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Mar 10: Duane joins us, Angela and Jeff depart, acting really stupid in Cabo San Lucas, checking out a Lucha Libre mexican wrestling match, killing more than a few braincells at Cabo Wabo, abandoning Duane on shore and somehow making it back to the boat
Pardon the profanity. Minors should probably stop reading right here. Don't look at the banner at the top of the page. Don't judge me too much, you've done stupid stuff too.
I fucking hate Cabo San Lucas. Cabo during spring break is even worse than normal.
Ok, with that out of the way, lets get started. The 10th was a long, totally unnecessary day. I would have been better off if the 10th just hadn't happened, if I had just come down with a one-day flu like Sara, or somehow been teleported from the 9th to the 11th. Nothing redeeming happened. Well, except for the Mexican wrestling.
Angela departed in the early morning, I ferried her to the dock and helped her find a cab to the airport. It was really wonderful to hang out with her over the last week. She's Sara's friend from Wisconsin, but we share a similar sense of humour and I was sad to see her go too.
Sara and Jeff weren't doing so well. They slept in while I was delivering Angela, and when I got back they were still in bed. Jeff was still pretty sick, and Sara was starting to share his symptoms. Not good. The rocky-rolly anchorage wasn't helping anything, so we decided to get them a hotel room for the day.
We dinghied into shore, met up with Duane, and found a cheapie hotel for the sickies. "Cheap" in Mexico - at least in terms of hotels - usually runs about $10/night. Well, the absolute cheapest place in Cabo is $60/night. You can stay in Silicon Valley for less than that! Whatever, just another reason to hate Cabo.
The two of them checked in, closed the blinds, and went to bed. Duane and I went to the supermarket to get a few necessities for the trip north.
Duane and our magic dinghy of groceries
Three hours and $5128.69 (pesos) later, we were the proud new owners of two shopping carts packed full of groceries. We bought a LOT of alcohol. Thank god for our title sponsor VISA. We hired a curbside cab and somehow managed to get the groceries from the carts into the cab, from the cab to the dinghy dock, and from there into our little pack-mule Purpeat.
It was dark by the time we finished unloading everything back at Wanderlust. The anchorage was just as rolly as ever, and we were both starting to feel queasy, so we quickly jumped back into Purpeat and headed in for a night on the town.
We picked up Sara and Jeff, had a quick bite to eat, and headed off to the bullring to watch some Mexican wrestling. Lucha Libre!
Duane is a madman
Lucha Libre means "freestyle", which we were hoping would be a no-holds-barred brawl. Unfortunately it turned out to be WWF-style theatrics played out by the classic good-guy, bad-guy, comic-relief-guy we all know so well. The Mexican twist on wrestling is that everyone wears a Lucha Libre mask!
Will is also a madman ... Wanderlust style
The last time we know Duane had his wallet
The wrestling was pretty cool. Duane and I went down to get some close-up shots of the ring, and maybe an autograph, and suddenly found ourselves in the middle of a mock brawl! It was fun. We made it through three rounds of tag-team action before bailing and getting some more food downtown.
The picture above shows the last documented time Duane was in posession of his wallet. Sara and Jeff were still feeling wiped out, so they headed back to the hotel - Duane and I headed for Cabo Wabo.
I fucking hate Cabo. The only thing I hate more than Cabo is Cabo Wabo. Wait, I guess there is something I hate more than Cabo and Cabo Wabo: the stupid green tequila drink they sell at Cabo Wabo. It's called Caquila or Cabo Waquila or something like that. I can't remember. It sucks. It's very drinkable, and very toxic.
Spring break had just started and Cabo Wabo was hopping. We grabbed a couple of drinks, doubles, I remember, and checked out the scene.
There were hundreds of people there, but everyone looked so young! We weren't sure if the spring break was a high-school or college event. We definitely ran into a few chaperones. Chaperones? In Mexico? In Cabo Wabo? That's just crazy, that's like a chaperone at a bunny ranch.
The tequila they have is crazy
Duane's a big flirt
There was some dancing. There was some dancing on tables. We had a few more drinks. Okay, we had a lot more. We danced on the elevated platform. Duane fell off, believed I had something to do with it, and later pushed me off. Fucker. I landed on my head. The bouncers rushed over, ready to break up a fight, but it didn't bother me, I didn't feel a thing. Tequila rules!
After the stars went away I borrowed Duane's camera, took a picture of him macking on the teenage girlies, and went to the bar to get another round of drinks. Of course there's a nearly-naked girl lying on the bar. Her friend and the bartender are licking tequila off her chest. I've never seen anything like this before.
We were very drunk at this point
The evening rapidly went downhill. We were having fun, drinking a lot of that stupid fucking green drink, when suddenly we were very very drunk. I think it hit us both at the same time. It was almost a binary state transition: not-drunk -> drunk. The world started to spin and neither of us were capable of doing anything even remotely intelligent.
