Jenni

Since Wendyis the best friend ever, she picked us up before 8am on a Saturday morning and gave us a ride to the airport. It was pleasantly uncrowded, and we had plenty of time to get breakfast and food for the plane (does Northwest feed you on a 4.5 hour international flight? No, it does not). We sat by the gate, and managed to be the 2nd and 3rd last to board the plane. This was mostly intentional (who wants to sit on the plane for half an hour?), but it was kind of funny when they paged us. I apologized to the gate agent, and he said, “It’s ok, hon! Just being official!”

The flight was uneventful, and involved much giggling at Skymall, and the in-flight magazine crossword puzzle. As we were landing in Puerto Vallarta, Matt got to talking to the guy in our row, and got some good advice getting around. The people sitting in front of us overheard us telling him where we were staying, and said they were there too. We decided to share a cab.

 

 

 

We got off the plane and took the jetway right to a pair of waiting buses. We hopped on, and the buses rolled approximately 500 feet to the other side of the terminal. We hopped off, and went to wait in long lines for customs. It wasn’t too bad, except for the heat. It took me far too long to find my bag, so we asked a guy for help. He asked me to describe it, and we still couldn’t find anything. He started telling us that a lot of bags look exactly like that, and pointed to the one in front of him as an example. And, hey, it was my bag!! I appreciate the fact he didn’t smack me for that.

 

I’d read a lot about the timeshare bit in Puerto Vallarta, and knew we’d have to run a gauntlet of salespeople on the way out of the airport. Our new friends got caught up in the fracas briefly, believing they could get a cab that way. We spent some time fending off cab/shuttle attacks, and Matt and I ran to the ATM to get pesos. Finally, we escaped the airport and saw our destination: the cab stand across the highway. We dragged our bags up the incline, already gross and sweaty in the head, and descended to a waiting cab driver.

 

I asked him how much, and he said 100 pesos. Not per person like the shuttles (many of which take you to a timeshare first), but for each of us. That’s less than $2.50 apiece. SCORE.

 

We crowded into a tiny car with no air conditioning: me in the hump seat with Matt and Michelle on either side of me, and Bob in the front with one of our giant suitcases on his lap, because it didn’t fit in the trunk. We took off down a back street behind the airport, bumping over ruts and cobblestones, sometimes seeming like we were going to pull off into a dark courtyard. Instead, our driver pulled into the gas station. He had to put air in the back tires, because we were bottoming out.

 

We tore off into Puerto Vallarta, the cabbie weaving in and out of traffic, even pulling into turn lanes to go around other cars and run red lights. On the main drag, the cops waved him over to the side of the road. Matt and I were dying of amusement (and fear for the driving, obviously), but the other two were not as amused. They still weren’t convinced we’d make it to the hotel alive.

 

We arrived without incident, and went inside our hotel (the Sheraton Buganvilias) to check in. While we waited in line, Michelle noticed the pink Breast Cancer 3Day tag on my suitcase. She asked if I’d done it, and then told me that they’d been on the safety crew, riding motorcycles last year. I knewBob looked familiar!! We were thrilled.

 

The bellboy brought our bags up, and showed us around the room. It was great: we had a kitchen with everything we didn’t even need (like a blender!), an awesome Murphy bed, and a balcony overlooking a pool, with the ocean just beyond.

 

Sigh.

 

 

 

We sat on the balcony admiring the view for a while, then changed and went downstairs to see the resort. I’d chosen the place because it was one of the many options available from RCI, a voucher program that allows you to stay for a week at a timeshare. Their main goal is to get you to buy a place, but we were prepared to be on the lookout for salespeople. Oh, and I got the voucher for free from my parents, so we were there for the cost of airfare.

 

We got ourselves margaritas at the pool bar (one which I will probably remember as the best margarita of my life, mainly because of the surroundings), and toured the grounds. There was a line of beach chairs facing out toward the ocean, and a cute little cabana on a pier. There were palapas all over the beach, and flowering plants everywhere.

 

 

 

Walking around the second pool, we saw an iguana scuttling under a chair. I had no idea we’d see lizards that big in Mexico! They seemed to live by the pools.

 

 

We decided to swim in that pool, because it was far less crowded. The second we got in, I knew it was the best day ever.

 

We bobbed around the pool, and spent a long time climbing on each other. Everybody else there seemed to be in love, too, so it was the thing to do. I could’ve stayed in there forever, especially with the swim-up bar. You just give them your room number, and bam!, a margarita appears.

 

We stayed in the pool for a very long time, until it started to feel cold. Then we took up spots in our deck chairs to dry off, discussing how immensely stressed and angry we were. Then we’d sit there and laugh.

 

 

 

 

 

 

We went back to our room to shower and change, and headed toward the Malecon as the sun began to set. We didn’t know how long a walk it’d be, but it didn’t look too far on the map. If we needed to get a cab, we could grab one anywhere.

 

We discovered it was about a mile to the Malecon, which wasn’t bad at all. We’d pass the fenced-off area next to our resort with the scary falling-down empty house (the one I discovered later wasn’t empty at all, because there were lights and noises in there), then cross the ravine, which looked shady and posed the danger of falling. Then there was the weird fenced-off yard with the mini replica of Los Arcos, and the very happy graffiti.

 

After that, the gauntlet began. There were guys standing outside half the shops along the street, trying to get you to come inside. They were timeshare salesmen, but all had some kind of cover story, like selling you tequila or getting you a tour discount. They offered cash, free meals, and free shots. It would only get annoying when they were really out in force (like when the cruise ship arrived later in the week), but otherwise we just got really used to saying, ‘no, gracias!’ while we kept walking.

 

We reached the Malecon, and walked along it for a while, looking at the statues and the sand sculptures. It wasn’t super-crowded yet, but would get to be so later at night. Also, walking on the Malecon side meant avoiding the timeshare dudes in all the shops across the street.

 

 

 

 

We were in search of dinner somewhere overlooking the Malecon and the ocean, and La Chata seemed perfect. The server took us upstairs and got us a table along the balcony, where we could watch the sun set.

 

We ordered the house drink, and were very surprised when the waiter showed up with a couple of soup bowls. Then we realized that wasthe house drink. Hell yes!

 

We had an awesome dinner, and watched the sun set over the ocean. It was amazing. So was the atmosphere in the restaurant, with mariachis singing and dancing, and parties going on around us.

 

 

We were more than a little tipsy when we left, both of us unable to finish our second drink.

 

We took off down the Malecon, partly to see the sights, and also to find another bar to hang out in. The bars all had people standing at the entrances trying to pull people in; we successfully avoided a bunch of them, but one bar caught our attention. It was named ZOO, and the place was loud, wide-open, and had a dance floor in the back. We made a mental note and kept going.

 

A few blocks down, we ran into Bob and Michelle, who were out doing the same thing. We decided to go back to ZOO together. Walking in, they told us it was ladies’ night, but it took us a very long time to figure out what that meant. What we were able to determine was that everyone got 2-for-1s, and ladies got free margaritas. I think that’s how it worked, at least. We really had no idea.

 

The girls at the next table were going tequila shots, and this involved a highly elaborate setup. There was a snifter of 151, pineapple, and cinnamon dropped from above and set on fire so it seared the fruit. It was kind of spectacular. There was also a pair of shot girls wandering around blowing whistles, and the tequila shots were 2-for-1 as well. Of course we had to try them, so Matt and I paid our 40 pesos and got ready. They poured the shots and dumped them down our throats, then grabbed our heads and shook them back and forth. They pinched our foreheads, our noses, and one grabbed my boobs while the other pinched Matt’s nipples. And now every time I hear whistles blowing, I don’t know whether to be really excited or run away.

 

Also, we heard ‘Push It’. Just like we were at the 90s.

 

Bob and Michelle left a bit before we did. I have no idea what time we left, but we quickly discovered that the mile-long walk back to the resort was one of the best ideas ever. There were drunk people all over the street, thronging around Oxxos (the convenience store like 7-11, of which there were three on our walk back). We found one we could actually go inside instead of just ordered through the window, and got water and Nescafe to make coffee in the morning.

 

As we got to the ravine, we saw a scary-looking figure standing there, wearing all black. We were kind of concerned until we realized he was a cop, guarding the area on a Saturday night. Good idea, dudes. We made it back to the hotel safely, and, um, you can probably guess the rest.

We got up Sunday morning and headed to MARIACHI BRUNCH at our hotel. It was expensive, but I figured it’d be worth it for a big Mexican buffet and unlimited champagne.

Make that ‘the largest Mexican buffet on earth’. We were amazed. They had so many different stations, it was hard to keep track of where everything was. They had every kind of traditional breakfast food, and a huge array of traditional stuff. It was all excellent. We tried things like a pumpkin flower crepe, pozole, tamales, tacos al pastor, enchiladas, and platanos, among other things. We also made our own mimosas with pineapple juice.

The funny thing, though, is that our appetites were already disappearing. We didn’t really eat that much, just tried a lot. The heat and sun was a big part of that, I think.

pastry swan! Matt ate his head.

After brunch, we headed to the pool for what felt like hours. We went to the other one this time, the one with the hot tub and waterfalls. And a bar, of course. We had margaritas and bobbed around for a long time. It didn’t take us long to figure out that this was the most appropriate way of dealing with the midday sun.

a big iguana came up and licked my lime.

We finally left the pool after lounging on chairs for a while. We’d pretty much lost all sense of time by then, which was absolutely excellent. We changed and headed back toward the Malecon.

puerto vallarta from the front of our hotel

the ‘ravine’: kind of scary at night.

Right as we turned the corner to the Malecon, we encountered Bob and Michelle. Michelle was staggering and giggling. They’d found a bar, and learned all about tequila that day. She kept yelling, “FUCK IT!” It was hysterical. Bob was dragging her back to the hotel for a nap.

At the north end of the Malecon, we went down to the beach to put our feet in the ocean. While we were standing there, we realized it was the exact view we were used to seeing from the Puerto Vallarta webcam! It must be located on top of the Hotel Rosita.

beach along the Malecon

Hotel Rosita: the oldest in PV (with webcam!)

la nostalgia

We walked down the length of the Malecon, checking out all the sculptures along the way. There were also two guys building gigantic sand sculptures.

’twas mothers day. this was lit with a novena at night.

part of the rotunda of the sea

in search of reason

Matt, in search of reason!

the sea horse, symbol of PV

cathedral of our lady of guadalupe

The cathedral is amazing, especially the metalwork on the top (and the fact that it’s lit in neon at night). Unfortunately, it’s nearly impossible to photograph, because it’s at the end of a very narrow street.

We walked all the way down to the end of the Malecon. The last part is a little different; it’s a big plaza with a bunch of tiny shops. The people there don’t harass you as much to buy timeshares as they do to buy jewelry, tequila, and handmade stuff.

We were dying of thirst, so we stopped into a little cafe for bottles of water. The guy there was wearing a Messi jersey, so Matt started referring to him as such. He told us to stop back after dark, because the place converted to a bar, and we could get anything we wanted. This ‘anything you want’ offer was fairly popular in Puerto Vallarta! We figured it probably included hookers and drugs, but wondered what else? Endangered species? Children on the black market? Nuclear weapons?? I kind of wanted to go back.

At the end of the Malecon, we crossed the bridge to Old Town, or the Zona Romantica. (I’d been offering to show Matt my Zona Romantica the whole time we were there. And maybe for a couple months beforehand, when I learned of it.) There were a ton of kids swimming in the Cuale River, right where it emptied into the ocean. It looked really gross, but at least there was no surf.

We turned off the street and walked down along the beach. There was a walkway part of the way, then a boardwalk. It was all older resorts, bars and restaurants, and packed-full beaches.

my idea of perfect.

along playa los muertos

the pier where you get the water taxi to yelapa.

playa los muertos

We were worn out from all the walking in the sun, and surely dehydrated at that point. We decided it was time to find food, so we headed up the street into the Zona Romantica to see what we’d find. Right as we turned off the beach, a dog joined us. He was wearing a collar but appeared to be stray, and he was most definitely a boy.

As we walked up the hill, he took the lead. We kept following for no good reason, and finally he led us here:

It was an abandoned bar, chained shut and in disarray. We decided that it probably should be ours. Stanky the dog led us right to it, after all. I should mention that it’s pretty much become our dream to own a bar in a tropical place. We’d be awesome at it.

