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The Terridactyl on Travel

TD 2 - Bay to Breakers

TD 3 - Yosemite

TD 4 - Nashville

Greetings gentle reader. The Terridactyl is the name I'll be going by in these pages apparently although I'm not sure how flattering that is now that I think about it. I am somewhat struthious, I suppose, although not in an unattractive, overly avain way. At least I didn't think I was before this last trip. In any event, I was invited to make use of this space to report for the Goliard on the state of travel and the single gal. I'm happy for the epistolary outlet as it so happens although I can't guarantee that anyone will find my particular adventures all that interesting. I've been a single gal now for some time (about as long as I've been traveling as a matter of fact) and while I don't recommend singleness for everyone, it does have its advantages with the main one being that I can do whatever the hell I want whenever the hell I want to do it. On the downside, some of the things I want to do, I can't do when I want to do them because I lack adequate companionship (if you know what I mean). Anyway, such are the trade offs of life as we all know and when spring break came around this year, I decided to book myself a trip to Acapulco, Mexico. It was after I had returned and stopped by the Goliard newsroom to show off my tan and see what everyone there was up to that the impetus for this column was hatched. How it happened was that as I sat drinking beer with the guys that afternoon and spinning some of the yarns from my trip, I noticed suddenly that everyone seemed to be really enjoying themselves at my expense. "I'm glad you all find my misfortunes with men so entertaining," I said, annoyed at first with the group of jackasses sitting around me holding their goliardic bellies and chortling like a bunch of Falstaffs. "Would you like to hear more of my frustrations?" As I started in on the one about the taxi cab and the wooden penis, one of the editors started coughing so hard he could barely breathe. Finally, once he was able to get enough air to speak, he suggested that I hold off on the stories lest he crack a rib and instead, maybe turn these little episodes into a monthly column. I was reluctant at first and said, "You guys must really be hurting for material." They admitted that they were and I eventually agreed to do it on an exploratory basis when they convinced me that a staff wide case of writer's block was sweeping the Goliard and the whole enterprise was in danger of cratering out if somebody didn't step in and fill up some space with a healthy amount of drivel and soon. I've enjoyed reading The Goliard from time to time and didn't want to see this group of friends become as pathetic as I know they would if they didn't have the Goliard newsroom to hang around in everyday so I figured I would help out. Anyway, what follows is installment number one, this one coming to you from the sunny, dirty beaches of Mexico.

So, as you now know, I went to Acapulco for my spring break this year and what I can report is that the men south of the border are every bit as lame as the men north of it. I was complimented by many men and stared at by many more but ended up scoring in the negatives in the romance department. The place was beautiful though. I wish I could afford to move down there! I wouldn't do it in a million years of course but that's just one of the things you say when you come back from somewhere nice on vacation right?. Very friendly, helpful locals. Great looking bodies everywhere although sometimes they were briefly obfuscated by wrinkled, brown vendors clamoring to pawn off their piles of crap. Warm balmy nights. Laid-back lifestyle. A crazy coastal mentality. Of course it was also smelly, poor, dirty, humid, noisy, and totally out of control! They have absolutely no regard for any kind of safety whatsoever personal or otherwise. You wouldn't BELIEVE the things I witnessed. I actually saw a guy sucking gas into his mouth out of a neighbor's boat engine through some kind of homemade pipette and then trying to spit it into his empty Evinrude in hopes of priming it to life. Another woman squatted on my stoop and relieved herself while drinking from a gourd of some kind that smelled like it was full of burnt sugar and cursing in Spanish into a cell phone about "Puto" this and "Cabron" that. A boy tried to sell me a picture of a young woman who he said was his sister having sex with a llama! A female llama he said. Ella y Ella! Can you imagine? Anyway, here's the view from my room which by the way was worth every penny.

On my first day, this kind-hearted piece of leather named Salvador bought me a coconut so I could drink the milk inside. I smiled sweetly and looked forward to the treat until I swallowed a big mouthful and found that it was salty and not delicious or flavorful in the least. He also let me try his coconut ice cream which was a little better but still nothing to write home about although I guess, in a way, that's what I'm doing. He is 50 yrs old and has been giving boat rides and ski lessons for 30 years. Later, on day four, he gave me a personal boat tour of the harbor and went snorkeling with me, staying behind me most of the time which, he explained solemnly when we got back on the boat and I asked him about it, was so he could keep a close eye on me to make sure that I didn't come into any danger. I saw more plastic forks and beer cans than fish, but it was amazing nonetheless probably the highlight of my trip. Then the gas incident happened and shortly thereafter he said he didn't feel so well and desperately needed some Blue Agave Mescal which he proceeded to down a bottle of when I bought it for him in hopes of calming his stomach. It didn't work and I waited by this bait stand while he wretched over a guard rail into the bay. I think I hurt his feelings after that when I guessed his age a little too high and then started laughing when he tried to kiss me. Oh well, he was nice enough but reeked of flammables and had a saddle bag sort of stomach that I didn't find very appealing. Little did I know that he would end up being one of the more attractive people that I had a real chance to hook up with. 

