CDMX a Guadalajara
Marvin Gaye is playing in the background. Through the walls I hear moaning and an occasional scream. Everything is painted red and when I try to turn off the lamp, the light switches to that same colour. On the bathroom door a picture of a naked woman can be seen, on the mirror is a sign saying I can buy condoms at reception.
My mind goes racing and my brain concludes that this might just not be your average family hotel. I use the lord’s name in vain, write the words ‘Y’all need Jesus’ on the wall and flee from this blasphemous mess.
In the next hotel I find my rest. A place to pray and read my bible verses in peace.
The location is Ciudad de México. A city with more inhabitants than my home country. I explore the city centre and visit a hipster neighbourhood or two. The city appeals to me and I decide to return later on.
During the weekend I get caught up in the Pride. An event I thoroughly enjoy. A supernova of love and liberty. Although this Pride thing does strike me as being quite gay.
After a day of seeing smiles and happy tears I return to my hotel and rest up. My ass sore from all the… pinching (easy now), my ego somewhere up at cloud nine.
A week more during which words are written and plans are made and I head out to a town on the south coast of the Oaxaca province: Puerto Escondido. There I meet up with a friend I met in Montañita, Ecuador (ruptured achilles Cuban cigar man).
Puerto Escondido has the weather and the scenery, yet it doesn’t appeal to us. On one side it’s a party Valhalla, on the other side it’s nearly deserted beaches and boredom. The two of us can’t seem to find the place in between and decide to leave.
The decision process:
Him: “Wanna go to Guadalajara?”
Me: “What is a Guadalajara?”
Him: “A city northwest of Mexico City.”
Me: “Big?”
Him: “Yes.”
Me: “Almost no tourists?”
Him: “Very few.”
Me: “Quesadillas?”
Him: “Yes, lots.”
Take off.
Life’s difficult at times.
We spend a night in a hostel and move into our apartment the next day. A month of structure, writing, working out and disturbing certain body parts lies ahead. But first and foremost: work.
I need to turn this writing into a success. I need this way of living to be perpetual. My options are limited, but failure is not one of those options. So I place my pen on the paper for the millionth time, down some pain killers, crack my brain and try. I keep on trying.
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