The night after I dropped the Czech girls off, Thursday, I moped and cried and made it over to an internet cafe, and typed that last story, not knowing what else to do. What melodrama!! I realized this, yet still felt like I had blown my chances, and didn't expect much to happen this weekend. So I figured I'd get drunk. I headed to Calypso, as there's house music on Thursdays. The DJs are consistently terrible, but it's the only house in town, so I'm there. I get a beer, which I rarely do. I meet Miranda, a local friend. She asks me how I am. I say I had a really strange day, and explain what happened. She says she knows how I feel. She was just in Germany for 11 months, learned to speak German fluently, made lots of good friends, and just came back to Merida a month ago. Now her friends in town have changed, her relationships are different, and she feels weird. It was very good to talk to her. She wants to leave, she doesn't like house. I'm digging it. I tell her I'll go with her, but in the end, it's raining, and she knows I wants to stay, and takes off by herself. (I felt bad and apoligized to her there and again later, and she was very understanding and kinda about it, thank you Miranda!) I go back inside and dance and dance. The music was healing me, I could feel it. I ran into an "American" guy from the US there that I had met the previous week at the Mercado, Brent. He is *extremely* American college boy. Tall, blond short hair, backwards hat, big nose, very Ameeeerican speech. But he's friendly and we're talking. He met this friend, Manuel (??), who is from Caracas, on the coast, and has been partying with him. Manuel showed him all the right places in Caracas, the clubs, introduced him to women, got him weed, cooked him food. All he had to do was pay for everything. The picture is clear. We agree that it's a good deal for both of them. Calypso closes. We're out on the patio. His Venezuelan friends come around. What am I doing after this? Nothing. Want to party more? Sure. We head to Coyote. This place is kinda seedy, open late, lots of drunkards, blaring music. We drink and dance. Eventually it closes. It's late, maybe 5am. We want more. We chow some hamburguesas; Miguel wants me to pay for them all but I don't. We jump in a cab, maybe 6 of us, Brent, Miguel, two of his guy friends, and some girl, and me. We head to some random house outside of town and knock on the window. A man pulls back the window. We buy a case of beer, which was ridiculously expensive, but this dude is the only game in town at this hour, and we really want it. Brent runs out of money as the two of us split it. Back in the cab, cruising around, do I want to see some shit? It'll only be 6000 for the cab ($9 US). Sure, let's go. I'm a little drunk, pass out. I wake up and we're tearing through the mountains, everybody has beers, Miguel hands me a fresh one. The sun is coming up. Eventually we stop and get out. It fucking freezing cold. It's beautiful. We've been driving up in a long valley, and now looking down over it, and it's quite nice. But cooooold. We're back in cab and tear off. We get to some hotel on the side of the mountain. There's some discussion about money. The driver wants 20,000 ($30). Miguel says pay the man. I said it was supposed to be 6,000. He says we went really far. He wants us to get out here, and explore more, and then we'll get another cab back later. I say fuck that, he's spent enough of my money, I'm headed back to Merida. We scramble back in and cruise back. Lots of arguing in Spanish with the driver. Eventually we're back home and I split the bill with the girl, who magically comes up with 10,000. Brent takes off. Miguel has my long sleeved shirt on (which I had packed for the trip to Tucacas). He doesn't want to give it back. I say I need it. He gives it back. I go home and finally pass out, around 10am. I slept til 5pm. I look around and my hat is missing. Damn, last time I got drunk, in Berlin, I lost another hat. This one wasn't fantastic but I liked it and had bought it outside of Prague. Oh well. Missed my salsa lesson, oops, I tried to call but there was no answer. I got dinner. I'm hung over a bit. Eat fruit. Suddenly it's evening again, Friday, what to do? No decent music that I knew of. I put on a shirt, and headed into town, planning on taking the regular club soundcheck tour, which was usually disappointing. Passing through the plaza, I hear music, there's live salsa there! I walk to the stage, there's people gathered around, many of them dancing. I try to dance too, a bit nervous, unsure of myself, just doing the solo salsa moves that I was taught. After a couple of songs I hear somebody from behind me and turn around and a guy is saying something and smiling, I guess either half encouraging me, half mocking me, I'm not sure what, with a group of young girls behind him. The