Our scuba guide had promised all week a grand adventure on Friday – swimming with the seals. They liked to hang out and sun themselves on a large rock near the edge of the bay. They’d gotten used to the dive boat floating nearby, and would slide into the water whenever divers appeared.
But first, we had to get through Thursday night. The hotel promised a big fiesta, right on the grounds. Like a Hawaiian luau, this would be an evening-long feast, complete with equestrian exhibition, endless tequila, and señoritas dancing to the music of a fat-guitar band.
So, promptly at 6 PM, all 25 of the hotel guests, as well as some independent tourists, filtered down to the outdoor patio. We were greeted by the 125 formally clad hotel staff, proudly displaying a buffet table overflowing with prime rib, fresh caught fish, and suspect vegetables. We loaded up, and found a table for four.
Immediately, the tequila team descended on us. I considered myself a connoisseur of tequilas, but had little real experience with drinking.
“What?! You don’t know what slammers are?” Fred guffawed. He, on the other hand, was a veteran of drinking games and morning after headaches.
He ordered Coronas all around, and four shot glasses. Pointing to his, he nodded at the first waiter holding the Cuervo Gold flagon. Quicker than his glass filled, Fred threw his head back, downed it in one swallow, and slammed his glass upside down on the table. A new glass appeared next to it. We all followed his lead, but could not keep up, Before we got to the first course, Fred had six shot glasses lined upside down; the rest of us, 2 or 3.
We dove into the meal, and awaited the equestrians. Prancing fifteen feet away, several palominos restlessly awaited the cue from their riders. Bespangled in black sequined outfits, wide-brimmed hats with neck cords, and what appeared to be silver-plated armor protecting saddles and chaps. The lead horse strutted out, and the rider grabbed a microphone.
“Señors y Señoras! Welcome! Our family has been riding these horse for generations. Please accept our spectacle for you. Remember, it take hours and hours of training to join horse and rider in this most beautiful dance!”
“Hours and hours of training!” Fred cried as he raised his beer skyward.
The horses highlegged in circles, bent forward on one knee, rose up a la Lone Ranger’s Silver, and generally astounded all with their ability to perform acrobatic feats in an area the size of a volleyball court.
When they finished, it was time for dessert. But dessert, apparently was not ready for us. First, the “artisans” from town were allowed in to fleece the tourists. Something about all the free tequila had made Fred more generous than usual.
“Look, they want us to buy something, they want our dollars, ‘cause the Peso’s in free fall.”
Fred gestured for the ironwood statue salesman. As the viéjo inched over, burdened by a dozen or more small, deeply mahogany animal sculptures, Fred continued, sotto voce, “Look, I’m going to bargain with the guy. That’s what they expect.” Louder, he asked, “¿Cuanto?”
Not satisfied with the price, he made a show of looking in his wallet and finding it empty. “Wait, maybe I can trade you my watch!” he offered, unclasping it and dangling it before the suddenly attentive old man.
“Si, señor. Este?” he said, holding out a forearm-sized dolphin in full leap. Fred’s eye’s bulged and twinkled at the same time.
“Sure. Let’s do it!” he chortled, handing over his dive watch for the probably machine made cetacean.
Both seemed happy at the end of the exchange, but it was pretty apparent to me who got the better of the deal. I tried to dissuade Fred, but he was having none of it. He was making a grand gesture, full of bravado, and remained swept along by his own ebullience.