Sailing

Was a time Sonja and I spent just one week in Mexico. It seemed like that was long enough. That is what the all the Canadian observational comedians I had seen over the years had recommended. After a week of off the chart boozing it up it would seem natural for anybody, even Canadians, to tail off after about seven days or so.

Other people I had met over the years, more optimistic about Canadians' ability to hold their booze, suggested ten or eleven days of drinking like a fucking Newfie who had won the lottery, would about do it. After that a man would have to come up for air.

They were all fucking wrong. Two weeks may not even be enough. Personally, like Dee Dee Ramone, I am in favour of the endless vacation.

Yesterday we went on a booze cruise to a little island, of which Mexico has precious few, off the coast of our white sandy beach paradise. A bus picked us up in the morning. We stopped to pick up a few other people on the way to the boat, four French fuckers and six people from motherfucking Alberta.

When the French got on the bus they sat behind us and started in on their French talk right away. Jimi asked them, "Where are you people from?"

"We are from France," the oldest Frenchman told us. He had a hell of a time saying a sentence as simple as that in English.

"That's good," Jimi told him, "We thought you might be from Quebec. My name is Jimi. We're all from Canada."

I turned around and introduced myself, "Je m'apple Monsieur Biere."

The Frenchman thought that was pretty funny and repeated it back to me the way he heard it. "Juh Map Hell Mom Sure Beee Aaiirree."

Cunt.

The Albertans were ok. They came along to drink their fucking faces off which they did. Out drank us B.C. ers 2-1. We figured they must have been on something. Probably peyote judging by how many times they all had to lean over the side of boat and puke.

Once we were underway we thought the Mexican crew might have a word with us about safety, life jacket locations and such on their boat. Not a chance. All that separated their drunk passengers, many more of whom had arrived at the dock to join us were hard drinking Albertans, and the shark populated waters was a thin cable about knee high along the boat's deck.

The description of the tour we had read indicated we would not get any booze until we had done some snorkeling about half way to our island destination. We need not have worried. We started being served as soon as we left the dock which was a good thing: it was already 10:00 AM.

We sure liked the island once we got there even though, like the rest of the world, it is overpopulated as fuck. It's sheltered western beaches ideal for swimming; its unsheltered eastern beaches, the easternmost point of Mexico, crashing with great blue and white waves. We are going to look into staying at one of the hotels there next year.

As Sonja went to work shopping the narrow streets, Jimi and I sat down and kept on drinking. There were a lot of bars on this island. The Mexicans understand tourism: a drunk tourist is a happy tourist.

"Look what I got!" Sonja exclaimed when she found Jimi and I about the time we were supposed to meet our boat and sail back to the mainland. Christmas gifts for her co-workers and friends sparkled from within a little cloth bag like a pirate's treasure. We walked down to what appeared to be our dock only to realise it was the wrong one and that all the many other docks had similar looking boats tied up to them. One down side to drinking is that when you are lost, you are even more lost than most people. We finally found our boat, and our impatient fellow travellers, kept patient only by the ice cold booze already being passed out for the return journey.

The Albertans, now pissed to the gills, provided the entertainment on the journey home. They had all bought Mexican wrestler masks on the island and drank, wrestled and posed the whole way back to the mainland. Their wives and girlfriends even showed everybody their snow white Canadian titties. Canadian women, except Sonja, who likes to keep hers under wraps, sure do like showing off their tits.

It was a long way back to the hotel so we had to stop for more booze. When we got back to the hotel we had a late dinner, drank some more and called it a day around midnight.

We still have a few more days. Two weeks is not enough when you are on vacation in Mexico.