ZacParker.com

A few days ago, I befriended one of the waiters at the hostel near the Zocalo, Adrian. Ever since our meeting, he has been really intent on ‘hooking me up’ with a mexican girl. ‘Any one you want bro, let me know.’ he says. Last night I went to the hostel, around 530, to use the internet, and take advantage of the happy hour specials, of two familiars (32oz bottles) of Leon, for 65 pesos. Not really a great deal, but the hostel is pretty expensive… Anyhow, for an hour or so Adrian kept asking me ‘Which girl bro? Those girls over there? What about that one? Shes by herself! Just tell me.’ to which I kept replying ‘I’ll let you know when I see her’, mostly to get him to leave me alone about it. Not that I don’t appreciate the generosity, picking up girls just was not my MOD for the evening. I had a ton of emails to write, and work on this page to do (I’m sorry, it will look better soon, I swear!). Around seven a band started setting up, which Adrian told me was going to be reggae. I enjoy a good reggae band from time to time, so I told him I would take my computer home and be back by the time they started. Also, I had no cash left. If I was going to hang out for a bit, I would need some way to not be freeloading at the bar. I ran home, changed clothes, grabbed about 15 bucks, and made my way back to the hostel. I got there just in time to see the band finish their soundcheck and play. Adrian introduced me to a table full of girls, which were all reasonably cute, though later to be discovered as sympathizers of Felipe Calderon. PANistas. Laura, Anabel, Margara, and Julieta. Julieta spoke close to no english and wore a lot of green eye makeup. Between the little spanish I know, and the little english the other three knew, we were all able to decently converse. The other three had to translate for Julieta most of the time. After chatting for a bit, I got up to grab another beer for the table. An attractive, if somewhat bookish blonde girl with metal framed glasses approached me at the bar, and asked if I had attended Portland State. I was somewhat caught off guard, and stumbled my words for a moment before finally spitting out ‘Yeah? I did. I mean… a while ago?’. She introduced herself as Jamie and explained that her friend Carolina had recognized me. Carolina was equally attractive, and perhaps ever so slightly less bookish in nature with brown plastic framed glasses that complimented her hair and skin colors quite well. I ended up not spending much time with the local girls Adrian had introduced me to earlier. Around this time i met a Mexican guy who obviously learned english in the UK. His first words to me were ‘Where are you from? The US? You’re a FFFFFFFuckin’ yank.’ We ended up getting along for a little while. He bought me a beer, and came over to hang out with Jamie, Carolina and I on a set of stairs inside the hostel. Then things got weird. He started talking politics. We were certainly in aggreeance with everything he said. He didn’t seem to notice. He begun to fling spit as he started shouting to us. Occasionally he would reply to our agreeance with ‘Oh FFFFuck off!’. You could see tears welling in his eyes, pink and brown. Politics and beer don’t always mix so well. We were given a table upstairs, and we were shortly joined by Alon, the drunk crying guy, his homeless old man looking friend, and two girls whose names escape me. We sit around and talk for a bit, and our english accented friend started to get hostile. Luckily security noticed this quickly and escorted him and his homeless old man looking friend out of the building. We kept our table, and conversation about how we had ended up in Mexico City, what was our plan, or what had been, until the hostel lounge closed at ten thirty-ish. I stopped on the way out to ask Adrian what he was up to after work. He told me he would meet us at the Central de la Espana, three buildings down Tacuba. Jamie, Julieta, Alon, Carolina, the two girls whose name escape me, and I all made our way down the street to Central. The building is directly across from the Catedral, and was adorned with a beautiful colonial facade, as are so many buildings here in El Centro. We were greeted with a metal detector, as opposed to being asked for ID. We then entered an elevator manned by a security guard, taking us three stories to the top floor of the building. On exiting the elevator, we were then patted down, by yet another security guard. Finally we were allowed into the bar! The atmosphere is diffucult to describe. Posh perhaps, but the crowd told you it was anything but. A narrow hallway led from the drink counter, to the dance floor, and was lined by tables on either side, with a frosted glass divider seperating the hallway in two. On one side of the dance floor the building was totally open, allowing a close up view of the top tiers of the Catedral. The Catedral was dramatically lit, making for a breathtaking view. Sometimes my conversations, or dancing were hard to concentrate on, as I was so amazed at the surreal image of a 16th century cathedral standing next to a modern dance club. I spent a lot of time talking to Jamie and Carolina, and at one point played Carolina’s boyfriend as she told her approacher ‘well… I don’t like YOU’. I ran home at one point and grabbed another 200 pesos, but only ended up spending another 30. When the DJ played his last song…. something I didn’t expect- but thoroughly enjoyed- happened. For a moment, there was silence. Then a small buzz of talking amongst the dancefloor patrons. Then from the back of the room starts a chanting. ‘VOTO POR VOTO!, CASILLA POR CASILLA!’ I was delighted. The ecstasy ensued when the chant transformed to “CHINGA! TU MADRE! CAL-DE-RON! CHINGA! TU MADRE! CAL-DE-RON!” This continued the whole way out of the building, down several flights of stairs, and into the streets, modulating back and forth between the two chants. As we made our way down the street, Carolina asked if she and Jamie could stay at my apartment, if they weren’t able to get into their hotel, as it was nearing 3am. I agreed, and escorted them back to their hotel. On the way, we asked for directions to a seven eleven, so we could get some water. The first guy we asked gave us bad directions, and called me whitey. The next guy pointed us right where we needed to go. When we arrived at the hotel, the girls were able to check in without a problem. I was going to go up and check out their room, as they said they had a room on the roof, that had a great view. The man at the front desk however, didn’t think that was a good idea. I gave them my email, and regret not getting theirs. It was really great talking to Portlanders. Chats of bicycles and Lompoc beer and political protests. As I made my way home I stopped to ask a couple of officers if I was heading the right direction, as I was a bit intoxicated, and in a seedy area. As I was talking to them, I heard my name being shouted, and looked around. Jamie and Carolina were on the roof, and yelling goodbye. The officers looked confused. ‘Es mi amigas’ I told them with a smile. I returned a wave and an adios, thanked the officers for the directions and made my way home.