why - these guys were NUTS. First off, they never sat down. They paid for seats (I think), but everyone stood up for the entire game. Odd, but whatever. Then they started chanting.

For the entire game, we were surrounded by fanatical fans that chanted about everything. They had their usual Leeds United chants and songs, along with some pretty impressive improvisations. For example, a player for Oldham named Chris Price did something...oversold a tackle or something, can't remember. Right away, about 1000 people started chanting "CHRIS PRICE IS FUCKING SHITE!" Over and over. No, I didn't spell shit wrong Canadians...that's how they were saying it.

After a pretty pathetic first half, Leeds scored 2 goals in the second half and looked pretty impressive. What wasn't so impressive is that they don't sell beer at the games anymore, but I could deal with that after epic last 24 hours of beer consumption. Either way, the crowd went home happy (well, as happy as those crazy fuckers can get) after a 2-0 win. I was certainly impressed...it was a shitload of fun. Leeds has since been promoted to the 2nd tier of English football, and hopefully someday soon they can get back into the Premiership so I can go see a top-flight game back in Elland Road. Awesome, awesome experience.

Shelly came back and picked us up, and we headed back to their house for a chilled out night. Couple of beers, watched some TV, and got a good nights sleep. The next day was the perfect day for someone who had been on the road non-stop for 2 weeks at that point - we did pretty much nothing. Terry made me breakfast, I did my laundry, and we watched gameshows and other awesome English shows on TV for most of the day.

For those that care, British TV is waaaay better than American TV. The gameshows rule, and they have some killer comedy/variety shows like 8 Out of 10 Cats and Never Mind The Buzzcocks, which had me in tears from laughing. Between that and bullshitting with Terry about all sorts of things all day, it was exactly what I needed to recharge a bit for my last week on the road.

After Shelly and Ryan got home, we headed out to a pub to grab a great dinner (turkey, beef, veggies, you name it, all buffet style for like 6 bucks) and had a couple pints and talked for a while. The last time I saw Ryan he was only 10, and he was hilarious. Not much has changed except for the fact that he's a lot bigger and a pretty talented singer now. He's still super funny.

I tipped the bartender after grabbing a beer, and he pointed out that they don't tip in the UK. I had been in so many countries that I couldn't keep track of where to tip and where not to. I won't forget again though, because the kid did an excellent job of teasing me about it. He recently posted a facebook status concerning the vuvuzelas at the World Cup, with something along the lines of "I'm not donating to those African charities anymore because instead of buying food, they're spending the money on annoying trumpets!" Hilarious. Between that and his mom's video of him passing out in their dog kennel in the backyard after a night of drinking...the kid's given me more internet laughs over the last few months than anyone I know. Great stuff.

So after another chill night and a good sleep, I had to get up at the dreaded 5am to head back to Manchester to catch my flight to Copenhagen. Canada was playing Russia in the quarterfinals that night, but the game didn't start until 1:30am UK time, so there wasn't any real way for me to watch it and be able to make my flight. I tried to find out the score on Terry's computer when I got up, but my cab arrived before I could boot it up. I'll save the story of how I found out for the next blog.