We walked a few blocks through the Zona Romantica and saw several restaurants, but none were as appealing as the ones on the beach. I stopped for another bottle of water, and we headed back to the Bar Los Burros, the one with the sign daring us to come in, and a board advertising 2-for-1s starting very soon.

best chips ever

We sat there for a very long time, having margaritas, followed by 2-for-1 cuba libres. We shared a small plate of nachos, because we were decidedly not very hungry at all, but knew we should eat. Also, all the food we encountered in Mexico was excellent: everything was fresh and well-made.

A band called Dub Stylee was playing, and the lead singer looked exactly as if he could be Sammy Hagar’s son. They played reggae and classic rock, and had a constant battle-of-the-bands going on with the mariachis at the restaurant next door.

We finally read the history of the place on the back of the menu, and it mentioned their very popular burro. We looked and looked, and couldn’t see a burro everywhere. The place was completely open, so where could he be hiding?

Matt asked our server the next time he came around. He very apologetically informed us:

Our spirits were not dampened by the dead burro, however. We were drinking margaritas with our feet in the sand on a Mexican beach, and we were about to see another sunset. It doesn’t get much better than that.

beach lovin’

At a table near us, there was a family with two little kids having dinner. They were drinking a blue beverage in a bottle called C-ICE that we had to assume was pop, because the kids were drinking it, too. Matt suspected it was probably alcoholic, however.

The only downside to sitting on the beach was the vendors that came up to all of us constantly, asking us to buy stuff. We were already pretty accomplished at ‘no, gracias’, so it wasn’t a huge problem, but there were many of them. I did a really good job of not even looking at their wares until a little kid came up and held out a tacky bobbling sea turtle magnet and offered it to us. For the life of me, I could not determine the child’s gender AT ALL. I ended up buying the sea turtle, and his/her persistence paid off. Man, that kind of killed me.

mariachis

There was a strange lady sitting at a table near us, and she seemed to somehow be associated to the little kids selling stuff. She also knew the head waiter, because he came over and talked to her a lot. After a while, she came and introduced herself to us. Her name was America (seriously!), and the waiter was her husband. We talked, and finally she asked to take our picture on her cellphone. She asked our names so she could label it; after some confusion, she ended up with ‘Mateo y Yeni’. So awesome.

After 2-for-1s ended and I had gone to the bathroom in the weird building housing Burros’ kitchen approximately seven times (ok, twice), we decided to head back towards the Malecon.

There was a band playing on the stage in front of Los Arcos. (I only cursed that stage a few times, because it blocked the view of the most well-known statue on the Malecon. Still, the shows there every night were awesome.) We watched some Mexican hip-hop for a while, then headed up the street to check out the bar selection.

A few blocks up, we saw the No Name Bar. We’d passed it a couple times already and hadn’t thought much of it, but we’d been walking on the Malecon side of the street. As we approached it, we very slowly realized what it was about: it was a HOCKEY BAR. A HOCKEY BAR IN MEXICO.

After we both died of excitement twice, we went in and got a table. Before the trip, I’d asked Cindi to keep me updated on the progress of the Stanley Cup playoffs, and I was sad about missing them. Not sad enough to not go to Mexico then, but still. All of a sudden, everything was resolved. I wanted to stay there forever.

We bought ‘Hockey Night in Puerto Vallarta’ tshirts that were a parody of the Hockey Night in Canada logo. Then we ordered food that we ate very, very little of, and of course had beverages. They had a house drink that I remember very little of, except that it was deadly. We saw hockey, and then part of the Twins game, which was kind of mindblowing. I asked Matt the same question over and over again. That’s probably when he figured it was time to go.

We headed back toward our hotel. Along the way, I detailed my plan to keep people from killing us at the ravine, should the cop not be standing there this time. It involved singing (‘One More Time’, a track I’ve danced to in the annex at the Gay 90s too many times to count, and heard blasting from a bar along the Malecon) and dancing and generally acting drunk. Nobody would rob or murder a drunk person, right? That’s unpossible!

We stopped into our favorite Oxxo (now dubbed ‘Oxxo Medio’ because it was the middle one) for pop and water, and there in the case was C-ICE. It was indeed a vodka-based beverage. Matt purchased one, because how could he not? We made it back to our hotel with no incident, though I was slightly disappointed about not being able to pull out my mad dance maneuvers. Maybe next time.

Monday, we set out to find out about dune buggy tours. We had a general idea of what we wanted, but the prices were variable, and we had to figure out where to go to get them. We asked at the hotel’s excursion desk, and she told us it was $100, but she could get us a discount if we went to the stupid timeshare presentation. We ducked out posthaste.

We headed up toward the marina area, without a clue about how far it was, or what there really was to see there. We just figured we’d go and see what we saw along the way. We stopped into a grocery store to buy water so we didn’t die of heat, and headed northward.

Matt and the giant futbol

A ways up the road, we saw a little kiosk full of excursion info. A lady called to us from inside, so we decided to go check it out. We asked about dune buggies, and she had 2 tours. One of them was 800 pesos (a little less than $80) for the both of us, was four hours long, started at 2pm, and took us to a tequila factory. We didn’t even have to go see timeshares. SOLD.

She called to make reservations, and told us we’d need our drivers licenses. They were in the safe at the hotel, but we had plenty of time to walk back to get them. We took the brochure and receipt, and headed back toward the grocery store .

We were wandering around the giant market ogling things and generally being amused when I realized that it was close to noon and I wasn’t hungry at all. That was unusual, because I’m on a pretty regular schedule as far as meals. We decided to find food there to bring back with us. I looked at everything they had to offer, and nothing looked good at all. I finally picked out some crunchy toast, for reasons I’m not even clear on. All I know is I was quickly feeling worse and worse; I was shaky, dizzy, and confused. I figured I needed food, but I didn’t want to eat at all.

We checked out and went to the little deli area where they had hot food. I was hoping they’d have something vegetarian, but they didn’t. We sat at a table while Matt ate a sandwich and I drank my water as quickly as possible. I then ate bites of toast, forcing myself to not throw up. It sucked a lot, mostly because I didn’t know what was wrong.

I finally felt OK enough to walk back to the hotel, so we headed that way. In the room, I drank more water and tried to eat. I laid down and realized there was no way I’d be able to get on a dune buggy in an hour. I was pretty convinced I was going to die. Heroically, Matt called the PANTHERS OF THE JUNGLE and had a conversation with them completely in Spanish, because the guy didn’t speak English. He asked if we could change our reservations to the next day, and they said yes. That’s what he was hoping happened, at least!

I tried to nap, and ended up laying there delirious for an hour or so. Eventually I felt well enough to stand up, so I went and sat on the patio with water and trail mix. It was in the mid-80s outside, but I was freezing cold from chills. It was freaking me out a lot.

I started to feel better around 2:30, so we decided to go downstairs, sit near the ocean, and drink some more water. We got beach chairs and hung out for a while, and then decided food was probably a good idea, since I hadn’t had very much of it in the last 24 hours. I really had no urge to eat at all, and the thought of it made me want to gag.

We wandered around the hotel, and couldn’t find anything open. It was siesta time, so most of the shops were closed. We finally realized they served food at the beach bar, so we ordered from there. Matt got tacos al pastor, and I got a cheese pizza. I didn’t care what I ate at that point, I just mostly wanted to start feeling normal again. Being sick on vacation sucks, especially when it prevents you from doing things.

even the hotel food was amazing!

I felt more human after eating some pizza, so we decided to go for a swim. We tried the beach, but the ocean was really rough, and the beach in that area was mostly pebbles. Since we had two perfect pools at the resort, we went for that instead.

Once the sun started to go down around 7:30, we went back to the room for a personal siesta. Then we sat on the balcony, watching the sun set, and Matt decided it was time to try C-ICE. I think he liked it!

After dark, we headed downtown with one destination in mind. Well, after some souvenir shopping for the folks back home, some free tequila shots from a guy who thought he’d sell us a non-timeshare (the dudes who worked there bet a bottle of water on whether Matt was British or not, because he’s perhaps a little pasty white and was wearing a soccer jersey), and after a taxi driver offered him a cab ride, weed, cocaine and pills. I love Mexico.

Also, Matt had to make sure I was feeling up to it. Señor Frog’s? It’s a commitment!

The place was pretty empty when we arrived; there were only a few tables full of people who looked like they’d been there all night. I noticed that at one of them, they were all trashed on Coors Light: the taste of the Rockies. In Mexico? At Señor Frog’s, home of the yard? I guess whatever works.

I still wasn’t hungry, so we ordered The Best Chips and Salsa in the World (that’s what it’s called on their menu, and I have to admit it was spectacular; they even made it at the table), some soup that came with many sides, and some very, very tall beverages. Thankfully, you could get anything in a yard, so I had Cuba Libres, which didn’t make my stomach sad. The balloon artist guy came by and talked to us in very broken English about tattoos and sex; we didn’t understand half of what he said, but he was still hilarious.

Shortly after our drinks arrived, the announcer guy (who was the Mexican version of Pepe from our cruise, so we loved him) got up on a table and announced that we’d be playing music trivia. They’d play short clips from TV shows, and whoever yelled ‘Señor Frogs!’ and answered correctly first would get a free shot. We also had to announce where we were all from, so we were excited to learn that there were other Minnesotans in the house, as well as some Iowans. The Coors folks were from North Carolina.

Matt won one of the rounds, and after a while, they ended up giving the rest of the bottle to the North Carolina people. That was probably a bad idea. Also, Matt did a bacon shot with the little cup of toppings I hadn’t used in my soup.

When the DJ got the music going, and we heard some of our favorite and not-so-favorite hits such as ‘Don’t you Wish your Girlfriend Was Hot Like Me’, ‘Get Low’, and ‘You Give Love a Bad Name’, Soulja Boy, and ‘Baby Got Back’. They got people up on stage to dance the Electric Slide, and I kept telling Matt that they had to play the Cupid Shuffle. And then they did, so we danced right at our table.

We almost died when they played ‘Lean Like a Cholo’, which we’d seen on MTV Tres only a few weeks before. On my way to the bathroom, I decided I should see if the DJ took requests. I stopped into the booth while both he and the MC were there, and asked if he could play ‘Rompe’. He looked so shocked that I said, ‘Do you have Daddy Yankee?’ It turns out he was so floored at a white chick asking for reggaeton that he didn’t know what to think. Ha!

The MC said, ‘I hate reggaeton!’ and the DJ told me to ignore him because he was crazy. Once they started playing ‘Rompe’, the MC came up to our table to try to get me to sing it (no thanks!), and tried to explain why he hated reggaeton. It was something to do with how it was more dance music, I think. I asked him what he listened to, and he said American rap. We got into a long discussion about how they don’t really have a big hiphop scene in Mexico. I found that hard to believe, because there’s so much of it focused in the Caribbean.

A huge wedding party from Alberta came in, so they got them all dancing. They held a drinking contest up on stage, and the MC told one of the ladies if she didn’t come up to play, he was going to get Mrs. Reggaeton instead. I almost died. Best title ever!

Right as we were about to leave for the night, we caught a glimpse of Bob and Michelle on the other side of the dance floor. Oh, Señor Frog’s! Everybody loves it. Not just because they gave us free shots before we left with our six yard glasses, either.

Back at the hotel, we found Pancetta the cat waiting for us at the car rental desk. We spent a lot time sitting on the balcony giggling, and then went to bed.

Tuesday morning, I felt somewhat better than the day before. My stomach was still pretty unhappy, but I didn’t want to die or anything. We decided to follow what we had realized was the best plan for the Mexican summer: spend the hot hours relaxing in the pool, and wait til it was cooler to go out.

Unfortunately, we could only spend about an hour in there, because we had a date with dune buggies. Still, it was very good; we also ran into Bob and Michelle in the hot tub, so we sat there talking to them for a long time.

For lunch, we hit up a place right across the street called 100% Natural. They had a ton of vegetarian stuff on the menu, and it was hard to decide what to get. Everything looked amazing. I had a sort of quesadilla sammich, and Matt’s lunch involved a Mexican smoothie.

