Pierre and i were at the beach shacks one night after work.
“Look at that girl man, she so horny”, Pierre.
“She looks 12 man!”
“That’s part of her appeal.”
“Yeah but you’ll be the one going to jail.”
“That’s part of the game.”
That’s Pierre for you. Unapologetic gem of a guy, and we got along like a tag team on fire. If it wasn’t for him, i wouldn’t have stuck around at this job so long. He split on the 31st, i leave tomorrow, the 4th. It was supposed to be yesterday but i got so wired i missed the bus.
That whole thing in the last blog about starting work at 8 am every day and being disciplined and sleeping on time and sleeping right and yada yada… i spoke too soon. It lasted only a week. Then i went out one night, and i never worked mornings after that, cos i never saw mornings after that. I hit the beach whenever i woke up, played volleyball, jumped into the pool, played some ping pong, whooped ass at pool, then got behind the bar.
Weekends i hooked up gigs. One of those gigs i’ll probably rank as the craziest i’ve played. Glitch hop, funk, and DnB – faces melted. It was raining drugs that night at the console, the toilets, the dance floor, everywhere. People coming to me with eyes like they were in love with me, offering me all they had in their pockets. I told the guy running the place this was dangerous. He grinned, pointed to the woman grinding against the speakers and told me she was the local equivalent of the DEA. When i wrapped up the 4-hour set at 5 am, we dragged ourselves to the beach and continued till the sun destroyed our heads. I knew then, that i had to get out of here soon.
Back to Pierre. When he left, i was actually sad. I couldn’t cheer myself up. I had to go sit on the beach alone with my spliff. Erika was a soothing soul to talk to, but the busy season kept her occupied in the kitchen way too long. Where were all this ’emotions’ coming from? Bizarre shit. I’d only known him a month! I didn’t feel like working a day after that. We made a great team. Mostly cos he did the majority of the hard work. I did lift over 100 crates of beer during this job, but it was him that dealt with Eliana the manager, the hardest part of the job. He needed the money to get back to Lima to finally catch his flight home. It was important for him. For me, it was more like that dream vacation job only seen in Hollywood. Have i told you i have the worst luck with women managers? I’ve hit a hat-trick with that. But another post for that.
For a 22 year old, he’s very inspiring. Pierre’s the kinda guy, that when absolutely broke and starving, if he found a dollar on the street, he’d buy weed with it. Priorities. He’s spent nights in south america on hammocks and bread alone, but he’s always got out of touch situations just fine. In Argentina he learnt to make funky jewellery with inca/meteorite stones, and i’m honoured to be wearing two such pieces right now. He’s also a fabulous entrepreneur. He’s cooked over 10 litres of ket-a-mine at this young age. One day i’ll get him over to India to start a little venture in a little camping van. He’s probably back home in France by tomorrow to celebrate his 23rd birthday.
The staff here are all cool kids. Great bunch. Starting with the awesome Gabry and Lisa who trained the two of us, now there’s Theo the Swiss boy, Andres from Lima, Agustin from Argentina, Markus from Estonia, Larissa and Angie from Germany, and Marianna and her huge fake jugs from the doctor. After watching her a few days i’ve come to the conclusion that most women that fidget with their underboob have gotten a boob job. She’s damn cool though, one of those unintentionally funny chicks. Any time you look at her, there’s a 99% probability she’s clicking a selfie. She was given the responsibility of handing out tequila shots to people at the full moon party and she was the first to black out. Oh boy, the number of people i’ve seen black out.
The last week of December was sick, in every way possible. 100 people touched down at The Point, most of them teenagers from Lima. That’s like Goa from xmas to new years, with gujjus, bombay, poona, delhi, bangalore and hyderabad all cavorting at Baga-Calangute. Except this was a much hotter audience. The job ceased being fun when all these kids wanted to listen to at the bar was fuckall reggaeton, in repeat mode.
In. Repeat. Mode. No kidding they’d ask for this over 20 times a night. I’d walk out of the console and ask Marianna to take over as soon as i saw some young dumb bitch walk my way.
Wait for that 1-2-3-let-go part. No really, that’s the drop, bro.
This dude J Balvin is like the Yo Yo Honey Singh of the continent. I’d grind concrete with his face if i caught him.
Between the 28th and 31st, the little town square where everyone parties post 2 am was witness to more fights than the lanes of kurla. There were more gunshots on 31st night than firecrackers. Inside clubs, outside clubs, bottles opening faces cos someone touched someone’s girl by mistake. During the month, there were also some 20 muggings and a couple of stabbings. Yup, it’s not a very safe town. But a dark skinned, long haired, bearded, tattooed, pierced brother doesn’t have to worry much in these parts.
The only music i played on the 1st was acoustic. 7 straight days of ear grinding reggaeton can actually make you hate music. When i started this trip, someone had promised me that in 6 months, i’d be in love with the genre.
Right.
So i stuck on a couple days more, and now I’m here lying in bed hoping nobody tempts me to step out tonight, and i can catch that bus tomorrow back into the jungle, where that long awaited 12 day retreat waits for me. AAAAAND, no internet.
Bye Mancora, you’ve been crazy fun. Maybe we’ll meet again.
No post till mid jan, i’ll have a ton of pics for that one.
the chronicles 