(Out of sequential order)

Where is the gang?´, I wonder as I sit alone by my bike in Loreto, Baja California. As I wait it becomes obvious there has been a mistake with our rendezvous point and I will have to catch up the others on the road to La Paz. The drive is about 4 hours and riding alone is no problem except for the obvious hassle of how to meet up with a red jeep, red motorcycle and 4 rowdy gringos in a city ramping up for Carnaval. Carnaval occurs in the week before lent, most famously in New Orleans and Rio de Janiero but La Paz and Mazatlan, an overnight ferry ride away, attract partiers from all over Mexico to imbibe, dance, and watch gawdy parades pass by. I make good time, anxious not to arrive after nightfall and reach the city about 5.30pm with an hour of light left. It is Valentines Day and I stop by an Internet Café to see if Jon has sent me directions to his hotel amidst balloon sellers and taco stands. Nothing happening there so I make for a cheap dinner, a little nervous at the prospect of shelling out for a hotel by myself. A quick check of email at 8pm and no word. I decide to cut my losses but really don´t feel like a hotel room and note on my map free camping is around the lagoon. Riding about 15km out of the city lands me on a peninsula with a now-unseen beach but I see several cars parked by a clearing so all appears safe. I pull in and pitch my tent in the dark. During this time, I notice that none of my neighbours have tents up and appear to be parked up doing nothing. The penny drops. I am on a secluded quiet patch of beach overlooking the city. On Valentines Day. And I am the only one here camping. To my right a group of teenagers drink beer from their parents pick-up, play music and trade saliva with their girlfriends. Periodically, cars will pull into the lot and trawl along the hedges built up around the high tide mark searching for their own private spot. Lovers Lane is busy tonight. Thank goodness for my discman, I plug in some music and try not to think about what´s going on around me.
Dawn wakes me with high tide worryingly close to my tent and bike. I pack quickly and make my way into La Paz. It´s a less tourist focused city than the rest of Baja and this is the first place where Mexicans don´t tend to try out a smattering of English to ease my way through their country. The waterfront is closed for live music and street vendors every night and the town is full of Mexicans holidaying in their own country. I check my email to see that my travel companions managed to make it to La Paz but on the way to the internet café seemed to stumble into a bar and not make it out. A little aggrieved at being ignored I make my way to their room but really think the whole situation was too funny to get worked up about. The room smells of beer and bodies already and Carnaval proper only starts today.

* * * * * * *

Half-way up the tree trunk, I realise I’m not going to make it to the top but there is no turning back. Somehow discussion of coconut trees, Keith Richards and inebriation have led me to conclude that climbing one of the coconut trees can’t be that hard. It seems to be an original idea; Dave and Tim start chanting and the whole street stops and a thousand Mexicans are cheering me on. ´Mas, mas, mas´ they chant, and I feel like the king of the world. Then my arms fill with lactic acid and I can’t move. I look down and somehow I’m the centre of the party. I hang on but eventually time wears at my resolve and I give in to the inevitable. No one seems to boo at my failure, having a good laugh which I´m thankful for but no one tries to out-do my effort either.
I relax down to another beer and consider limiting any more demonstrations of stupidity to ground-level.

* * * * * * *

If I had to describe Lauren in one word, it would be ´pluck´. Tim´s girlfriend, she´s a Melbourne girl who doesn´t take no for an answer and fits seamlessly with Mexican bustle. We are watching the formal beauty pageant to crown the Queen of Carnaval which in itself seems only to require an ability to smile, wave and dance while a Mexican band plays bizarre traditional marching music to fit the crowning. There is seating and a standing area behind but Lauren shepherds us to the front right of the stage where we sit on the ground and work on our $2 ballenas (literally ´whales´ beer sold by the litre). Somehow this attracts the attention of one of the beauty queens who waves Lauren and I onto the stage and we are suddenly up dancing with the beauty queens in front of a crowd of about 5000 gathered. Everyone seems to think it´s hilarious but I´m waiting to be wrestled to the ground by an overzealous security guard. It never happens and the princess passes me over to dance with one of the queens of whom there are about five. No one seems to tell me to go away but after two songs I feel I´m obviously imposing on the traditional part of the celebrations and we get down but they call Dave up out of the crowd and he´s up on stage as our third representative of unkempt, unwashed, unshaven drunk tourists dancing with the city´s most beautiful girls.

* * * * * * *

There aren´t any signs for toilets around and the restaurants are charging for use of theirs. The Carnaval is on the waterfront so no problem there, I move to the water´s edge. While there I realize there must be 30000 people at this carnaval and if only 1 in 20 are as inconsiderate as me, well… I decide I won´t be swimming tomorrow.
I spot Dave in the crowd and he has two interesting pieces of information for me. The first of these is that he was caught relieving himself by the police who wanted to escort him down to the police station. Being pragmatic and extremely drunk, Dave managed to pay the fine on the spot. It cost him $20 but saved him a lot of unpleasantness. I´m a little unsure if he´s bribed them as other people tell me that´s the cost of the fine but it seems a little unorthodox nonetheless.
His second piece of information is that he´s found the spiciest tacos in the world, apparently. This catches my attention. As a chilli-o-phile I have been a little disappointed at the heat in some of the taco stands supposedly spicy offerings and am keen to rise to the challenge. I order my pork taco and drizzle the salsa liberally over the meat. I bite, close my eyes, tense my neck in anticipation and… nothing. I heap another spoonful into my mouth to Dave´s wide-eyed amazement and then well, bugger it, drink the whole bowl of salsa. Dave is about bug eyed when I finish it but now I´m charging. We rally the group for pork tacos as it is now the early hours of the morning and I down another bowl of the salsa picante. The vendors of the taco stand see this and being of good humour find me a whole green chile. I look at it´s deep green hue, look around and once again give in to blatant attention-seeking mode and chow down the chile whole. At last, this warms me up but I´m well within my tolerance level yet the taco stand guys think I´m amazing. They chatter and fumble around looking for something hotter but to my eternal pain know exactly what it is they´re about to present me. They pull out a ripe jalapeño, with dry stripes through the body, a sign of a truly hot chile. I know this is going to hurt but am on a roll and again am the centre of entertainment. I take my first bite and it stings like a coal in my throat. I chew, and swallow and realizing this is my only moment finish the chile with my next bite. Genuine chile heat, as opposed to the powdered form is a gradually increasing heat, blowing out sinuses and gradually warming your entire mouth, lips and throat. What this means is that when you reach your heat threshold, the heat may yet increase beyond what you can manage. Swallowing this chile was like eating a hand-grenade and spitting out the pin. It was only a matter of time and I sit like a condemned man, slowly rocking back and forth like a nervous twitch but I can not escape the burn. I cry like a girl and try not to vomit, yet I do manage to stammer ´get me a drink` to Dave. Some vendor donates me a cup of ice and a glass of water and I wait for the pain to subside much to everyone`s mirth.

By the time we get on the ferry for Mazatlan for the fourth day of carnaval, everyone welcomes the relief on our livers.

Posted on Saturday, March 10th, 2007 at 2:35 am in Uncategorized, Josh's Journal.
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