Hubby and I took a trip to Mexico this weekend, down to the lovely little fishing village of San Felipe on the Baja peninsula. The things we do for tequila. Leave it to us to pick the same weekend that the college kids from San Diego come down for spring break.
Talk about hobags and drunk frat boys. For the record, there is no correlation between being educated and dressing like Britney Spears. I expected Abercrombie and Fitch, but got Rampage instead. It was cold, but the college kids of San Diego U didn't get that memo. They were drunk. They were loud. And they were half-naked.
Note to drunken people: you don't need to yell WOOHOO in public to have a good time. It's annoying to those less drunk than you.
I had a real Baja moment that was perfect from start to finish: We are sitting in a cafe across from the beach. I'm by the fireplace, drinking a mango margarita, watching a yellow cat make its ways across the tile floor, begging from table to table. A mariachi band plays ten feet away. I’m eating octopus ceviche, fresh from the sea. Life is good. A little girl walks up to us. She’s about three feet talk and carries a black felt board filled with beaded jewelry.
“Dos,” she says, pointing to the beads. Two dollars.
My husband asks her in Spanish how old she is. “Cinco,” she says.
“Como se dice child labor laws en Espanol?” I quip. She looks at me and blinks. “No hay de que,” I say, which is probably not the correct response, but my Spanish is limited.
“Habla ingles?” I ask.
She blinks again and says, “George Bush bad.”
True story. God, I love Mexico.