After eating, we headed back up to the same area we’d visited the previous day, in the direction of the marina. It was even hotter than the previous day, and we were extremely warm by the time we reached the offices of THE PANTHERS OF THE JUNGLE. And by ‘offices’, I mean a dirt lot full of assorted vehicles, and a hut-like building on stilts.

There was already a crowd standing around when we got there, trying to fill out paperwork and put down their deposits in the most confused and disorganized way possible. Over the course of the day, we learned that this group of nine was part of a larger wedding party (the bride and groom were among them, but I never determined which couple it was), and they were from the Vancouver area. They were all in their very early twenties, and obviously didn’t travel much. They were intensely suspicious of the company’s motives (so making their $200-per-vehicle deposit soon turned into a gigantic catastrophe), and argued with the staff and each other about everything. Regardless, they were very amusing.

We stood around far too long in the heat, and finally got to the point of claiming our dune buggies. Several of them had pedals or fluid canisters that had been replaced with beer cans; ours didn’t have a gas pedal, but a lever with a bolt through it. I was concerned about my ability to reach the clutch and the steering wheel til they gave me a booster seat. We got goggles and bandanas to wear over our faces on the dirt roads, but obviously didn’t need helmets; we had a roll cage, after all.

They started up the dune buggies for us, and the only instruction we really got was that the engines were from old VW Beetles, so that’s how we should drive them. I really did NOT want to have to drive that thing on city streets without any familiarity with it, but I had no choice—Matt doesn’t drive a stick, and we had nowhere to practice. So, off we went, with me not-so-quietly panicking about Mexican traffic.

We got about three blocks and stalled on the side of the road. The guides in the back got us running again, and we caught up with the group. I figured we’d maybe go a little ways through the less-busy parts of Puerto Vallarta and out into the mountains, but that was not to be: next thing I knew, we were turning onto the highway that skirts the town. I considered maybe pulling over and refusing to go on, but I was in a dune buggy parade with a bunch of Canadian kids, and if they could do it, so could we. Well, except for the ones who stalled right on the highway and had to be pushed to get going again.

After a mile or so, I felt better about it, and figured that was the hardest we’d really have to do. Until we headed into a tunnel through the mountains. HOLY CRAP.

On the other side of the tunnel, though, we got to pull off the highway and head off onto dusty cobblestone streets through cute villages. That, I could handle, and they were obviously used to the tours going through there a few times a day.

Past the little town, we turned off onto a dirt road and headed into the Sierra Madres, following the Cuale River. The dune buggies were a little hard to control on tight corners, but it was still far easier to drive them there than on city streets. One of the Canadians a few cars ahead of us stalled, so we all lined up to push them, with the guides in the back behind us. We’d all get rolling in 2nd gear, and the stalled vehicle would be able to pop the clutch and be on the way away. That seemed to happen a lot.

Matt: either riding in a dune buggy, or overthrowing your government.

Because of the delay, our group of three dune buggies was a ways behind the rest of the group. The guy in front was obviously just following the trail of dust down the paths, which was occasionally tricky. I noticed that the one we were on was suddenly getting really steep, and as we turned a corner, we saw two of them stuck at the top of a hill, trying to turn around. We stopped fast, stuck on a steep incline, and I jammed my foot down as hard as I could, because the brakes obviously sucked. We started rolling backwards a little, toward the edge of the dropoff, and then our dune buggy stalled. Right at that moment, I was officially terrified of dying in the mountains in Mexico.

It turns out that the Canadians had led us astray; they’d taken a wrong turn up this hill, and only realized it at the top. We all had to turn our dune buggies around, but there was hardly any room to do so. There was no way we were getting ours restarted, the guides were nowhere in sight, and I couldn’t take my foot off the brake because we’d roll backwards down the hill, possibly on the most direct downward path. Finally, the two guides came running up the hill on foot (I have no idea how they managed that in the heat). They helped the Canadians turn around, then took over our dune buggy to turn it around. I really did NOT want to even drive down the hill, but they said I had to. I put it in neutral and just rolled it the whole way.

It was really funny in retrospect. Not so much at the time, though.

Back on the correct, far less steep, path. They took us to a little oasis in the jungle. They had pools formed by the waterfall there, and a little building with a bar, some tables, and a lady selling crafts. I just wanted a pop and some water right then after our life-threatening adventure, but then upon consuming that, decided that what I really wanted was a drink.

Some of the Canadians went swimming in the pools, which looked really awesome, but we didn’t have bathing suits with us. We got talking to a few of them about hockey, and then they were our pals. They were the kind of dudes you’d want to punch in a bar, but there in the middle of nowhere in the mountains, they were pretty awesome.

Next to the bar, they had a big cage containing a disturbingly-large snake. The guy behind the bar said he’d just come across it in the jungle, and caught it by stepping on it right behind the head. He told us it wasn’t poisonous, but would still bite. A couple of the Canadian guys (not surprisingly, the ones who thought they were manliest) were practically having fits, they were so scared of the snake.

The little dog had invented a game, though: he’d hover near the snake’s cage and wait for it to start hissing at him, and then he’d start barking his head off. It was hysterical.

We went back to our dune buggies, and something about the Cuba Libre I’d just had made it all seem a lot easier. We rolled back down the hill, out of the jungle, and into the little town we’d driven through before. Our next stop was a tequila factory!

The tequila factory was more a shop than a factory (at least as far as we could see), but that didn’t bother us any. They made sure we stopped at the bar first (margarita time!), then one of the employees explained how tequila was made. We did actually learn a lot about mezcal and the meaning of the different categories of tequila.

After that, we headed into the shop for samples. They passed around small shots of several different offerings, all of them awesome, and even taught the Canadians our new favorite toast: arriba! abajo! al centro! aldentro! (Because Matt is awesome, he had come prepared with that knowledge.)

In the shop, we managed to find the last two sampler packs they had on hand. Each box contained six small bottles of the tequila made at that site, two each of the blanco, reposado, and añejo. The Canadians were stuck buying big bottles of tequila, not even necessarily the stuff made locally. The guides packed up all our purchases and loaded them onto their dune buggies, thankfully. We hopped back into our vehicles, now all sufficiently tipsy, and headed back toward Puerto Vallarta.

I’m not going to advocate this anywhere else, but drunk driving is the way to go when you’re in a dune buggy in Mexico. Seriously. It’s far easier to drive. I think I only stalled our crappy engine once after that.

We drove up to an overlook on a mountain, and could see the Zona Romantica, the Cuale River, and the rest of Puerto Vallarta along the coast beyond that. They took some cheesy photos of us, and we headed back into town. I had lost any sense of where we were at that point, figuring we were somewhere in Old Town. We pulled up to a restaurant, where they told us we could get drinks and dinner, if we wished.

The restaurant also had a swimming pool, and showers and towels for people wishing to use it. So awesome. We still weren’t hungry (both of us seemed at least somewhat affected by the sickness, which we’d decided had to do with a combination of dehydration, heat, and something I’d eaten), so we ordered chips and drinks. The Canadians ordered a 50-person margarita (or so it seemed), and hamburgers. Oh, silly Canadians.

While they swam and ate, we hit up the jukebox. They of course had Daddy Yankee, and a bunch of American hip-hop.

After everybody paid up, we headed back toward our starting point. As we turned a corner past the restaurant, we realized where we were: it was located on the other side of the sports stadium from our resort. We all hopped onto the main drag right in front of the Sheraton, and Matt and I were thrilled. We all raced down the road, even keeping pace with the crazy taxis. So much fun.

We dropped off our dune buggies, said bye to the Canadians, and headed back toward our hotel. We were sunburnt and filthy, covered in sweat and dust. Also, we were carrying some awesome tequila, and we’d survived a near-death experience in the mountains. WIN.

After a very long shower, we got dressed again, drank a ton of water (I was convinced at various points that I might die of dehydration), and headed toward the Malecon in search of dinner. We were planning on walking all the way back to the Zona Romantica to check out some of the stuff off the beach, but couldn’t even make it that far. We found a really awesome-looking rooftop restaurant near Los Arcos that overlooked the plaza, called Chilaquiles. The menu looked good, so we decided to give it a try.

The food was indeed excellent, but the service was extremely strange. Our server spoke no English, so it took a while to figure out the part about them not having an actual bar. (They did have margaritas, thankfully.) I had cheese enchiladas with the best mole ever, and Matt had tortilla soup and masa cakes. It took forever to get our tab, but I was ok sitting there for a while… I’d started to feel really crappy again, and walking took a lot of effort.

We headed back up the street to the No Name, and grabbed seats at the bar to watch sports. We saw one of the NBA playoff games, and a ton of hockey highlights. I was very happy with that, because it was oddly comforting to someone who wasn’t feeling well. It was just like home, after all!

Wednesday morning, we had to be up and checked out by 10am. SIGH. Technically we had the room for a week, but work needed us.

We stashed our bags at the hotel, and walked down to the Malecon to do some more souvenir shopping. It seemed like each day had gotten hotter, or maybe it’s because we weren’t in the pool; all I know is I’m not accustomed to having sweat dripping down the back of my pants. We even stopped at Vallarta Mart (the PV equivalent of Cozumel Mart, so of course we had to visit) twice for water.

We found one really awesome shop a block or so off the Malecon, called Querubines. I ended up doing most of my non-tacky souvenir shopping there. We then rushed off in search of a bathroom, because, well, I still wasn’t really done being sick.

As on most vacations, Starbucks was there to provide us with relatively clean restrooms. And while ordinarily I’d avoid visiting an American company in Mexico, they also had caffeine and food that I didn’t want to eat, but knew I should. We sat and enjoyed the air conditioning for a while.

We walked down to the bridge to the Zona Romantica, then slowly headed back up the Malecon. I realized that wearing my Canada hockey t-shirt wasn’t the best choice; while no one but the locals could escape the timeshare harangue, they seemed to take particular interest in Canadians. A few guys had asked us where we were from in the US, but everyone wanted to know were we lived in Canada. Half of them seemed to not want to believe me about being America. What’s the deal with Canadians in Puerto Vallarta, anyway? Is it just easy to get to from the west coast?

It was so hot, and we were so run-down from dehydration and the sickness, that we had to find a bench in the shade and sit down for a while. I finished what seemed like my 10th bottle of water that morning. After a while, we got up and headed the rest of the way back to the hotel.

our favorite: oxxo medio!!

We got our bags, and they called us a cab. (Note: cabs from the hotel are the regular 100 pesos; you don’t have to deal with the timeshare crap on the way out, obviously.) The taxi driver scared the hell out of us on the way to the airport, but thankfully didn’t get pulled over by the cops this time. Driving past the marina area, we realized that 1) we never could’ve walked there and back, and 2) we were really glad we hadn’t stayed in that area. You’d have to take a bus or cab everywhere.

‘MINEAPOLIS’

At the airport, they searched our bags in a very cursory way at the check-in desk, and we headed upstairs, expecting to go through security. Apparently we already had, though, because that was it. We did some shopping and food-gathering, preparing for another flight sans meal (thanks, Northwest!).

I had a bottle of water and a pop, and only once we went to board, learned that they were confiscating liquids. What the hell? The guy missed my bottle of pop, though, so I at least got to bring that with me.

The flight back was uneventful, and thankfully almost an hour shorter than the trip down; it’s hard to occupy yourself when you’ve already read Skymall. The plane wasn’t very full, so we got a whole row to ourselves.

Wendy picked us up at the airport, and we found out that in the 5 days we’d been away, she’d gone and fallen in love. WHAT?

CRUISE II: THE SEQUEL

starring:

Jenni, Matt, Wendy, Cindi, Jumi, and the S.S. Razzmatazz (also known as the Costa Mediterranea)

special appearances by:

Andre, the assistant pastor, Pepe (gay or Italian), DJ Nick and the Helper Monkey, Niner, Mr. Pizza and Maxine, Jones, Sneaky Pete, Arsenio, Lamp, Imelda Marcos, Dragon Lady and Dragon Lady Junior, Arsenal and Man U, Towel, Roque, Jersey and his family, Patrick Swayze, Bungee Cord, Droopy and Shingles, Ukulele Hero, Mark Boney, Gerald, Rocky, Chris, Jaime, Joseph, Humberto, Falco, Walter from Uruguay, Massimo, the Oesterreicher Dyker, and Disposo.

