So we are getting sorted to head over the border to Mexico, just having a quiet beer out the front of the hostel, when Winston (our UK trainee helicopter pilot) comes out buzzing. "C'mon guys, we're going out, I'm driving".
We were a touch hesitant. Had to get up at 6 to get to the bus. How about we just have a couple of beers and be home by 11? RESPONSE: Yeah, no worries, we won't be late. We'll be back before 11... We'll head down to Pacific Beach 'cause I've heard it is really good.
So the 6 of us climb into Winston's rented hearse (plenty of room for more) and we head off in the direction Bretto suggests we need to go. Should we go straight? Nah man I know a short cut...
1 HOUR LATER: Back at the hostel. Have travelled the same roads several times due to
(a) listening to the sat nav
(b) listening to Bretto
(c) listening to the girls
(d) all of the above
When we eventually found the beach, we were refused entry into any of the bars as we did not have "valid identification". So we go back to the hostel with travellers in hand.
TAKE TWO: Let's head down to Ocean Beach (with passports) instead. It's closer, and Bretto knows the way (oh shit). Find the first bar, get a drink. Unfortunately, the bartender has no idea what she is doing and manages to serve a martini glass of straight vodka (not chilled, not water down as a cocktail) and a bourbon (straight) with a dask of cola. Tonight is gonna be interesting!
Next bar. Reggae. Everyone can dance reggae, just ask Jarrod.
LESSON: Don't say you are a teacher. Eyes glaze over and the conversation stops. Improvement: So Jarrod, what do you do? Response: I'm a dolphin trainer (you then go on to show through mime how the process is conducted). OK. So Dave, what do you do? Response: I'm a toe therapist. (A what?) A toe therapist. You know when you have that pair of heels that you love but you can't wear because they just hurt too much? Well, I counsel your toes to accept the pain so you can wear them as much as you like...
ADD MORE ALCOHOL HERE: Much later in the night. What's the time? Response: Just before 11. Sneakily, knowing it was a bit later Dave had told everyone to tell Jarrod the time was ALWAYS just before 11. The fact was it was much later and the 2 beers we had gone out to have turned into about 8.
HOME AGAIN: Around 2am. We have to get up at 6. What have we done?
MORNING: Not real flash. No need for an alarm - the toilet beckons. Let's just say when all the facilities are being used and a desperate backpacker (aka Dave) is about to explode, thinking flexibly is the best solution.
ON THE BUS TO THE BORDER: What could possibly go wrong?