I spent a good deal of time on the beach which wasn't all that relaxing actually because about every three minutes a native of somewhere approached me to sell something or implore me to part with some pesos for this good or that service. I got a wind chime from this Indian woman and a name ankle bracelet that a young man wove on the spot! A couple of young boys came by with tee shirts to sell that said "Come Caca" on the front in the same script as "Coca Cola" but I didn't see where I would wear one of those in the event that I bought one. Another lady had little bags of sand that she said would bring luck to anyone back in the Estados Unidos who dumped it over their shoulders and sang a little accompanying chant that she said she would be happy to teach me for a single American dollar. After I'd paid her she whispered something that sounded like "Hooba Hooba Hooba Shucka" in my ear and shuffled away. A little girl with garlands of dead flowers plopped down next to me and started to cry almost immediately but brightened when I gave her a few pesetas. I then saw her use this trick on numerous other sun bathers until finally she went skipping happily away with a big bag of money. Two obviously gay men walked by and asked if I'd seen some film they were discussing and having a animated disagreement about. By the end of the first day I had a bunch of stuff stacked around me most of which I ended up giving to these two little dirty boys who were dropping sticks in this sewer and then running down to the end of the pipe to see who's dropped out first.

Pictured at right is Roy. He sold me four bikinis that fit perfectly (an impossibility in the states). He even had a green one made for me that I picked up a few days later and also followed me into the fitting room to make sure everything sized up correctly. This is the kind of hands on service I got EVERYWHERE I went in Acapulco. Americans could learn a thing or two from these folks. Of course Americans have other things going for them like quality control, sanitation, irrigation, transportation, education and it is safe to walk the streets of the nicer neighborhoods at night. Almost nobody throws up in public back home either which is not the case on some of the streets of Acapulco.

One odd thing happened during my stay in that I became a sort of groupie to this gang of folksingers. I watched this band four nights in a row. They're called "Romantic" and they play traditional Mexican folk music. Great harmonizers and supposed lotharios except they were not very good at taking advantage of the groupie concept. They sang four songs at my table and we had a choppy conversation in Spanglish where I ascertained that none have day jobs. I invited them out dancing but not a one showed up although another guy from the bar where I'd seen them appeared and claimed that they'd sent him in their stead since they had another engagement. This guy reeked of Lavoris and had a stomach that nearly dragged on the ground and a handlebar mustache which drooped on the ends due to all the yellowing wax. He was also a cigar smoker which I can't stand and tried to convince me that he was the manager for Romantic even though he had a southern accent and clearly wasn't even Mexican. I figured out later that he must have been listening in when we were talking at the bar and followed me over to the dance club and made the whole thing about being their manager up. I saw him later lurking around the bushes by the hotel pool but he went slinking away when I pointed him out to one of the cabana boys. 

Oh I forgot to mention and unfortunately I don't have any pics of this specimen, but I was kept awake for five hrs on the plane ride down there by a retired produce grocer named Julio. He said over and over that he was not supposed to be flying on Good Friday, but I reminded him that we took off very late from the airport so, technically he was flying on a Saturday. He went through some kind of praying ritual anyway during taxi and departure, then went right back to talking my ear off about the kinds of vegetables that I reminded him of and how he wished his daughters were nice like me. They wouldn't even talk to him anymore apparently and had moved off with these caballeros and were having bunches of little babies without his blessing. He finally fell asleep just as we were landing with his head lolling onto my shoulder and his false teeth protruding so he looked like an ailing camel. I got off the plane without saying goodbye to him only to have him come up to me in the cab line and accuse me of stealing a corn cob pipe out of his shirt pocket. He tried to get in the same cab with me but the driver assessed the situation and blocked him stiffly with a forearm shiver to the throat. I saw the pipe stem sticking out of his back pocket as we drove away. That was when I noticed that something was digging into my back, something which turned out to be a big carved wooden penis. The driver acted like he'd never seen it before and I'm still not sure if it was his or it had been left there by a fare from the night before but I can report that he took me the long way to the hotel supposedly to show me the sunrise which was beautiful as you can see. He parked on an overlook and told me to come up front and sit with him so I could see better but looked immediately uncomfortable when I brought the penis along and set it up on the seat between us. After that, he seemed to be in a hurry to drop me off almost like he didn't want me to see him in the daylight or something.