[To view the entire Flickr photoset, go here!]

Saturday morning, we got up at 3:45am. It hurt, but we survived out of sheer determination to get to the ocean as soon as possible. It was cold in Minnesota. I went to pick up Cindi while Matt retrieved Wendy, then we met at my mom’s; we wanted to bring both our cars out there in case there was a snow emergency in Minneapolis while we were gone.

Our flight was delayed about 20 minutes because they had trouble closing one of the cargo doors. Once they finally got it duct-taped shut, we had to wait for the de-icing truck to spray us off. My irritation over having to wait was mitigated by watching the de-icing process. It was kind of fascinating. However, we had a 25-minute connection in Memphis.

We arrived in Tennessee a little late, and rushed to the gate. Thankfully, most of the other flights arriving were also running late, so we were in no danger of missing it.

I knitted, Matt and I had a snack, we played cards, and then we had a very long conversation with a guy stuck behind the beverage carts trying to get to the bathroom. We talked about tattoos, where we lived, and then our jobs. We did a very good job of not reacting when he told us he was the assistant pastor for a church in St Paul. When we saw him later at the airport, he gave me his card. It was the flashiest clergyman businesscard ever. I’m guessing his church is actually pretty cool.

We got our bags, and took a taxi van to the cruise ship docks. (If you’re going on a cruise, don’t pre-book the shuttle service from the airport. Cabs are about $6/person, at least half the price.) Embarkation was really quick, because we were so early; we were on the ship by 2pm, and ready to start the show.

my fancy new frequent-cruiser card.

We went to check out our cabin, then all went up to the card room to talk to the maitre d’ because, as usual, they’d assigned us to the wrong dinner time, and put us at separate tables. I have no idea how to keep Costa from doing this every time, but it’s not really a big deal to switch to late dinner. It gave us time to hang out and drink coffee while looking at the creepy cherubs suspended from the ceiling in that room we know so well.

After switching to the late dinner, we went up to the buffet for lunch. None of us had really eaten much all day, so we were starving. We took our food out onto the back deck, got us some cocktails (a mojito should always be the first beverage consumed on a cruise), and it was already the best vacation ever.

We found our suitcases waiting in the cabin when we returned. We unpacked, then perhaps removed our clothing and celebrated. Afterwards, we sat on our balcony and watched the people on the two other cruise ships doing their muster drill. Because we weren’t leaving til 7pm (during the first dinner), we didn’t have to muster til 5pm the next day, after leaving Key West. I assume they don’t require it til you’re actually leaving the U.S., but I’m not sure how that works.

matt on our balcony

We went up to the very top deck by the smokestack to meet Wendy, Cindi, and Jumi, who were hanging around like hooligans. After a trip to the pool bar, we found the bocce balls out on the court, so we played. You know what’s hard? Playing bocce on a ship. And it wasn’t even moving yet.

still empty!

cruise ship bocce

As 7pm neared, we went downstairs and took up spots on deck chairs at the back of the ship. Right after dark, the ship started heading out to sea. The whistle blew, and I started crying. I was so damn excited to finally be there with the people I love most.

We changed and headed to dinner, where a bottle of champagne was waiting. The menu struck me as more impressive than last time; I had papaya with Cointreau, broccoli soup, vegetable lasagna, and sugar-free apple crumble. We decided that we wanted fruit with liquor on it for breakfast every day. It was the new cereal.

After dinner, we hung out at the Talia Lounge right outside the restaurant on deck 2. This would later be renamed “Pete’s Place”, but we didn’t know him yet. There was a duo singing the greatest hits of the 70s and 80s, and a few people dancing. After that, we headed to the front of the ship to Giardino Isolabella, one of the few bars Wendy and I hadn’t been to last time. We’d only set foot in the place and noticed that it was 1) pimp, with round booths and a fancy stage, and 2) empty. It was still fairly empty, but we took up a table and ordered drinks anyway.

There were a couple groups at tables at the front, and we soon discovered they were the band. Once they got on stage and started playing, we were the only audience. They were excellent, and we felt bad leaving after a while. We finally clapped a lot and left, yelling to them that we’d be back. We had more important things to attend to, namely the DISCO.

The first night at Disco Selva is apparently always singles night, but we didn’t care. We had a couple singles with us, after all. Also, singles night only lasts half an hour. The place was pretty empty (as it’s wont to be early in the week, apparently); there were some old, definitely not-single people at tables upstairs, and an extremely creepy couple of dudes in a dark corner. We went downstairs, ordered drinks, and hung out to see if anyone would dance.

Our host was DJ Nick, and he was something. He spoke hardly any English, so putting in requests was nearly impossible. The video board was a giant display showing lions in the African savannah, with his name and logo on top. RAWR. The dancing only began once Pepe (the staff member who started the whole “gay or Italian?” inquiry on the previous cruise) came in and starting grooving to Billie Jean. There was also a lot of Fergie, and all in all, the Disco (which you must pronounce ‘deeeee-sco’) was not hoppin’ that night. We headed to bed at 1pm, realizing we’d been up for almost 24 hours.

Cruises are the only time I’m happy to see the sun rise.

key west

We had breakfast on the deck, and I got to have gruel for the first of, well, six other times. We hopped off the boat and piled into the Bone Island Shuttle (*snort*). I think we were the only people in a good mood; there were some severely crabby old ladies on there with us. How can you be mad about being in a warm place in January?

The shuttle dropped us off in Mallory Square, which is the ultratacky part of town where the main cruise dock is located. It was only 8am on a Sunday, so little was open. This was fine with us, because we intended to do all of our sightseeing first thing, and then explore the local scene. By which we meant the bars. Key West is well-known for that particular industry.

We headed off down Whitehead Street, which parallels Duval.

the mile zero marker on US route 1. matt’s making fun of parrotheads.

‘
the kapok tree

COCK

There are wild chickens all over Key West (as well as cats; feel free to make the same jokes we did), so you hear roosters crowing constantly. I love that.

bahama village: it definitely looks like the bahamas.

hemingway house (we didn’t want to pay admission!)

i want to live here.

wendy, blending

At the end of Whitehead Street, you come to the marker denoting the southernmost point in the continental United States. From there, it’s 90 miles to Cuba. I just needed to see it because I’ve been to the actual southermost point in the U.S., on the Big Island of Hawaii.

southermost is a big deal in key west, apparently.

We walked back down Duval Street, and businesses were starting to think about opening. We stopped into a convenience store for water, because it was kind of ridiculously hot already. I was regretting my decision to wear a long-sleeved shirt that day, having assumed it’d be the least-warm stop we’d make on the cruise. It was in the mid-80s, but sunny and humid.

We also stopped for iced coffee at Dunkin’ Donuts (an establishment we sadly cannot enjoy in Minneapolis; the nearest are in Chicago), and Matt and Wendy posed by their ‘family tree’. I’d explain, but it’s a long story. Also, Wendy has a hard time trying to look badass, and just starts laughing.

We walked all the way back down to Mallory Square, scouting the places we wanted to visit later. We passed Sunset Pier, where the bartender appeared to be setting up, and asked when they opened. She said they were serving food already, but that they weren’t allowed to pour liquor in Key West until noon on Sundays. We told her we’d be back.

We sat on the pier watching the pelicans and sailboats for a while, and I called my mom to tell her she shouldn’t panic over not hearing from me for another week, because we’d be out of the U.S.. We then went over to the Sponge Market to stock up on all the necessary souvenirs, including my obligatory Christmas ornament, in the shape of the southernmost point marker.

On the way back to the oceanfront, we wandered through a garden full of statues, and Wendy and Matt had to have Superbad moments. BOOP!

matt and hemingway

disney ship: we quickly learned that local businesses hate disney passengers. duh.

At five minutes to noon, we got ourselves a table at Sunset Pier. There were already several people waiting there for the bar to open.

We ordered brunch (by which I mean nachos), then drinks. Like every bar in that region, Sunset Pier claims it invented the Rum Runner. Their frozen beverages come with a test tube full of dark rum.

You know what’s awesome? Having a margarita at noon on a Sunday while overlooking the ocean.

After brunch, we headed back down Duval Street, where everything was officially open. We stopped into Fast Buck Freddie’s, where Matt got a pimptastic hat, then headed to the bar I never, ever wanted to set foot in: Margaritaville. But I had to, of course, because it was there, and it’s the original.

It wasn’t bad at all, except for the fact that it was full of families from the Disney ship having lunch while we were on our second cocktail of the afternoon. The bartender was fantastic. After that, it was time for lunch at Willie T’s!

you are here, this is paradise. so true.

The entirety of Willie T’s was outside, and they featured 39 flavors of mojitos. It was instantly my favorite place in the world. We ordered lunch, and hung out watching the Colts-Chargers game on the giant-screen TV. We also filled out our own dollar to post on the wall. We gave our founding father boobs.

When it was time to move on, they gave us to-go cups. I LOVE KEY WEST.

We walked down Duval toward our last destination, the most famous bar in Key West. I stood out front and finished my drink before we went inside, though I doubt they’d actually have cared.

I fell in love with our bartender instantly. She was the best. The house drink is the Sloppy Rita, which isn’t really distinguishable from a regular margarita. Also, I really like that the standard tequila in most places we went is Sauza. I hate Cuervo a lot.

With about half an hour left til the last shuttle to the boat, we headed out, again with to-go cups. We stopped at a little grocery to shop for amusing British foodstuffs like Lucozade, then circled Mallory Square again, looking at cocks. I mean, what?

The shuttle dropped us off about 15 minutes before the ship departed. We took showers and watched from our balcony as we left Key West. We’d have taken the usual post-island nap, but we had to do the muster drill first.

Promptly at 5pm, the alarms went off, and we all put on our life jackets and lined up at the muster station. Sadly, we were at a different station than Wendy, Cindi, and Jumi, so we were surrounded by antsy Germans. We stood there trying not to giggle about everything, listened to the safety announcement in 5 languages, and were finally freed from responsibility for the rest of vacation.

After everyone else had their meat locker time (i.e. when you go back to your cabin after returning from some bar at the port, and take a shower and nap til early evening), we met in Bar Casanova, intending to play bingo. It ended up costing $20/person, so we went to play cards instead. The cruise staff was dressed in clown outfits for some show that night, and one of them came up to talk to Matt about his Arsenal jersey. It turned out he was from London (and thereafter known as ‘Arsenal’, while we called his friend from Manchester ‘Man U’), and he told us about their most recent game. Another female clown came over and plastered herself against the window while he talked. When he left, Matt said, “I just got a score from a clown while another silver clown humped the window!”

We stayed there so late that even the buffet had shut down, except for the pizza station, so we had pizza and salads out on the back deck, after which we wandered around the upper decks of the ship, looking at the moon and stars and basically being really gay. Shut up.

We found what seemed to be the darkest part of the ship up front on deck 9, so we stayed there for a long time. A couple of ladies wandered by, drunk, and we ended up making friends with them, even though one of them told us all about her boobs and the other was from California. (We named them Droopy and Shingles.) We decided to all go to the bar together; the ladies were kind of annoying, but there seemed to be no shaking them at that point. My favorite moment was when I was pondering the drink menu and Shingles yelled, “Have you had an orgasm??” Well, yes! Thanks for asking.

They told us all about how they’d met the performers for next evening’s show (Anthony and William), and how they were the cutest ever, blah blah blah. Wendy and I discussed this quietly at the bar, and when I asked her again who the guys were, she told me it was Carmelo Anthony and A.I.. We then invented the Melotini, which made absolute sense right at that moment:

• 1 part Kahlua
• 1 part Creme de Menthe
• 1 part Grey Goose
• optional float of Hpnotiq

Try it. You’ll love it.

We went down to the main lobby bar, but it was annoyingly crowded with art sale displays and loud people. We returned to Casanova, then went to Isolabella, the pimp bar on the 1st deck. There were a few more people there this time, thankfully, and the server remembered us. Wendy and I decided that Carmelo Anthony was arriving for his performance on a mini-submarine, so we sat there waiting for him. She tried texting him on her Blueberry, but to no avail. Stupid Melo.

