San Pedro Part II

I've decided that I can't be bothered writing about San Pedro again as I think the vibe of the place was sufficiently communicated in the last blog.

I will say I met some fantastic people there, like Marie, Gersh, Cecilia and Erick Cortez, and that it was interesting going to a house party where I ran into the drug dealer who, with five of his buddies, had tried to rob me a few nights before with Gersh. Only Marie's calming influence prevented interesting things occuring in the back alleys of San Pedro. He was by himself at the party. Anyway it all turned out to be a big misunderstanding and in fact he was a charming chap-my fault probably. The next dealer you turn down after he's offered you coke on the street, who then says, "if you're scared, go to church you gringo pussy" is probably offering salvation as well as drugs. Either way don't take it too personally.

Not all dealers are so obnoxious. I was walking up the street to put my guitar away late one night and this harassed looking guy popped out of the darkness into the street light. He was really agitated and his eyes were spinning like reels on a poker machine. They were black but really bright, like there was a sheen of wetness on them. I've heard most conversations with dealers occur in English because they need it to communiate with their clients better. Anyway this guy was nice enough to offer me some time with his Japanese wife if I wanted to wait around for a bit while he went and scored some gear which I hadn't actually asked for. She seemed really nice apart from the sores and scabs all over her body, the missing teeth, slack sallow skin and weird cheesy smell, although that might have been him. He was 18, she was 28. Romance!

Gersh and I found two other Japanese in San Pedro. They were selling burgers from a cart on the side of the road. Japanese people are strange.

Another interesting aspect of San Pedro is the alcoholism. When you look through the superficial layers of San Pedros' touristic charms you can see some severe social problems. It doesn't take a lot of insight: I walked past a man, face down on the road, passed out drunk at about 9pm one night. The gradient was about 1 in 6 so it was very steep and he was sleeping head down the hill. The next day at midday he was still there, although someone had moved him to the gutter so the tuk tuks could pass. This was not uncommon. Many women walk around with bruises on their faces and arms.

I have engaged in a number of challenges to test or prove my manhood in the last few weeks.

They were:
-A burger eating contest
-A chilli eating contest
-An arm wrestle

I lost all three.

The first was at an all you can eat burger buffet in San Pedro, on Sunday near the lake. An ex US Navy Seal ran it and made an assortment of the most delicious sauces I've ever tasted. The burgers were half pound patties, and in fact there was a fat American guy telling everyone loudly how he was going to smash six of them. The existing record was 3.

This guy started getting on my nerves, and he was a cheat as he smoked a joint before and during the session to enhance his hunger. The first burger was delicious, with cheese, lettuce, tomato, onion and fantastic steak sauce. Between burger one and two was time for some psychological games-so I ordered a plate of chips. I think that rattled his team a bit. The second burger was also tasty but by the end I was starting to feel pretty stuffed, as I'd washed it all down with a litre of beer and loaded it with salad, whereas oldmate was just doing the patties. I believed this to be not in the spirit of the competition but as I hadn't actually told him we were oin battle I can't really compain. At this point I admitted the chips were an error of judgment.

Anyway burger three was the biggest test of endurance, commitment and character of my 26 years. Gersh was there to remind me I was being "tapped out" by a chubby loudmouth American and took a photo of the tiny peice of pattie left that I sat on for half an hour, for posterity.

Long story short, oldmate knocked back four, and then won the Boccia contest, first prize a bottle of rum. Every dog has his day. Without doubt the gut probems I've had recently have shrunk my stomach and ruined any chance I had of victory.

On the bus up from Guatemala to Mexico I slept for about 30 hours straight as a result of a rather large night courtesy of Crane and Dario at the Restaurant of Rock (no hippies allowed). When I woke up a Mexican lady, who had two daughters, very generously offered to let me stay with her in Cancun. I'm not sure why as I had pants ripped to the knee, a bloody ripped singlet from an incident involving a 9 foot fence and a clothes line (it was dark), and I hadn't showered for 3 days.

We travelled up to Playa del Carmen for her nieces 20th birthday. I met the nieces 3 year old daughter, and her 40 cousins, uncles, aunts, nieces and nephews etc.

A short fat brown drunk man with no neck and gold teeth choaded up to me with a habanero chilli in his stumpy, delicious looking sausage fingers. He held it out, offering me some. I politely declined, those things are fucking hot. He garbled something in Spanish and the cohort of male relatives behind him laughed loudly. The mans eyes were wild and droplets of spittle flecked his chin. "Argh argh Aussie argh gringo argh argh pussy harghhh," he spat and ripped the chillie in half with his teeth and started munching casually, with his mouth wide open so we could all see it getting pulverised. It seems I get called a pussy by a lot of men in this part of the world. Anyway he held out the chillie again and the crowd of drunk brown men behind him started laughing at me.

Bastards. Since I was never going to be able to resist such sophisticated psychological manipulation, I took the chilli from Marcus and chewed it with casual disdain. As soon as I felt the acid start to work on my mouth and face I swallowed the thing, and started crying. My nose was running, mouth watering, and eyes streaming. Throughout the ordeal I was smiling conscientiously pretending I was glad to be the butt of such a funny joke.

15 minutes later when I could pretend to laugh again without crying I think I had won some respect and credibility. So much so that I was offered another chilli.

No thanks.

In Miami Gersh picked me up from the airport. His mate Nick is probably about 15kg lighter than me but has been wrestling since he was 9 years old. We got out of the car and started wrestling, to prove what good mates we were going to become I suppose. Within 15 seconds he wrestled me to the ground and was choking me to death with his buttocks.

Then we went upstairs and armwrestled. I am usually quite good on the left arm and won pretty easily. I felt things going the same way with my right arm, but couldn't get traction to finish him off. Then my shoulder dislocated and I lost by forfeit anyway.

That night we went to a reggae bar where I was mistaken for a redneck, perhaps due to my moustache and mullet. I don't like being profiled, especially since I'm a white male from an affluent society and am not used to it. You don't know discrimination until you've been mistaken for a redneck, in a reggae bar.

Anyway we solved the tache problem the next day, at a barber who gave me a full cut throat shave, tache trim and three beers for $10. Much more respectable now.

If you're ever in Fort Lauderdale near Miami go to Beach Liqour-it's the only bottle shop on the beach-and ask for Gersh. He'll show you a good time.

Well that was pretty much what I've been up to, before arriving in Haiti 4 days ago.

So updates on Haiti next.