bands change. I'm looking around. The guy says something to me again. I turn around and see the group, maybe 7 of them, all girls except for him, all in a circle. They ask where I'm from, we start talking, they're art students from Caracas, studying to be art teachers, and here in Merida for a symposium, and leaving tomorrow. And what am I doing later? I don't know. They invite me to join them dancing. I say sure. They take me to Baradas (?) which is normally a sports bar, I thought, and which I had yet to see the inside of. We go inside, and get beers, and talk, and dance. I'm dancing with Gabriel. She had caught my eye immediately when I had turned around in the plaza. Brown skin, dark hair, glasses, attractive, intelligent looking. She's an insanely good salsa dancer. I suck. Her feet are all over the place. She says don't worry, don't try to do what I'm doing, dance like you know how to dance. I do, and it's fun. She doesn't like the United States, for this reason and that. I agree with her. I tell her I'm against the war, our imperialist policies, this and that. She was a hari krishna for four years (!) but left when she found out her guru wasn't a guru. They were ahead of me, alcohol wise, and I'm still drinking slowly, but getting slightly tipsy. We go downstairs. They're doing synchronized dances in groups. Then some track comes on and it's time to grind. I'm not good at that shit. I like to dance by myself, although salsa is interesting, but rubbing crotches on the dancefloor never held much appeal to me, conceptually. I'd rather do that without the whole crowd of people around. But it's happening, and I'm doing my best. "It's a game" she tells me. "What, us dry fucking on the dancefloor is a game? Hahah! It's so funny!!". She's a bit drunk, maybe, I'm not sure. Brent and Miguel and their gang show up, and mingle with our little crowd. Brent hooks up with one of the young art student teacher girls. The place closes. We all head to Calypso, and dance some more. We kiss. (Not all of us, just Gabriel and me.) Then Calypso closes. We're outside, much discussion ensues, I'm just waiting for somebody to tell me where to go. We jump in two cabs and head to some apartments. It's the art students' place. We all jump out, and much arguing in Spanish ensues. Some of the art students don't like some of Brent's Venezuelan buddies, as they're drunk and loud and violent. I basically agree, but keep my opinion to myself, and let them battle it out. Eventually, we're all in their apartment anyway, drinking, dancing a bit. Brent gets pulled into a side room by his girl. Miguel and the rest are kicked out. Gabriel and I embrace on the small couch and fall asleep. The next day, Saturday, a bit groggy, didn't sleep well. It's late, noon, and they missed their symposium. Another art student friend of theirs comes over and passes me venezuelan joint #2, a gift from the heavens. It's a bit awkward, everybody's out of it, but we eventually get out of there, and jump in a bus, go to the bus station, buy their tickets to Caracas. Then we head to the Mercado, and I immediately spot a nice orange knit hat, and pull out my money and buy it, impulsively. I like the hat, I need a hat, simple at that. The girls all like it and exchange wearing it for the day. I offer it to one of them, and she declines, thinking I was joking, which I wasn't. Then head to a small park, chill for a while, back to the bus station, get some arepas. We all exchange emails. I still want to give them the hat, but don't, thinking I need it, and I already offered it to them. I help them board the bus, wait for it to leave, and run along side, waving and blowing kisses. Farewell, friends. -- The next day, Sunday, I head to another market and try on some pants. They don't fit. So I leave and head back to town. And realize my new hat's missing. Shit. I check the bus, not there. I left it at the pants place, which is now far away. I'll check it tomorrow. Tomorrow comes, Monday, I check the market, it's not there. I head over to the Mercado. I see the same guy that sold me the first hat. I ask for another. He says no more. I say I Need one. He finds me one. It's the same concept, same wool, but not as nice, a bit tattered looking, not knit well, and doesn't fit so nicely. I think on one hand that it's fine, big deal, just buy it. But I know it's not right. I waffle. I ask if he's sure there's no more. Eventually he gives in and brings me to another merchant's area. There's 7 or 8 hats just like it. I go to a mirror and try them all on. I find one that's just as good as the one I lost. I buy it. Later Monday, I check my email for the first time since Thursday morning. In my mailbox is a message from Jason titled "hats". The next day, while gathering my landry, my first had, the one from Prague, that I thought I had lost, suddenly appears on my floor.