We left after a while and went back to Casanova, where the band was playing Italian songs for a large, drunk group of Romans. Old guys kept hopping up on stage to sing ‘Arrivederci, Roma’. It was awesome. And then, Casanova was closing! We’d never seen that happen before! I’m pretty sure that means we won, and it definitely meant it was time for bed.

Monday was our first full day at sea, on the way to Grand Cayman. We got up at 9:30, sat on the balcony watching the Disney ship racing us, then had breakfast. After that, it was time for Arts & Crafts class. Beautiful necklaces!

actually, i made an anklet.

After making ourselves some gorgeous jewelry, we went to go sit on deck in the sun and read. We had cocktails and chillaxed. Matt read his book upside down.

Around 2pm, we headed to the restaurant for Wendy’s favorite lunch ever: Mexican buffet!

Full of tacos and carrying drinks, we went to the disco for Italian lessons. They taught us the basics like ‘buon giorno’ and ‘buona sera, comandante!’ We also learned to count, which came in useful in the elevators, where every floor was announced in Italian. Our cabin was on ponte sei.

Completely exhausted from class (ha), we went to have meat locker time from 3-4:30. Then it was time for SuperQuiz!

We lost to the Germans, dammit.

We hung out in the card room playing canasta and hearts, and then it was time to go get ready for formal night, or as Wendy calls it, Fancypants Dinner. We found this guy in our room, wearing Matt’s sunglasses:

We headed to dinner, where there was another bottle of champagne awaiting us. I don’t remember what we ate at all, but I know it was fantastic; Wendy and I thought the food in the dining room was good but not spectacular last time, but it had definitely improved. Their risotto was incredible.

We decided to keep our fancy pants on (or dress, in my case) for a bit and go to the bar. We met Pete, and Cindi tried to get him to teach us to swear in Italian, since obviously we already knew how to say everything else. He pointed out the captain, sitting right behind us, and told us to come back later and he would. Pete ruled. He also told us that the ship did indeed have a brig, but generally only staff ended up there. I want to know more.

We went to our cabins to change back to normal clothes, then went to the Dionisio Lounge on deck 3. We were telling the bartender about how we learned Italian earlier, and Wendy started counting out loud. Instead of ‘nove’, she yelled ‘NINER!’ He started giggling hysterically, and thereafter became known as Niner. He told us, “you guys must be a lot of fun at the bar!”

Cindi decided she needed to drink Disaronno on the rocks (thereby earning her a new nickname as well), and became very chatty with a German couple at the bar. We overheard her saying, “Cindi is a pretty American name!” She was on a roll, and I have a napkin scribbled full of her quotes.

We went back to the cabin around 12:30, entertained ourselves in various ways, and then passed out. We had a date with stingrays in the morning!

Tuesday, another sunrise! This time in the Cayman Islands.

We had breakfast on deck, watching the ship pull into port. We got down to the Osiris Theatre right away, and ended up with tickets on the first tender boat. Cindi wasn’t feeling well and didn’t want to go to Stingray Sandbar, so she decided to stay on ship and meet us later.

We arrived in George Town, Grand Cayman, around 8:30am. The stores were just opening, so we shopped for souvenirs and postcards. We got coffee next door and sat outside, writing to the suckers back home.

On the way to the post office, we found a bank that dispensed cash in American and Caymanian dollars. I got out $20CI (about $30US) and we went to buy stamps. We split up the remaining cash for souvenirs. We then stopped into another store to look at the duty free liquor, and I nearly died when I saw Big Black Dick Rum. Of course I needed some of that, but they were unable to sell it to us because of duty-free laws: it has to be delivered to the ship directly, and the ship needs to contract with the store. They only had it duty-free, too, so I couldn’t just carry it onto the boat just like I always did with my contraband liquor. SIGH.

big black dick

We wandered around the duty-free mall with the rest of the cruise passengers, noted the location of Señor Frogs for later, then went over to the Tortuga Rum store. They had regular and duty-free booze, so I figured I’d just buy the regular stuff. That is, until we looked at the prices for duty-free. It was all ridiculously cheap, and they had stuff I hadn’t seen in the US.

Duty-free shopping: I have finally seen the light. We made a note of what we needed and headed back to the dock to catch our shuttle to the stingrays.

We met up with the excursion and walked to the shuttle buses. It drove us up and across the island to the North Sound, where we boarded a boat after much confusion amongst the shuttle drivers. We climbed up on top at the front, and we headed out toward Stingray Sandbar. The waves were splashing us way up there and our stuff was soaked, but we didn’t care. It was warm out, and there were stingrays waiting to see us!

heading into the north sound

i love the color of the water.

stingray sandbar

As we dropped anchor, we could see stingrays swimming all over the place. There were 4 or 5 other boats there already, and a bunch of people swimming. In places, the water was only knee-deep. We got some barely-audible instructions about not scaring stingrays lest they kill you, and then we climbed down the steps into the water. It was officially the best day of all time.

they know there’s squid in that bag.

stingray rubbing on wendy’s butt

The photographer told us that kissing a stingray was good luck, so they’d hold one up for us while she took our picture kissing it. I couldn’t have cared less whether that was true or not, I just wanted to kiss a stingray! When I told the guy that, he said, “OK! I’m a stingray!”

old couple kissing a stingray

They had a bag of squid to feed them, so the stingrays were freaking out about the food. They kept rubbing up against us with their wings. I’d be trying to touch one of them, and another would rub up against my butt. Consequently, there was a LOT of screaming and hysterical laughter going on at Stingray Sandbar. It was fantastic. (Here’s a video!)

So was the water. There were huge waves crashing over the sandbar, so it was nearly impossible to stand up. We swam out a little ways and bobbed around, jumping over waves so they wouldn’t knock us down. It took me far too long to learn that I needed to maybe not stand with my back to them, because I kept falling over.

Wendy showed me how to hold a squid (by the EYES), and tuck my thumb in so a stingray wouldn’t suck my hand into his mouth. I wasn’t freaked out by feeding them, but I was not pleased about holding a squid.

wendy holding a stingray

They had snorkel gear on the boat, but it seemed kind of unnecessary. Next time, I’d like to snorkel just so I know what I’m taking pictures of underwater.

Our visit with the stingrays was over way too soon. Sigh.

We were mostly dry by the time we got back to the shuttle buses, so we decided it was unnecessary to go back to the ship to change. We hoped Cindi was there waiting at the appointed spot. Matt and I ended up on a different bus than Wendy and Jumi, and it was clearly the good one: the driver sang to us the whole way back. He got applause after every song, and by the time we arrived in George Town, we were all singing Day-O together. It was awesome.

We went back to the Tortuga store to get rum cakes for the people back home, and place our duty-free order. Matt and I got 18-year Tortuga Rum in a barrel, Flor de Caña Centenario 12-Year, and cachaca so we could make caipirinhas at home. My entire order, including rum cakes and other souvenirs, was $90. SCORE.

While we were checking out, a girl came running in to see if it was too late to place an order. Her ship was leaving at 2:30, which was past the cutoff for their delivery. She proceeded to have a tantrum in the store, to the embarrassment of her friends. Seriously.

Jumi decided to go back to the ship to find Cindi, and Matt and Wendy and I headed off to find the British grocery store. It was nowhere to be found, so we stopped at a convenience store to hunt for things like Lucozade and Go Ahead (the snack from the Bahamas that I’ll be seeking everywhere I go for the rest of my life). Then we headed to Señor Frogs for lunch, and to get started on Cindi’s primary goal of the cruise: to drink a first down. Since she was sick and 10 yards would definitely kill a person anyway, we decided to help.

Our server’s name was Jesus. We ordered yards and food, then decided we needed to do a shot, too (it’s tradition, started way back in Puerto Rico!). We asked him what he preferred. He said, “I like blowjobs!”

wendy looking for cindi and jumi from señor frogs’ balcony

We ate lunch, and Cindi and Jumi finally showed up. They had given us beads before, but when Jesus brought them for the other two, we pretended like we never got any. He brought us all one of each color. We were very proud of our beautiful necklaces.

We had 9 yards in Grand Cayman, which meant we were at 2nd and 1 in Cozumel. Not a problem. When we asked for the tab, Jesus also brought us a round of free shots. They were blue, which scared me. But we all survived, far better than we did the tab, which was in Caymanian dollars, with the US total at the end. Challenge: drink 2 shots and 2 yards and then figure out who owes what. It wasn’t pretty.

We had to hurry back to the dock to catch the tender, and were only sure we made it once we saw the line. We wanted to be on the last one, but had to settle for second-to-last. There was a sign at the gate telling us that we were not allowed to bring weapons on the ship, and it was very explicit. Some of the weapons included sharpened sticks, coshes, and knuckle dusters. This held no end of fascination for us.

On the tender boat, we may have been a little raucous; the dudes in front of us were really amused until Wendy accidentally shouted “CLAPPY PENIS!” It was her special code name for caipirinhas, apparently. As we got back on the ship, we passed a wall lined with Tortuga Rum boxes. Hell yes.

We returned to our cabin to shower off the stingrays and have the best meat locker time ever. We awoke again at 7, and I called the other cabin to see if they were awake. Cindi answered, then hung up on me. Wendy called back shortly afterward. We got dressed and went down to their cabin to partake in Fuzzy Tang (Peachtree and Tang); I had my own version with rum and sugar-free tang in an empty Lucozade bottle.

We got food from the buffet, ate on deck, then went downstairs to the card room to play Oh Hell and Slappy (otherwise known as Egyptian Whiskey Rat Fuck).

Once the show started in Casanova, we went over there to watch. It was Italian night, so the competition was for Mr. Pizza. They had to do things like throw dough around, ‘dance sexy’, and sing ‘O Sole Mio’. The winner was a hysterical old guy from Long Island. Every time we saw him after that, he was wearing his Mr. Pizza sash.

After Mr Pizza, we headed to the club. There was much better hiphop playing (instead of crappy Eurodisco), and slightly more dancing. One of our favorite servers, Jones (his real name was Irwin, I think), was working there. Whenever he brought us receipts to sign, he was using a light-up pen, and this was immensely fascinating. There was a lot of dancing, and I really really did NOT want to leave. But it was 2am, and we had a date with a beach in Honduras the next morning.

Wednesday morning, we got to sleep in. We had gained an hour overnight, and our excursion didn’t leave til 11. I was too excited about being in Honduras, though (my first visit to Central America!), so I got up at 8, showered, put on my bathing suit and sarong, and sat out on the balcony, staring at the mountains off in the distance. We were going to Roatan, an island off the coast of Honduras, but you could see the mainland from the ship.

Roatan didn’t have its own tender service, so we got to ride in the lifeboats. The whole way there, Wendy and Matt and I giggled about hopping on the Royal Caribbean ship and stealing rolls for the Costa staff to eat. It’s a long story that’s probably only funny to us. Pulling up to the dock, we went right under the bow of the other ship.

The port area in Coxen Hole consists of a giant tent full of vendors, a bar, and a parking lot full of shuttle buses. We were really hoping to get on the Jesus shuttle, but we ended up on a school bus instead. We all got wristbands for Tabyana Beach, and we were off.

We drove along the coast down toward the West End. The homes outside the little port area were as expected: ramshackle buildings on stilts, with laundry hanging all over the place. It wasn’t actually as depressed as I’d have expected, but the whole island is really resort-oriented.

We headed uphill through the interior of the island, and the bus ride all of a sudden became a roller coaster. The bus would come up on a tight curve slowly, the driver would try to peer around the corner, then he’d sound his horn (which was modified to be a LOT louder), and go tearing off. We went up and down really steep hills at alarming speed; I think the bus just needed the momentum to even keep going. It was awesome.

At the top of a big hill, the driver stopped to let cars pass. The view was amazing, and reminded me of Maui.

We passed through the shops and restaurants in the West End, and arrived at Tabyana Beach around noon. I was so excited, I wanted to climb out the window rather than wait for everyone to get off the bus.

We had to stand around and wait for an attendant to get beach chairs for us, but that was fine because there was a bar right there on the beach. I’m considering that as a career option, actually.

Once our chairs arrived, I took time only to throw my bag and towel on one of them, and take off my shirt and shorts. I couldn’t get the in ocean fast enough.

