"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.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Friday, October 15, 2010
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.
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.
Sunday, October 10, 2010
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.
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.
Friday, September 10, 2010
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.
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.
Monday, August 30, 2010
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!"
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!"
Friday, August 20, 2010
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.
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.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
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.
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.
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