Well, Wednesday night proved to be quite a humdinger. Luiza asked me if I could make it to the house in which the chavos (boys) were staying. I decided to play lost lamb, saying I’d be able to make it there, but returning late would be a problem, as there wouldn’t be any buses after 10. Therefore, after speaking to her mother, who came in her car to pick her up ten minutes later, she got permission to take the car that evening, and consequently I wouldn’t have to do anything but wait.
She came around my house at around 10, as I was dozing off. In the car was Tom, one of the Americans, tall and thin with long blonde hair. It’s quite strange, almost all the students have blonde hair. It’s almost as if they want to stand out in this place. We reached Casa Rasta, which is in the centre of the city, and where the chavos - Kleiber, Josue and others are staying. We enter the house, and it’s crowded - some sort of unplanned party going on. You have all the Americans, Sergio and some others I do not know. Everyone drinking something or the other. Someone fishes out a bottle of mezcal from somewhere, and Luiza promptly pours me a shot. I sip it slowly. It tastes… interesting. At first, there’s nothing, but after swallowing it, it feels as if someone has lit a small fire at the back of your throat. Luiza asks me if I still want to go to the Casa de Mezcal, and since it was part of the deal, I emphatically say yes. After while, we leave for the car, Josue, Kleiber, Luiza and me. And many more. All of a sudden, almost all of the Americans want to go there as well. They seem like puppies, wanting to accompany you all the time, and you don’t have the heart to stop them. I get to know a couple of their names - “I’m Jana”, “I’m Leize”, like Captain von Trapp’s children in Sound of Music - during the ride. The Casa de Mezcal is full at 11:30 pm. We enter and make our way to the bar counter, next to a jukebox. Luiza orders shots for each of us. We are served together with our drinks, slices of lime and orange, and a salt shaker, the salt mixed with red chilly and gusanos, worm. The worms that are used for this purpose are those found on the maguey (agave) cactus, which is what mezcal is made from. So what one does is take a slice of lime, sprinkle it liberally with the flavoured salt, suck on it, and then shoot down the mezcal. I couldn’t quite bring myself at first to shoot down the mezcal in one go, taking three or four sips to finish it. But seeing one of the chicks shoot it down pricked my ego sufficiently enough to order another one and shoot it down as well. I don’t remember now what I was thinking then, but promptly asked Josue what other types of mezcal were there. He recommended one to me, and I ordered it. Finishing that one, I ask Josue, “What else?”. A bit stuck for a reply, he turns to the bartender, who pours me a shot of merino, the strongest of them all. I mistakenly drink Luiza’s shot first, and then my own. We leave and arrive at a 24-hour supermarket, where Luiza starts a collection to buy - what else - more mezcal! Thus armed, we return to la Casa Rasta, where the party is still going strong. By now I’m in my element, embarking on a series of serious dissertations, first with Tom, then individually with Alexis, Kaitlin and Leize.The words come out slowly and difficultly articulated, but all the same I’m fiery preacher, convincing evangelist and reproving elder. Finally, the Americans decide to leave, save Tom, and we get into Luiza’s car and drive to a car-park overlooking the city, where Josue proceeds to share with me his thoughts on the pitiable state of his country.
Finally, we return Kleiber and Josue to the place where they’re staying, and then to my house. I check the time. It’s 5 in the morning.
I wake up at 11:00, my head throbbing, dismayed at the hour. I stumble into the bathroom for a shower, Do?a Cristina makes me some sort of soda water, I eat some of the fruit with yoghurt she has prepared, and make my way to Unitierra. Once I’m there I realise how bad an idea it was to leave home. I make my way back, arriving just in time to throw up all the contents of me stomach into the commode. I go to bed, tossing, turning, sleeping for the rest of the day. I wake at 5, drink a glass of water that I’m unable to keep down, try to read. Armira returns. Seeing me in the state I’m in, she gets me a glass of Alka Setzer which I’m sure I won’t be able to keep down, but she persuades me to drink it slowly, sip by sip. She has also brought me a fizzy drink. Do?a Cristina returns as well, by which time I’m sure I’m going to bring up the Alka Setzer, but just then she brings a bottle of honey and makes me swallow a spoonful. Later she makes me an herb tea, which she says is called tea for drunks, and on consuming it, I feel a sea change. We talk about the previous night, and have a good laugh. I go to sleep at 10:00 immensely grateful to both Armira and Do?a Cristina.