Wendy and I agree that the day we spent on the beach in the Dominican Republic was one of our favorite days ever, so we couldn’t wait to repeat it. This time, though, there weren’t even tiny jellyfish in the water. It was absolutely perfect, and we were even allowed to bring our drinks into the ocean.

We spent a lot of time just bobbing around talking. We practiced wrestling moves, and I killed Cindi like an alligator. I attached myself to Matt in ways that would otherwise have been inappropriate in public. We took off our bathing suits and held them overhead just like I did in the DR. When we ran out of beverages, Cindi yelled, “WALTER!!!” and our server waded out into the water to take our orders. I could maybe live in Roatan.

After a while, we decided to take a break from chilling in the ocean, and go visit the souvenir shop. I’m pretty sure everything in the entire place cost $2, except for the coffee Matt got, which was $6.

The reef is only about 50 feet from the beach there, so we’d thought about renting snorkels. They were $10 each, whereas a kayak was $15. I was nervous about it, because I figured we’d flip over or something. Matt promised we wouldn’t, so we rented a 2-person kayak and set off to see the reef.

Holy crap, it was amazing. I loved it far more than canoeing, and it felt even more steady. In places, we were only a few inches above the reef. I stuck my camera underwater and took pictures.

We returned the kayak with about an hour left at Tabyana Beach. We ran back into the ocean, and it was there that Wendy and Matt and I invented SEAPOUND. It’s not as dirty as it sounds.

wendy doesn’t want to leave

accomplishment!

We got out of the water with enough time to catch one of the last buses. SIGH.

sometimes after a few cocktails, drinking 2 beers at the same time seems like an awesome idea.

wife guard!

have i mentioned that i’m madly in love with this boy? because i am.

We took the rollercoaster bus back to the port, and had a small amount of time to check out the shops in Coxen Hole. We headed into a big building full of little market stalls, and picked up a few more souvenirs. I’d have liked more time to see the town, but that’s good reason to return!

We tendered back to the ship and had some quality meat-locker time til about 7pm, then went to the card room to play Oh Hell. Jones came by and showed us a card trick; it was pretty much the cutest thing ever. We then headed to dinner in the restaurant, and they’d outdone themselves.

I had a fruit salad, a fruit soup that tasted like pina colada, a salad with balsamic vinegar, and a risotto cake with sweet potatoes, cranberries, almonds, and dandelion greens. Everything was amazing. In the middle of dinner, the staff started marching around, and a group of waiters went up to the balcony for SEXY DANCING. So funny.

After dinner, we went to find Pete. He was just waiting to teach us dirty words in Italian.

pete’s italian lessons

Our favorite was vafanculo, the Italian equivalent of ‘fuck off’. When Cindi asked him how to say ‘blowjob’, he told us he’d need to go consult the magazine in his cabin. While we were sitting there, Jones came by to tell us the disco was open, in case we didn’t know!

We didn’t want to go to the disco that early, so we went upstairs to see Niner. There was a guy on the violin accompanying a pianist, and a few people sitting there watching. After a while, we realized everyone was gone, and the two musicians were practicing together. We wanted to take credit for clearing the place out. Also, Jumi got lei’d!

We headed down to the disco, where people were actually dancing for once. We met Rob, Chris, and Barbara (known as Jersey and his crew). Jersey requested the Cha Cha Slide (you probably know this as the ‘everybody clap your hands!’ song), and knew the whole dance routine. By the end of the cruise, we’d seen him do it multiple times, and now the image of a ponytail boy from New Jersey dancing a stiff cha-cha is conjured every time I’m at a basketball game.

Wendy was doing her best to make sure we drank every single beverage on the drink menu, so she stole a sip of Chris’ Budweiser. I was dancing barefoot, and Disco Selva had officially become the Gay 90s. We even had lemon drops. When Soulja Boy came on, we all went out and danced, following the Helper Monkey’s lead. Arsenal and Man U were upstairs watching, but refused to come downstairs and dance.

We left around 2:30, knowing it was going to hurt the next morning.

Thursday morning arrived far too early. I got up early, showered, and then went right back to bed. We finally got up about 9:30, and told Wendy, Cindi and Jumi that we’d meet them for the excursion at 11. We had breakfast overlooking Cozumel, and noted with some excitement that we were docked right at Señor Frogs.

We got off the boat, and followed the path into town. It requires navigating a mall built expressly for cruise ship patrons, presumably for those too scared to actually enter MEXICO. Haha. We decided to walk down to the giant Mexican flag, and scope out some of the shops.

this never ceased to amuse me.

We stopped into Cozumel Mart (yes, it’s really called that) and I bought the largest bottle of Evian I could find. Between the hangover and the humidity, I was considering laying down on the side of the road and dying. I drank all my water as we headed back to the dock to meet our excursion shuttle, and I soon determined that the heat was a huge plus, re: sweating off the ickiness. I felt totally fine by the time we headed to the bus.

Another girl on our excursion was not so lucky: she had to have them pull the bus over so she could get out and throw up on the side of the road. We’d seen her at the disco the night before. She looked to be in really rough shape.

Our tour leader was James, and he was awesome. He quizzed us about our knowledge of Spanish (“Do you know tequila? Margarita? Dos Equis? Burrito?”) and introduced the driver as Speedy Gonzales. He told us it was a half-hour drive to San Gervasio, but that Speedy would make it in 20 minutes. He was correct!

San Gervasio is a national park containing Mayan ruins, though the site we were visiting was private lands adjoining the area. I was excited to see the ruins, but let’s not pretend: we were really there to ride ATVs. The history was just a bonus.

We sat and watched a safety video, learned how to shift gears on our ATVs, and then they handed out bandanas to wear under our awesome helmets. I also saw a dude carrying a tiny monkey curled in his hand. SO CUTE.

I’d read up on the ATV tour, and people recommended bringing a second bandana to wear over your face, because the trails are really dusty. However, it had just rained, so that wasn’t a problem. We got mud instead!

We drove down the main paths, and got up some decent speed on our ATVs. I loved it a lot. Then we turned off into side-paths, which were all huge rocks and pits full of water. At times, it seemed like we were riding through rivers. Our legs and feet were drenched in muddy water. It was awesome, even though occasionally I felt like my ATV was going to tip over. Matt said I’d be more likely to slide off the seat, so I started worrying about that instead.

We arrived at a temple that was used as an observatory. One of the guides explained the Mayan calendar, which ends in 2012, and covered a bunch of popular end-of-the-world mythology. He also explained that the Mayans were very short, smart, and cute, just like him.

at the observatory

drawing the mayan calendar

dirty feet

my ATV

at the gravesites

The next site we visited was a series of tombs. They said that the main tomb (and the only one that had been excavated) contained a Mayan king wearing a jade mask, which was now in the national museum in Mexico City. The other gravesites were the members of his family, who were all killed when he died, in accordance with Mayan tradition.

tombs

We finished our ride around 2pm, and I was impressed we actually got to spend so much time riding the ATVs. Half of us had blisters on our hands from holding on, and we were all covered in mud. My Adidas were full of water, and made a squishing sound when I walked. Thankfully, I’d brought flipflops in my bag, so I took off my sneakers and carried them instead. They were gross. If you take this excursion and it’s rained recently, don’t wear shoes you want to keep!

happy goats

our atv photos (jumi bought them)

The shuttle took us back into Cozumel, stopping again to let the girl puke on the street. We walked back down to Cozumel Mart to buy tacky souvenirs, because it seemed to have all those bases covered. We even picked up a bottle of absinthe for $11, and a big mesh bag to carry my muddy shoes in. We were an interesting sight, all covered in dirt and wearing matching bandanas.

Once shopping was accomplished, it was time for the important stuff: Señor Frogs. We were still two yards shy of a first down.

The place was in good form despite being mostly empty. There were two women from our ship being pretend-gangbanged by the servers. Everyone was wearing balloon hats. Also, in the women’s room, there’s a drawing of a dude with a flap over his parts; when you lift the flap, an alarm goes off in the bar. I had to do that more than once because it reminded me of the Safe House.

the view from señor frogs!

DIRTY LEGS

my atv blister!

We had yards and food (only half of which we could eat), and Cindi learned dirty words from the server boys (such as ‘chupa mi pito!’). We had a Minneapolis moment when Prince’s When Doves Cry came on (and I was surprised to realize I know all the words). Once we finished eating, Matt and I made a beeline for the swinging bar stools. Could there possibly be a better idea than that?

We hung out on the swings once the tab was settled and Cindi and Jumi headed off to go shopping and return to the ship. Cindi returned a little while later, handed the bartender (Humberto) a 500-peso bill, and asked, “what kind of shot can I get with this?” He brought her Cuervo. GAG.

Matt and Wendy and I had better-quality tequila, talked to the bartender about Mexican futbol (the local teams are the Orioles de Cozumel and the Hurricanes de Cancun) , and spent far too much time messing with Wendy’s balloon hat. That’s because it was a giant green penis complete with balls and, uh, a white string hanging off the end.

We waited til the last possible moment, then headed for the ship. We could see it from where we were sitting, and were pretty much experts at arriving there late anyway. We learned that in the Bahamas. And St Thomas. And maybe Puerto Rico; I don’t exactly remember that.

sunset in cozumel

wendy’s italian friend with the awesome hair (in the balloon hat)

this picture sums up the cruise:
wendy holding a yard and penis balloon, yelling “I LOVE AMERICA!!!” in front of the coast guard ship.

my bag full of yard glasses, filthy shoes, and awesome souvenirs

Re-boarding the ship, they didn’t even bother putting my bag through the scanner, because the yard glasses would’ve spilled all over the place. To those of you who are warned repeatedly about sneaking liquor and other contraband onto cruise ships: I’ve heard they’ll confiscate it on other boats, but Costa couldn’t care less. I guess that means you should probably just take Costa cruises from now on. You’ll love it, I promise.

I washed my shoes out in the shower, and couldn’t believe how dirty they were. I stuck the showerhead inside them and let it run for a long time, but the water never came out clear. We put our shoes out on the balcony, hoping they’d dry in the sun. Matt also took a picture of me standing naked on the balcony, but that will thankfully not be posted on this here internet. Nobody saw me but him and the pilot boat! I hope.

matt’s shoes

Cindi called me with a quote from Wendy: “Write this in your little notebook! I’m dirty and drunk and I have a big green dick!” Wendy then apparently got in the shower, singing to herself and laughing the whole time. We showered and sat outside in towels, watching the sun set. Once it was dark, we had a very important life goal to achieve: gettin’ it on on the balcony of a cruise ship, overlooking the ocean. Rating: A+++ WOULD DO AGAIN.

We had meat locker time til 8:30, then got up to eat. Everything was closed but the pizza station, where we learned a little-known fact: instead of picking up whatever they have at the buffet, you can order your own pizza. They were way better than the buffet stuff, too. We had dessert out on the back deck, which is where we found Jumi. She said that Cindi and Wendy were still sleeping. We went down to the card room to play Phase 10.

The show in Casanova started at 11, and it was called “Rock ‘n Roll Couple.” It was in the style of all the previous shows, with dancing and goofy games. My favorite part was when they had the balloon game we’d seen last time as part of Sexy Games. I was sad that Wendy missed it, but she and Cindi seemed really, really dedicated to sleeping. And we couldn’t really argue with that, since we were all worn out. Though it was Sexy Night at the disco, we decided to pass and head to bed. Because of the time change, it was already 2am anyway.

Friday we got up early, even though we didn’t really have to, because it was a day at sea. We watched the documentary about how the ship runs, then sat out on the balcony reading and watching the ocean. It was kind of hard to wrap our heads around the fact that the cruise was almost over.

our cabin!

We had breakfast, then went up to see the ship 3-Day in progress. We’d intended to participate (they were walking a mile around the track), but most of us had lost our shoes in the Great Mexican Jungle Adventure of Aught-Eight.

We decided to go swimming. I’d never been in the pool on the ship! I didn’t realize it’d be salt water. Also, the thing about putting a bunch of us in a swimming pool together is that we turn into 10-year-olds. It’s kind of spectacular.

We got out of the pool after a while, and sat on the deck nearby playing hearts. I actually won for once!

