One tequila, two tequila, three tequila, peanuts!

A trip to Mexico that does not involve margaritas would just be blasphemous, which is why I drank copious amounts of them during my 3 weeks in Mexico. Tequila and I are fickle friends, our relationship has certainly had its ups and downs (and I certainly don’t think we are ready to call it quits yet), but there is one night in Mexico that stands out in my mind: Margarita Happy Hour at a rooftop bar in Barra de Navidad.

94 cents for a heavy pour

My then-boyfriend and I spotted a sign for a rooftop bar that offered margaritas for the equivalent of 94 cents between the hours of 4-8. Obviously, we had no choice but to go. We arrived at 4pm on the dot, ready to get our drink on. The bar was completely empty. We tried to blame this on the fact that it was low season, but the truth is we were probably the only people in the small town that were that eager to get wasted in the middle of the afternoon. The first drinks came and we enjoyed the strong, high quality tequila as we checked out the view of the beach.

One tequila, two tequila, three tequila, peanuts!

I am fairly convinced that each drink we ordered was stronger than the last. It was as if the bartender was bored and thoroughly amused by the gringos getting drunk on his rooftop. After a few drinks, he brought us a tiny bowl of peanuts. We devoured them immediately, so he brought us 2 more tiny bowls with our next round of extra strong drinks. At this point we were both a little, ahem, rosy-cheeked, so we found this whole peanut business pretty magical. Then this gem of a conversation happened:

Me: hey, these are secret peanuts!

Boy: What?

Me: These are the secret peanuts for the special drinkers.

Boy: What special drinkers?

Me: Us! You only get peanuts if you survive the first few rounds! Secret peanuts!

Don’t judge me, ice cream man

If you know me at all, you will not be surprised that as soon as this happy hour ended, I decided I had to have ice cream. We walked ever-so-gracefully down the stairs and to the nearby ice cream shop. The then-boyfriend didn’t speak Spanish, so the ordering fell to me. I explained that I would need two cones, each with 2 scoops. The ice cream man assumed I was confused (read: drunk) and began to make single scoop cones.

Me: “no no no……dos bochas….cada uno. DOS BOCHAS. Cada. Uno.”
(No, no, no…..two scoops…each one. TWO SCOOPS. EACH. ONE.)

I emphasized this point by holding up two fingers on one hand and pointing to my fingers with the other. It was necessary.

I shouldn’t be allowed near Facebook while drinking

Unfortunately, the ice cream shop was located directly next to an internet cafe. Before I could be stopped, I insisted on going inside so I could log onto Facebook. The result was a post on my friend Ellen’s wall. Ellen and I studied abroad together and I tend to associate both Spanglish and being drunk with her. The post said:

“I AM DRUNK IN MEXICO WITHOUT YOU AND IT FEELS WRONG. Te freaking extraño!”

She called me la borracha!

After all this, you think I’d be pretty invincible to embarrassment, but I wasn’t that far gone. As I jelly-legged it backed to our hotel, I overheard a woman laugh at say “mira la borracha” (look at the drunk girl). For some reason, this upset me quite a bit. I put on what I can only imagine was a cartoon-quality pouty faced and whined “She called me la borracha! Oh nooo. Oh no I’m a borracha! Oh no no no!”

For the record, I made it back to the hotel, slept like a baby and cured my hangover with some chilaquiles and tacos for breakfast. Those margaritas were worth every penny.

Rease is a US citizen who fled the Midwest in favor of ex-pat life in Buenos Aires, Argentina. She is bilingual and is very capable of cussing you out in Spanish. She loves gaining and sharing knowledge of local cultures, customs and adventure, and she especially loves getting sassy with anyone who gets in her way. Her favorite place in the world is any artisan ice cream shop in Argentina.