I went out alone on that first night but didn't get asked to dance by anyone in two hours. I must have looked depressed because my waiter finally took pity on me and set me up with the doorman, a 23-year old native named Hugo. He drove me in reverse down three streets in the dark at 3 a.m. in a dilapidated car to avoid being seen by his boss. Hugo didn't speak any English and wore a gold necklace with a machine gun medallion on it. Yes, a machine gun. 
Ok, so here's a 23-year old who doesn't seem at all bothered by the ten year difference in our ages and drives me to a city overlook and after a couple hours, kisses me. We're making out in this tiny VW Rabbit piece-of-crap and the cars are flying by on the winding road honking and yelling things that probably meant something like "Get a room" or "Take her somewhere proper and slip her the bone". We finally did decide to go back to my hotel and I kept saying to myself what the hell, stay in the moment, stay spontaneous, fight your inhibitions...right? So he wants to leave the machine gun necklace on since his father gave it to him....fine. He takes his jeans off and he's wearing teddy bear boxers. No kidding. To make a long story short, he was impotent and nothing happened. How do ya like them apples? I'm not making any of this up....it all happened. How many women can say they can make a hormone-filled youngster limp? I know, I know....his ED has nothing to do with me, right. Regardless, it doesn't do much for my self-esteem when the only young one interested can't get it up, and all the other suitors are relics. I don't know why I thought my luck would be any different down there than it is up here.... And furthermore, a week before I left I had broken down and decided to try eharmony.com. I took their stupid 200-question survey and was going to restrict the search to the Bay Area, but at the last minute, thought what-the-hell, try the whole world. The tutorial states that the more you restrict the geographical region, the less likely the computer can find a match. Well....it's been over two weeks now and it still can't find me a match on the entire globe. I'm serious.

I did make it down to watch the cliff divers one evening and let me tell you those guys are some fearless muchachos. They must have iron testicles and skulls as well because I dove off a cliff that was about fifteen feet high once at Lake Powell and it took me about twenty minutes to get up the nerve and then I had a splitting headache for the rest of the weekend. I asked a young man who was watching near me and who I thought might be a diver himself if he knew anything about how they toughened their heads and he said that if I knew what was good for me I'd take my own head back to my hotel room since he was getting ready to "go loco on somebody's ass". Apparently one of the famous divers everybody was there to watch had made inappropriate suggestions to this man's wife the night before as they were all out salsa dancing and he was now packing a pistola and waiting for the diver to come up through the crowd to collect tips. "Instead of tips I'm going to ram the tip of my weapon right into his speedo and blast off his tiny peenay," the man said laughing like somebody who'd had a few too many Mescal worms. I caught a cab out of there figuring with my luck I'd have been seen talking to this lunatic and end up spending the night in the local jail trying to explain that I didn't know the guy. I tried to ask this cab driver about the wooden penis incident I'd had in the other cab and if it was maybe some ritual or local tradition but I'm not sure he understood what I was getting at and seemed to think I was asking to see his unit which he made clear he wasn't about to allow. He then dropped me in some mercado and drove away before I could pay him and with a bag of souvenirs I'd bought still in the trunk.

Anyway, as you can imagine I was getting somewhat desperate on the day before I was supposed to leave and decided to make my moves with the men a little more proactive. I had been going to this gym each morning and was hoping to score with a weight lifter named Jose who had a great butt and a sexy pair of legs, but when I went up to ask him if he'd like to get together he turned out to be a Catholic priest. Later that morning a 31-year old boat worker named Nino stopped me on my beach walk and invited me to a club that night. When I said that I'd be glad to meet him there he immediately remembered that his sister was getting married down south somewhere and said he was sorry but he had to leave that afternoon. I finally broke down and asked the concierge guy at the hotel where a girl could go to meet available men and he directed me to some back building where his cousins were sweeping up a bunch of feathers and rinsing blood off these rickety makeshift bleachers so I didn't stick around to find out if they were nice guys or not. Finally, on the flight home, a 70-year old widowed man with a cane, bad breath, and rotted front teeth named Raul told me I was beautiful and asked me for my phone number. I'm not kidding. All in all, I had terrible luck with the men unless they were grandfathers. But I have no regrets other than I ran out of time and didn't get to parasail. It was only $20 and I'm still kicking myself for not doing it even though I saw one of the sailors that did go up get slammed into the dock, the result of the all to common combination of gusty wind and inebriated boat driving. Anyway, I would recommend Acapulco to anyone who likes the sunshine and cheap cervesa but not for those trying to meet a man eager to demonstrate any sort of aptitude with a functioning organ. I thought I'd heard that Latin men were supposed to be all lusty and vigorous but the only evidence of firmness I saw in this area came from a carved wooden dong that I found in a cab. Oh well, next weekend I'm going to a naked parade so we'll see what the future brings. Adios for now! 

The TD.

 Installment 2 - Bay to Breakers

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