We went to the cabin to change, and found our togas there waiting for us. When we left the cabin, we found Wendy there waiting to scare us. It worked.

We decided to go take a tour of the parts of the ship the rest of the group hadn’t seen before, and also go to the gift shop, since we hadn’t gotten there yet. They didn’t seem to mind that we were carrying drinks. Also, I got INFLATABLE SHIPS FOR $4. Plus my frequent-cruiser discount!

We visited the Roero Bar (otherwise known as ‘the bar where we took naps on the last cruise’), the chapel, and the arcade. Through the arcade windows, we discovered a secret deck for the crew! With a hot tub!

the arcade

crew deck!

“uh, where’d you last see it?”

armonia pool

dear cindi: who toasts with coffee??

At 3:30, Matt and I went to merengue lessons. The teacher was fantastic. He taught us a bunch of moves, one which he just called ‘sexy, sexy, sexy, sexy’. You circle your finger around your head as you turn around in a sexy, sexy, sexy, sexy way.

dance lessons on deck

We went down to the cabin to drop all our stuff off, then headed back up to find everyone else. They were nowhere to be found, but we did manage to wander into teatime. They had tiny sandwiches and everything. We hung out watching the next dance lesson (we’d have participated, but we arrived late), then went to hang out at the pool bar.

the special of the day

We went down to their cabin to see if they’d come back, and found the cabin steward, Towel, in there instead. I think we scared him. We finally located Jumi out on the back deck, then Wendy and Cindi up on deck 10. We went to go play shuffleboard, but were interrupted when we found soccer balls by the basketball court. We played 2-on-2 futbol, to the amusement of the staff, until I tripped and skinned my knee. We then switched to shuffleboard, a sport which requires no running or falling down.

After sunset (sigh), we went to our cabins to change clothes and pack. You have to have your suitcases in the hallway by 1am the night before docking in Fort Lauderdale, which means you have to put any clothes and toiletries you need in your carry-on bag and haul it around with you in the morning.

I’d brought a spare duffel bag, and was glad I had it. All my dirty laundry went in that, and the well-packed souvenirs took up much of my suitcase. Once we’d finished packing, we put on our togas. I love toga night!

best dress code ever.

Wendy, Cindi, and Jumi came to our cabin before we headed to dinner. Wendy still had her giant green penis. We left it behind for Rocque.

jumi is duly horrified.

We did the toga chant going downstairs, a la Animal House. Also, we still had a spare bottle of champagne, so we brought it up to dinner with us. Wendy was embarrassed about carrying it, so she hid it in a drink menu. Not the drink menu she eventually stole, unfortunately.

We were a little early to dinner, so we sat there hassling people who weren’t wearing togas. Some people had even brought their own togas and toga-related accessories from home. It was awesome. At least half the people at dinner were dressed up. The rest of them just didn’t get it.

We also had a very long talk with Mr. Pizza and his wife, Maxine.

Mark Boney exchanged our warm champagne for a cold bottle, and poured it for us. Dinner that night was spectacular. (Below is a picture of the best thing I’ve ever eaten. Seriously.) I also had soup that tasted like Creamsicle, bread with balsamic vinegar and olive oil, and spinach flan. I have no idea how people manage to eat all 6 courses at dinner!

bleu cheese mousse with pickled onions and raisins

After dinner, we went to the Osiris Theatre for the passenger talent show. We’d seen it last time and there were really funny moments, but overall it was way too long. We were excited to find out that there were only 5 performances, and all of them were pretty good. There was a trio of sisters singing a Miami Sound Machine song, an Quebecois guy singing ‘You are my Sunshine’ in French and English, a lady singing a Flemish song, and Ukelele hero.

A guy named Klaus got on stage and told us how he’d been on back-to-back cruises. Last time, he’d dedicated his performance to his fiancee. This time, he was dedicating it to the awesome crew. It made me sniffly. Sadly, though, nobody got sent to the lions.

We changed out of our togas, put our bags in the hallway, then went to make the rounds of all of our favorite staffpeople. Pete was nowhere to be found in his bar, so we asked another server named Arsenio. He told us Pete had jumped overboard. Then Pete appeared and told us that he was a fast swimmer. Arsenio took our picture together, and then a photo of the old Italian guys at the next table imitating our rock hands. It was hysterical.

Sadly, we couldn’t find Niner anywhere, so we headed to the disco for Bye-Bye Disco Time. SAD!

We danced to Biggie and Tupac, and of course Jersey was there requesting the Cha-Cha Slide and Soulja Boy. The place was pretty much empty by then, but that didn’t stop us from Crankin’ Dat. I can only do half of it, but I’m fine with that.

We talked to Jones for a long time, and Wendy, Cindi, and Jumi took off at various times to go sleep. We discovered that the bartenders were unable to light shots on fire, and that made me love Rodrigo and Casanova even more, for allowing Wendy to almost burn up the ship. I want to believe they have that rule now because of her.

Jones hugged us goodbye, and we went to our cabin around 1:30. Then it was time for a fashion show, but that part is none of your business.

Saturday morning, the alarm went off at 6:30am. That hurt a lot. We got up, showered, and packed our carry-on bags. I attempted to dry my still-wet sneakers with the blowdryer, with little success. I shoved them in the bottom of my bag with a pair of socks, because the only other footwear I had was flipflops. It was -10 degrees in Minneapolis.

We had our last breakfast (gruel and a croissant with cheese, my favorite) on the back deck. The ship was already docked in Fort Lauderdale. General disembarkation wasn’t til 8:45, so we went down to sit in the Napping Bar. We were all sprawled on chairs, trying not to doze off.

From the ship, we went to passport control. There was a long line, but the officer was just looking at photos and letting people through. We picked up our suitcases, reorganized, and then stood in line for customs. Even though I knew they never checked anything at the cruise ports, I was still nervous. I was over the limit for alcohol, didn’t have my duty-free receipt accessible, and had absinthe, which was only recently made legal in the US. The customs lady took my slip and said ‘thank you’. I was almost disappointed at not having done something really illegal.

We stood at the cab stand forever, because there was much cab-related drama. We finally got two cabs to the airport. I paged through the little advertising magazine, and found the address for Coyote Ugly downtown, plus coupons for free shots. SCORE.

We were expecting airport horror like we’d experienced last time, but it didn’t seem too bad. Cindi and Jumi had an earlier flight, so they went to check in. Matt and Wendy and I were in search of a place to store our bags; we were finally directed to the baggage service downstairs, where they’ll store it for $5 a bag. We then headed to the cab stand, because our flight wasn’t til 4:30.

On the way to the cabs, we had a thought: a cab cost about $50 round-trip to downtown. Couldn’t we rent a car for less than that? We decided to go to the rental car building to find out. Thrifty told us it’d be $50 plus tax; E-Z said it’d be $30. We were set.

We picked up Disposo, our Nissan Versa (we decided what we really needed was a disposable car that we could just set on fire when we were done with it), and were soon on our way to Fort Lauderdale. Disposo was SEXY. Also, while checking him for damage at the rental pickup, we noticed scratches on the hood. Clearly, someone had already slid across it in a getaway attempt. The rental guy didn’t think this was half as funny as I did.

We found Coyote Ugly pretty quickly, but then realized it didn’t open til noon. We set off in search of food. There were a ton of restaurants in the area, but none of them were open. Some didn’t even start serving til 5pm. We were getting desperate! Finally, we happened upon the Las Olas Riverfront, and there was a sign for the Metro Cafe, advertising brunch. We rushed there and got a table. They weren’t actually serving brunch, but we didn’t care.

I think I drank an entire gallon of Diet Coke. Costa doesn’t really have pop, except as a mixer. Also, we had pizzas, even though we’d just gotten off an Italian ship.

After lunch, we walked along the riverfront to see the water taxis and all the people waiting in line for boring cruises. Then we headed back toward Coyote Ugly, because it had just opened. There was only one other dude in there, already sitting at the bar.

I tried to order a mojito, not really knowing the deal with Coyote Ugly. The bartender said, “No, that’s gay.” Wendy ordered a vodka sour, and he wouldn’t give that to her, either. Apparently a vodka-cranberry is less gay, because he allowed her to have that. I got a Jack and diet. He gave us and the female bartender shit constantly. We loved him a lot.

We redeemed our taxi-cab shot coupons (we had no choice, he just poured us Sammy Hagar’s tequila), and he gave me one even though I told him I had to drive us back to the airport. When Wendy and Matt ordered another round, it became apparent that their drink pricing was totally random. We talked to the girl bartender for a long time, then asked her if they had souvenirs. She unlocked the other side of the bar, and we came away with a lot of stuff, including an awesome sticker for Cindi (whose idea it originally was to go there), and underpants that read MONEY MAKER on the ass. I was a fan.

We left there somewhat sadly, and hopped in Disposo to take the long route back to the airport, via the A1A. Have I mentioned that Wendy loves Vanilla Ice? She had to see it. And, surprisingly, it made me actually want to spend time in Fort Lauderdale. The beaches were nothing like in the Caribbean, but they were still pretty awesome.

We arrived back at E-Z Rental Car, blasting Big Pimpin’ by Jay-Z. We did not light Disposo on fire, but we should have. We picked up our bags, checked in (there was NO line at check-in; last time we were there, we stood there for 3 hours), rushed through security, and found Cindi and Jumi still sitting at the gate, looking very frustrated. We’d had lunch, seen the beach, and hung out at a bar, while they’d been sitting at the airport all morning, waiting for a tiny plane.

We sat on the floor playing Phase 10 and laughing uncontrollably, much to the consternation of the women sitting nearby. To deal with the issue of the -10 degree temperatures in Minneapolis, and the fact that I had flipflops and Wendy was wearing shorts, we brainstormed solutions.

WILL SMILE FOR PANTS

Besides pants-panhandling, we devised the pants exchange program. Say you’re flying to Florida from Minnesota in January, just as we did. The second you get to Florida, all you want to do is remove your pants and change to shorts. (I solved this problem by carrying flipflops and wearing convertible capris, but not everyone is so innovative.) On the other hand, if you’re returning to Minnesota from Florida, you hardly want to wear pants to the airport when it’s still 85 degrees, and yet you’re going to freeze your ass off when you land.

Solution: the PANTS EXCHANGE BOOTH. Leave your pants when you get there, and someone else can wear them home. This, we believe, is a fantastic business opportunity.

We’d found out at check-in that our flight was overbooked, and they were asking people to volunteer to be bumped to the next day. Had we found this out as soon as we’d gotten there that morning, we’d probably have taken the offer. As it was, we’d already rented and returned a car, and we were tired and wanted to go home. But we’d still probably have done it for a price, so we drafted a list of demands in case they should ask us again:

I think the best part of that list is that they’re all inside jokes we’d come up with over the past week (some of them that morning), and that nobody else in the world would understand. I’d write out the explanations so I’d remember, but you’d just think we were nuts.

They boarded the flight early, and we all passed out shortly after takeoff. This was remarkable, because I never sleep on planes. I kept waking up because of the turbulence and the fact that the captain wouldn’t shut up. We must’ve slept for at least an hour, though, because we got to Memphis really quickly. I started to notice, too, that every time I opened my bag, it smelled really bad. As in, jungle shoes bad.

We had about an hour and a half layover in Memphis, and our priorities were 1) pants and shoes, and 2) dinner. Wendy and I checked all the stores, and nobody had either of the former, though we did find pajama bottoms with flowers that she refused to buy. We checked all the restaurants, and I’d forgotten that the south doesn’t really know the word ‘vegetarian’. We finally settled on the fast food counter, and I had pizza. Again. I didn’t care. Also, my bag had begun smelling so bad from the shoes that I had to have people stand back when I opened it, and I’d hold my breath. There was no way I was going to be able to put those shoes on for the flight.

I called my mom from the gate, and told her of our shoes-and-pants predicament. When we landed in Minneapolis, she met us at the baggage claim with slip-on shoes for me, and pajama bottoms and a comforter for Wendy. Claudia rules.

And it was indeed -10 in Minneapolis that night. Ouch.