Everything written after this point has been reconstructed from blurry drunken memories and a few blurrier photos.
We tried to leave, but as soon as we got outside Duane realized his wallet was gone. He asked "Do you have my wallet?" Uh, sorry dude, that's a negative. We went back to try to look for it, but you have to realize this was mission impossible even if we had been sober: the place was packed. We were so rediculously drunk. We couldn't find the wallet anywhere. I'm not even sure we could remember where we were dancing.
I spent ten or twenty quality minutes searching the bathroom (read: throwing up so much I was afraid I was in need of medical attention). I think Duane may have joined my porcelain-god worship. We looked some more, but like I said, I don't remember where we should have been looking. Anyway, we couldn't find the wallet.
We left again, but as soon as we got outside Duane realized his wallet was gone. He asked "Do you have my wallet?" Uh, sorry dude, that's a negative. I was starting to feel worse. Duane said he was going back to look for it. I said I couldn't, we had to go. Duane reluctantly agreed.
We staggered back towards the dinghy dock. Duane kept repeating "My wallet, my wallet, I have to cancel my wallet". In fact he tried to dial the VISA 1-800 number.
Now imagine this from my perspective: you can't feel your hands, you can't focus your eyes, you can't close your eyes because you'll barf, and you can't keep your eyes open because the spinning lights make you dizzy and you'll barf. Your friend, who has lost his wallet, really wants to cancel his wallet. He opens his cellphone and starts dialing numbers.
Pop quiz: do you think Duane remembers the 1-800 number for VISA? Yeah, right. So Duane drunk-dialed a few innocent Mexican families. We continued on towards the dinghy dock.
It's a good thing they have traffic cops working the downtown area on Saturday nights on the first day of spring break. Duane and I wandered out into oncoming traffic and if it wasn't for the efforts of our new friend (above), we would have been quickly run over. She helped us cross the street, and believe me, we needed the help. We were really drunk.
As soon as we got to the other side Duane realized his wallet was gone. He asked "Do you have my wallet?" Uh, sorry dude, that's a negative. I was starting to feel even worse, and the strange deja-vu wasn't helping. Duane said he was going back to look for it. I said I couldn't, we had to go. Duane said he was going back.
I guess I said I would wait for him at the dinghy dock, but I don't remember. Duane says that I said I would wait for him. I don't remember that, I remember arguing for him to come with me, and then giving up and leaving him for dead on the wild streets of Cabo.
I went back to the dinghy dock, somehow got into Purpeat, somehow started the outboard, and somehow navigated my way back to Wanderlust. I don't think I waited a single second. Duane? What Duane? He's canceling his wallet. Drunk dinghying isn't smart, but I made myself as conspicuous as possible by driving slowly, showing a light, and barfing all the way home.
I didn't fall in or drown, I didn't get run over, and I found the right boat. I double-tied the dinghy (and my knots were real bowlines), went inside, and immediately fell asleep. Oh, I think I barfed a little more.
Duane's night wasn't as peaceful: I think he went back to the bar, but I'm not sure he ever made it. He's not sure either. We know he called Sara's cellphone, which was off, and left her the message: "I lost my wallet, can you cancel it? The number is 4560100294958234 and the number is 18002394923 thank you". No text depiction of his slurred speech could ever be accurate.
Duane left four or five messages, each repeating the VISA card number and the VISA 1-800 number. When we listened to the messages the next day, it was incredible how drunk he sounded. There were long pauses, totally incoherent slurred words, and maybe even some heaving in the background. More incredible was that he got every number correct! His only problem was that you can't call 1-800 numbers outside the US!
Anyway, Duane came back to the dinghy dock, looked for me, crawled into a dinghy he thought was Purpeat, barfed everywhere, and went to sleep. When the couple who owned the dinghy came back to the dock and woke him up, he promptly fell out of the dinghy and into the water, somehow got back onto the dock, and quickly ran away.
So Duane is totally drunk, soaked, freezing, and now has no wallet or cellphone (but we didn't realize he lost the phone until the next day). He does the only thing you do when you're drunk, soaked, freezing, and have no wallet: you find Sara's hotel and throw rocks at the window.
Unbelievable that he could find the hotel. Even more unbelievable was that Sara and Jeff woke up, realized someone was throwing rocks at their window, and promptly went back to sleep.
Duane slept a few hours outside the barred door to the hotel before another guest came back. By this time he must have been pretty close to death. Drunk, freezing, curled up in a ball on a set of concrete stairs. Sounds like fun!
Duane eventually got into the hotel, banged on the door, and Sara and Jeff let him in. He took a shower, Sara handed over her warm bed and cuddled up with her cuz, and the night ended on a final good note: no one lost their lives.
I fucking hate Cabo.