A Night out in Ajijic, Lake Chapala, Mexico
Have you ever had the experience of not being able to determine if something really happened or if you just dreamt it? Sometimes it helps if I write about it so just talk amongst yourselves.
OK. Let’s see. It has all the earmarks of all terrible evenings.
The occasion – to raise money for a party where they raise money to give things to a priest. (I didn’t do an active survey but I believe there was a very low Irish Protestant turn out. In fact I may have been the only one.)
The location? A hotel in A Hee Heek (pronounced Ajijic) called the Grande Royale (Spanish phrase meaning dirty bed linens) in the Benito Mussolini Ballroom. If you have ever been to the Rainbow Room in Rockefeller Plaza in New York you have absolutely no concept of what this place look like.
The time: 8:00 p.m. They neglected to mention that was 8:00 p.m. eastern Taiwanese time. My children faded after the first song (Boy from Ipanima, drum solo et al) and went home to bed. So young, so wise. I have much to learn from them.
The refreshments: Do you know those pieces of styrofoam shaped into small wagon wheels? and rum.
The entertainment? Lionel and his all Puta Review. Lionel is a gifted performer who does impressions of gay Spanish (not Mexican) singers. I think that is what he does. I don’t speak Spanish so he could have been doing a very bad “Evening with Harry Truman” but I’m going with the former. Short of being shot in the knee with a large calibre pistol I can’t think of a worse evening unless, of course, I had decided to join the back up dancers wearing a table cloth for a skirt and styrofoam wagon wheels to cover my nipples. Now that would have been way to humiliating to even contemplate.
Oh oh. Why does my brain feel like a small portion of mashed potatoes? Where is my car? Why did I sleep on the lawn? Who’s clothes am I wearing? Who hosted thi?. The Nueva Posada. Fernando our waiter (I’ll get you for this.) It’s all coming back to me. The staff at the Nueva Posada hosted the event and it was Fernando, the waiter, who not only sold me the ticket but the weasel kept bringing me drinks just because I ordered them.
Come to think of it I had more fun than a barrel of gay singers. “Hey Fernando, Can I come next year?” No, of course not, what if I promise no more rum. Gin – I hear you can’t get drunk on gin and it’s packed with vitamins.
Ah Mexico. The land where your dreams can come true.
A Public Apology – 1994
OK you are walking down the street and for some bizarre reason you need to know if the person walking toward you is Canadian or American. (I can’t imagine why this would ever happen but lets say you need to discreetly buy a handgun or some back bacon, then you’re going to want to know the difference.) Simply go out of your way to physically bump into them. If the response is (as God intended) 1. Back off jerk face 2. Watch where you are going or 3. Give me back my wallet. It’s a Yank. If your person says “Oh, I’m sorry”. You got yourself a Canuck.
People from Canada are sorry for everything. Mr. Rupert Amboy of Wounded Jaw, Sask., was in his home watching TV when an out of control Mack Truck smashed through the bay window and pinned Mr. Amboy up against the settee. His last words were “Sorry, my fault”.
This, of course, is pure horse droppings (This is not Wounded Jaw and no one is Sask. owns a settee.) and I’m, sorry I lied to you, but it could happen. A true historical fact is that in 1986 Prime Minister Brian Mulroney sent President Ronald Reagan a 150 page document apologizing for all the cold fronts that come down from Canada, and that we would pay for any damaged tomato plants that resulted from same.
Ok we know this but what’s the point. I am moved to publicly apologize or my most recent social gaff.
I wrote an article about a party that the staff at the Nueva Posada held in Ajijic. Like an idiot I went down to the Nueva Posada waiving this thing around, proud as could be, saying, “Hey guys read this ain’t it great?” The response I was looking for was “Hey cool, your (half dozen or so loyal) readers will love this. Or “Wow I smell Pulitzer prize here Babe.” So I was more than a little surprised when everyone who walked by was compelled to spit on me.
Upon reviewing the article from their perspective I decided to pen this one . Here are some of the people to whom I am sorry. My dear friends Maria Elena Eager and her sister Viki who saw the words “terrible evening, nightmare and drum solo” and assumed I had a lousy time. 2. Fernando, Viki,’s husband and exfriend just because I referred to him as a wench. 3. the entertainers (something about casual sex with live stock) 4. the hotel owner, has may have a point 5. The local Priest (thank goodness he is very large on forgiveness.) 6. the entire Spanish speaking population from here to Terra del Fuego.
The real culprit here is Miguel Eager who encouraged me to write about how gringos view things. ‘Oh the Mexicans have a great sense of humor about this stuff.”
Let me go on record as saying that is was one of the great parties of all time. Right up there with Lindberg’s crossing the Atlantic on VE Day.
If you missed it this year don’t make the same mistake next year or you will be very sorry indeed.