Discoteca

Last night we decided to go out to the Discotecas that all of our buddies we met in class told us about. These are the same buddies that think that California's water is so shark-ridden that you can't even slip your foot in the ocean without it getting bitten off, and that everyone in the United States carries a gun so it's not very safe to visit there. Since the Discotecas don't open until really late, we went and bought some 40s of Cruzcampo and ate them on the steps of the church. Then we went and got a bottle of wine at a nearby café, and were pretty wasted. Joanna and I decided we needed cigarettes, so we found a vending machine at a restaurant and bought them.

There was a waiter on his break smoking at the bar, and neither of us had a lighter so we decided to see if he had matches he could give us (for some reason I assume Europeans carry around unlimited amounts of matches to dole out to us stupid Americans who leave our lighters at home). He let us use his lighter, but started taking off his clothes first, which was really strange. I think something got lost in translation there. We were asking him if he understood the English writing on his pack of cigarettes (something about sperm count), and I think he took it the wrong way.

On the way to the discotecas, we stopped at a pool bar for a little while. I met a group of 16-year-old locals who thought my accent was hilarious. They liked to repeat the last word of everything I said and then laugh hysterically, holding their sides and prodding each other. I tried to get them to help me sound less foreign, but I'm pretty sure it's hopeless. One of them played pool with me, but he kept cheating and we needed to get going to the discotecas. On our way out, we managed to meet some British guy who thought our California accents were extremely sexy (his favorite band is Red Hot Chili Peppers - I don't know why I asked him that). He followed us around the streets for a while but eventually he disappeared.

We then walked all the way to the discotecas which took a really really long time. Turns out, you're not allowed to wear flip-flops in the discoteca so we couldn't get in. We went to a bar across the street instead that was really packed and smoky. But instead of being packed with cute, European college students it was full of middle-aged obese men and a few really disgusting women. It dawned on me that I might start to sober up soon, and wouldn't want to be sober for the walk home. So, we bought some Fanta-limon with vodka (the mix was something like 30-70 - they're not stingy with their vodka at all) to secure our drunkenness.

The discoteca closed and we walked all the way back to the Residencia. For some reason I was convinced that the night was still young, but it was around 5am and the sun was coming up. I ended up waking up at noon this morning, missing breakfast, and lying on the beach for a while in an attempt to burn off my hangover.