Matt and I arrived at the airport around 2pm, cleared security, and paid a visit to Granddaddy’s Bar, a tradition that makes every flight more tolerable. We giggled at Skymall for three hours, and arrived at Sea-Tac around 6pm. Steve and Colleen were waiting to sweep us away to their apartment overlooking downtown Seattle.

seaplanes fly very close to their rooftop.

We had cocktails on the roof of their building, then headed to Mama’s Mexican Kitchen for dinner. We dined in the Elvis room in back.

We went to a bar called Shorty’s for drinks and pinball, then hung out in the back room for a while because it had the awesomest bar stools I’d ever seen. We couldn’t even sit in them because they were full, but even looking at them was way too exciting. Our bar will definitely have pimp chairs such as those.

We moved along to the NiteLite, a place that was disturbingly empty for a bar around midnight, but they had cheap drinks and a standalone naked ladies game I couldn’t figure out how to play. We had a round of shots and Long Islands, and when Steve went back for another round, he was denied. The old lady behind the bar told him there was a limit of one per person (even though they’d given him another, just not an entire round). He told me that I should try to get others at the bar, but we were denied again. Incensed that we’d been cut off (and not even from drinking, just from one beverage in particular), we decided to go elsewhere.

Elsewhere was the Whisky Bar, mostly because we liked the name. We did not indulge, thankfully (Matt and I had water), and we had some discussion about the fact they were playing Bon Jovi’s Runaway, although we don’t remember what we were debating, exactly.

We decided to take the bus home, except it never really worked out that way. We definitely stood at the bus stop for a while, then started walking. Eventually, Matt and Colleen became trapped in a cabinet we found outside a restaurant.

After that, we ran though sprinklers outside a building, and all ended up with very wet pants. Which is not terribly comfortable when you still have several blocks to walk, dudes. Remember that.

Saturday morning, we went down to Bumbershoot to pick up mainstage tickets, then visited the Space Needle. Matt and I had been there before, but Colleen and Steve hadn’t.

Steve and Colleen had to run home briefly, so Matt and I bought half the inventory in the gift shop and then went and laid in the grass underneath it. It was gorgeous outside, and I could’ve stayed there all day.

We had lunch at the Mecca Cafe (where Steve ordered french toast and a gimlet), then walked back to their apartment to hang out for a while.

Later in the evening, we went back down to Seattle Center to see Gogol Bordello’s set. I hadn’t seen them before, and loved it. Afterward, we headed back toward Steve and Colleen’s place, to a bar called Paddy Coyne’s. They didn’t know of the wonder of the Johnny Jump-Up, so we were only happy to spread the love to the city of Seattle.

Sunday morning, we took the monorail down to the market.

colleen and steve

We had brunch at the Athenian Inn, an old restaurant inside the market, and then wandered around until it was time to go back to Seattle Center. We hopped on a bus and rode up to see the Kings of Leon, one of my favorite bands. I saw them many moons ago at Bonnaroo, and at the Fine Line in Minneapolis.

Then we all crowded into a smallish building (I didn’t know they had indoor shows there!) to see Bouncing Souls. My favorite part, of course, was when they did ‘Argyle’, the song P.O.S. covers in ‘De La Souls’.

We then herded into the mainstage area to see Sean Paul, followed by Fergie. First of all, I did not realize I knew at least half of Sean Paul’s songs. I’ve danced to all of them many times, in bars and barefoot on streets throughout the land. His set was pretty awesome, if populated mainly by 15-year-old girls. Seriously, I went to the bathroom and realized I was twice as old as every girl in there, and half of them were drunk on smuggled beer. They’d be passing out by 11pm for sure.

And then, there was Fergie.

Thing is, I don’t really like Fergie. I’ve obviously danced to ‘London Bridge’ and ‘Fergalicious’ a minimum of 50 times apiece, because that’s just dance music. But when I heard she’d be playing there, of course I had to see her. How could I miss that opportunity? It’s not like I’m going to pay for tickets to her shows.

The first part was as expected: all her radio songs, and three costume changes (in a one-hour set). She was apparently doing hand-springs and such, but we were too far away to really be able to see much. Towards the end, she yelled, Do you want to rock?? Of course we wanted to rock, at least until we found out what she meant.

She launched into ‘Barracuda’ by Heart. It was definitely out-of-place, but not totally wrong for her; she had the voice for it, at least. I was amused knowing that probably 90% of the people there had never heard the song before, since they weren’t even born then. At the end of the song, she shouted, You know where you are? You’re in the jungle, baby! You gonna DIIIIIIEEEE!

Our minds were blown. We barely even absorbed the fact that she also covered ‘Rehab’ by Amy Winehouse. We felt like we were broken, and stumbled out after the show, stunned.

We walked toward Belltown and decided to go to Cyclops, Colleen’s dad’s favorite bar. It had an awesome interior, even more awesome bartenders (I loved the girl who called us lovebirds because she kept seeing us making out), and a strangely mixed crowd.

We spend a good portion of our time there watching a couple dudes putting the hardcore mack down on two willing girls. They swooped in with a bucket of Rainier, most of which was consumed by the little guy, who we named ‘Limpy’, due to the fact that his friend was obviously going to get all the play when he was unable to perform. We could only see the other dude from the back, but he was clearly a giant, so Steve named him Frankenstein. I loved their antics, especially when Limpy would start to doze off clutching his beer bottle, then spring awake to make another sly move on the ladies.

We left as the bar was closing, and unfortunately did not get to see the outcome of their efforts. However, we’re pretty sure the score was Frankenstein 2, Limpy 0.

sophie the monorail cat

Monday morning (well, more like afternoon), we at the 5-Point. It’s owned by the same people who run the Mecca Cafe, only it’s very near Seattle Center. It’s also open 24 hours, so you can drink til 2am, sober up for a few hours, then start drinking again at something like 6am.

They have a periscope in the men’s room so that dudes can look at the Space Needle while they’re peeing. AWESOME.

We went back downtown to stock up on supplies at Lush. The girl working there said they’d be opening a store in Minneapolis soon! Yay!

matt and steve at the first starbucks

We did some more wandering around the market, then went down to the waterfront. We spent a very long time shopping at a pirate store, and then it was time to head back to Bumbershoot to see Lyrics Born.

puget sound

lyrics born callin’ out

Lyrics Born is always amazing, dudes. I’ve seen him four times now, always in the most awesome circumstances: closing down the Hip Hop n’ Harmony festival, at Foundation, in the front row at Lollapalooza. He’s coming back to Minneapolis this fall, and I can’t wait. He has the greatest energy.

After the show, we waited in line at the record company booth to meet him, but they booted us out of line because we wouldn’t buy a CD (I have it already), and he’d only be there for 20 minutes. LAME. At least I got this picture.

lyrics born

We shopped at the extensive craft fair, then made our way over to the 7-11 near the Space Needle for Slurpees (fun fact: 7-11 has sugar-free Slurpees! VERY EXCITING.) We were carrying flasks full of Malibu because we’re way classy, and mixed ourselves some cocktails right at the beverage counter.

We made our way to the mainstage and sat in the stands drinking our Slurpees and eating a cube of fries. We saw Lupe Fiasco, who was pretty awesome; I knew most of his stuff because he raps on a lot of Jay-Z and Kanye West tracks.

During the break in between shows, we noticed that a huge group sitting in our section kept cheering at people walking by on the floor, but we had no idea why. It was hysterical because they’d bust out screaming or groaning in disappointment ever minute or so. We finally figured out what it was about: there was a puddle of vomit on the floor, and they were cheering every time someone stepped in it.

It shouldn’t have been so damn funny, but it was. We couldn’t stop watching.

And then? It was time for the Wu-Tang Clan. It was the perfect ending to the festival.

wu-tang clan ain’t nothin’ to fuck with.

Colleen headed home because she had to work in the morning, and Steve and Matt and I went to the Victory Lounge near their house. It was nearly empty, but the bartender was awesome and they had Naked Ladies. We played a few victorious games, then headed over to another bar that we found closed by 1am. What? Instead, we went back to their apartment, got ourselves some beverages, and went up to the roof of the building. It was raining so we couldn’t sit down anywhere; instead we stood under the awning and talked about work. Because we rule.

On Tuesday, Colleen’s dad came to get us for lunch at the Mexican wrestler burrito place, aka Bimbo’s Bitchin’ Burrito Kitchen in Capitol Hill. The burritos were great, and there was a poster in the bathroom for El Suavecito, which I believe should be Matt’s new nickname.

After lunch, Colleen went home to work, and Steve and Matt and I wandered around shopping. I made some very special purchases at Babeland, including panties, which I believe to be the best souvenir ever. We walked back to their apartment just in time to pack up our stuff and get a cab to the airport. I started missing Colleen and Steve the second we left, so I’m pretty sure that means they should move to Minneapolis.

On the flight, I told Matt that it was too bad it was so overcast, or we’d be able to see Mount Rainier again. We ascended through the clouds, and all of a sudden, there it was!

[To view the entire Flickr photoset from this trip, go here.]

Wendy, Willis, Matt and I piled in Matt’s car and rushed the hell out of town on Thursday after work. We didn’t get on the road til almost 7, but we had nothing to do but get to Chicago that night.

At one point, Matt had to decelerate from 72mph because he was so caffeinated he was seeing through time. We got to the hotel around 2am, and jumped into bed as quickly as we could.

We got up Friday morning and searched in the phonebook for the nearest Dunkin’ Donuts, because what you’ve heard about their coffee is true. We headed downtown and had a brief rendezvous with Lauren outside her work, because she had obtained a parking pass in her neighborhood and some 24-hour CTA passes for us to exploit. We drove up and parked by her house, and took the bus to Wrigley Field.

wendy found herself some reading material on the bus.

We got there really early, so we wandered around the store for a while, then crossed the street to the Cubby Bear. Of course we had to try the Cubby Blue Bombs for $4 (it made my stomach hurt for the next five minutes). The Sparks girls were there handing out samples, and of course we had to try that, too. It wasn’t great, but it was free. They came back around later asking if we liked it, and wanted free cans. Um, yes.

I lived in Chicago for ten years growing up, and had never been to a baseball game there. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’ve never been to any sporting event in Chicago. I was only really interested in Wrigley Field, though. It was great.

Our seats were in the second row from the top, but they were awesome. I’m glad we weren’t in the bleachers, because the sun was brutal. Our row-neighbors were from Oklahoma, and I’m pretty sure they’d never been to a baseball game before; one of them got up and made us stand up so they could wander around at least every 15 minutes. They couldn’t even go as pairs.

We got to see Luis Castillo, who the Twins traded to the Mets a few weeks ago, and also Eddie Vedder singing “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” during 7th inning stretch. (Pearl Jam was playing at Lollapalooza.) I had flashbacks to 12 years ago. Also, I was excited to realize that you can see Lake Michigan from the ballpark.

The game was going well until the last inning, when the Mets scored about 500 runs. I’m not joking.

the ‘lose’ flag

We killed some time wandering around the stadium, then went to the el station. It was still crazy, but we managed to get on the first train and ride downtown to Millennium Park.

crown fountain

We had decided upon deep dish pizza much earlier, and there was a Giordano’s a few blocks up Michigan Avenue. We walked over there and found it very crowded. While Matt and I waited in line, Willis looked up another location in downtown. He called them and they said there was no wait, so we headed over that way.

After eight blocks or so, we realized that Google Maps had lied to us, and the restaurant was still several blocks from there. We ended up walking very far for that meal, but it was worth it. Not only was the pizza awesome, Franz from the Hold Steady was sitting at the next table.

We were rerouted along the way back to the train station because they had cordoned off a large section of downtown to film a movie. We asked a security guard what it was, and he said, “Batman.” We weren’t sure if that was true or not, because there was a production assistant across the street telling people it was Rory’s First Kiss. Willis looked it up, and it turns out that’s the supersecret working title for the new Batman movie. Wendy decided to stay and film some scenes.

wendy on the batman set

We got lost trying to find the el station for a while, and had to call Lauren for help. We rode up to her house, and walked over to Louie’s, the karaoke bar we’d visited the first time I stayed with her.

The karaoke was awesome but the drinks were not, so we headed to a dive called the Beachwood instead. Upon close, we went for 2am breakfast at the Hollywood Grill. It was not great at all, but it was necessary. We didn’t get back to the hotel til 3:30.