In the morning, we stuck with our routine from the previous day. We got up, had breakfast and went to the beach. Breakfast was crap again because it was continental. So while everyone was filling up on toast, jam and vegemite, I was living off two hard boiled eggs and a small sliver of pineapple.  Citrus fruits always made the roof of my mouth itch. Being wheat intolerant was shitty and extremely inconvenient. It wasn’t worth enduring a couple days of agonizing pain shooting up my side and migraines just to take advantage of  free breakfast. So instead we made a habit of going down the street to the food cart.

This guy sold sopas and chorizo which was basically a tortilla bowl with ground up spiced sausage and all kinds of awesome toppings like cebollas(onions), cilantro and different intensities of spicy salsas and guacamole.  Making trips to the food cart became part of our routine quickly not just because it was delicious, but because they were cheap as hell. They were about a dollar each, and being able to gorge myself  for $3 was dangerous (15PES each. Yeah. Take notes). Thank God North Beach was so close, we were able to ride out our food comas mostly in peace. The semi frequent beach merchants usually took to hovering over us shaking necklaces for sale until we woke up and rejected them. The day of October 7th in particular, we were lying in the sand while lazily shooing away merchants and then sluggishly planned our night.

“Date night, then beach party.” said Amie, her voice mostly muffled by her bunched up sun dress she was using as a pillow. I just nodded and passed back out.

So we got up and dressed in our fanciest clothes as the sun was setting to go out for a real dinner. We chose this place we had noticed the day before, because it had the most beautiful fairy lights, and in its center, there were vines draped against the walls. It was decorated with colorfully intricate tile work, fountains, and lanterns. It was a place I would have loved to see at home. The atmosphere was as good as the food, and the prime rib reminded me of something my parents would make for me back home which is saying something. So after our meal, we went back to the hostel and tried to have as hectic of a night as the one we had before.

There weren’t nearly as many people there as there were the night before. The people from England, Vancouver, and the guys from Israel had left already, so me and Amie swung in the hammocks staring at the stars and listening to the music. A little while later, two guys from came our way and struck up a conversation. We weren’t much in the mood for company so I found it particularly annoying when one of the guys kept asking me if I wanted to drive around the island in his golf cart. I didn’t understand why one “No.” wasn’t enough, and when I looked over at Amie I realized why the guys wanted to split us up. This guys friend was sitting with Amie on the hammocks and was holding her face, forcing her to turn it to kiss her. That pissed me right off, and I went to walk over.

“Just give them a minute, they need to be alone.” random #1 said, as he grabbed my arm, but I pushed past him, grabbed Amie’s arm, and told them stiffly

“We’re leaving.”

I didn’t give a shit about how much of a bitch I came off as. They were calling after us asking “Why??” but I ignored them. We went to sit down at another set of hammocks but it wasn’t long until they tried their luck again. At that point, Amie just went to bed, and I ended up getting drunk for no good reason. So many pesos were wasted on an uneventful night. I sat myself down on a bench, lit another smoke and watched from the palm and wood enclosure as my alcoholic roommate got carried to bed for the 3rd night running.

At that point, I stopped believing she had left her destructive drinking days behind her as she had so convincingly told me. I’ve made my fair number of mistakes, that’s all I’ll say about that. And I wasn’t judging her so much as I was wondering how much of a liability she must have been to her friends thus far. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that no matter how confident you are in what you say you are, your actions are always telling the story of who you really are. I thought of myself as a traveler, and wondered what kind of paradoxical anomalies kept my peers guessing. I thought I knew who I was, but I knew my scope of understanding was painfully limited by my perceptions. I gave my head a shake as I realized I was about to smoke the filter. A second later I saw Mexican Jesus come into the courtyard and away from the party. He swung off his shirt and stretched himself out as he walked.

“I like your shirt!” I said, pointing to his chest, and he turned his head, and stared at me for a second then continued walking. I laughed to myself, then realized that the joke probably didn’t translate well. I probably came off like a weirdo or at best a moron. So I tossed my diminished smoke and went to bed excited for my hangover and now guaranteed to be awkward check out process with Mexican Jesus (Said noone ever).