Arrival untold: Thank you Mr. Mullets

5:15pm

Just got back to the hostel from my 4 hour one on one weaving class. I was high off my accomplishment and a little damp from the drizzling, the after math of a thunderstorm that came through. Shit I’m late for the pub crawl. I noticed the streets seemed quieter than usual and the hostel seemed empty. Everyone I had asked earlier that day planned on going to Mr. Mullets a neighboring party hostel for their pub crawl. A hostel whose tag line is Business in the front party in the back in true mullet fashion and whose icon is an Llama with a mullet.

The night before I was at Mr. Mullets for their beer pong tournament, winners get free tickets to the pub crawl. After talking to a couple of people that night in an attempt to make a friend for the nights festivities I walked up to a group of girls who seemed like my type of people. Diverse, solo women travelers, who were wanting to have a good time. I introduced myself they introduced themselves, went through that required list of questions everyone must ask each other when traveling and then we sat down and played a drinking game. They were meeting up the next day to go to the natural reserve I couldn’t make it with my weaving plans so I was to meet up with everyone at the pub crawl at 5:00pm.

Do I have time to change? What would I even put on? Maybe some make up? Nope only have time for lipgloss. I left my hostel looking the exact same way I arrived.

5:25pm

Arriving to Mr. Mullets I was a one track mind, solely focused on buying my pub crawl ticket. But the party seemed to already be underway. More beer pong was being played, the bar was packed like animals to watering hole, and voices filled the space with conversations surging the music only there for background noise. There was a group of people waiting for their turn to get a ticket I join them inserting myself in to the mass. Who would form an orderly line at a party hostel for a pub crawl anyways? I made short conversation with a couple deciding whether or not to join as they weren't staying in San Pedro and would need to catch a boat back to their town before the last one leaves the dock. Based on the way that line was moving their decision was made for them. I stick it out, waving my 200 Quetzales to the volunteer who gave me a wristband and a shirt after asking me my size. I guess THAT explains the high cost of the pub crawl. The thought of having to pack the shirt in my already stuffed carry on immediately hit. I came with too much stuff and bought too much stuff in Antigua and now I unknowingly bought another thing I’m going to have to figure out where to put.

Thank you Mr. Mullets.

I go and find the group of girls I met up with the day before. One of them had already chosen the guy she wanted and were flirting as they played beer pong. The others were taking advantage of the happy hour specials with drinks in their hands. I’m behind, these people are already one drink down. After taking in the situation I immediately join the other animals crowding the watering hole. 2 drinks for around 100 Quetzales and happy hour ends in 10 minutes. No brainer. I double fist my drinks chat with a swole guy named Zack or something like that, from Ohio. I saw him earlier in the day he was complaining that he was too jacked and too tall for the kayaks and canoes he wanted to rent to go out on the lake. Seeing him again I asked him if he ever figured out how to get on the lake. He said no, but he’s thinking about renting a jet ski or paddle board instead. What a strange problem to have. I go and rejoin my group.

6:15pm

It was finally almost time to leave the hostel. Everyone was anxious to get a move on the vibe had shifted from earlier. Before it was an easy going getting settled in with a group feeling now the energy was heightened. People were determined to have a good time. The hostel seemed to be busting at the seams with people it looked like a bunch of ants running around after you stepped on an ant hill, the music was louder then causing the crowd to get louder, and the sexual tension was palpable eyes darting people figuring out who they wanted to chat with. The hostel staffed poured everyone mixed shots, something pink and fruity that definitely didn’t taste like any alcohol was in it. But nonetheless it set the precedent, the time was finally here, lets get fucked up. I snuck and grabbed two.

6:30

We all start heading to our first location. The volunteers trying to keep us in an orderly line for the tuk-tuks and passersby can go about their business. Unfortunately their efforts were for nought. It was like getting a herd of 100 kindergarteners to behave. At least with kindergarteners you can incentivize them with playtime or threaten them that you are going to call their guardians to get them to behave. There was no getting us to adhere to their soft demands. A parade of liquored up adults, and they were horny, no way. After leading us through the streets we turned down a narrow path tall fences on either side of us. We make it to our first destination. Dusk was transforming to night as we wait in line to go through the entrance. Some dampened techno dance music was bumping familiar songs with that techno spin behind the doors. In order to enter we had to pay an entry fee of more of the pink fruity alcohol being poured in to our mouths. Each person in line, mouths agape, baby birding before the mama birds. The liquid being poured in to our mouths the same color of that regurgitated stuff you see on Nat Geo. But it was literally a rite of passage. I’m up next and my mouth opens like the others before me and as the others will after me fulfilling their rite. We are greeted to the music in its full glory. Once the group I was with makes it through we stray away from the dance floor opting for the pool with a beautiful view of the mountains. I break out my digital camera and everyone crowds together to get in the picture. Even the girls where I hadn’t even shared two sentences with wanted in. Crazy how a camera brings people together.

7:00

It was time to leave our first location. After literally just talking and hanging out by the pool, we take our exit shot. This time it was in a plastic shot cup . Watered down, again. I had 2. But the excitement of being out was wearing thin. I had been out all day kayaking, eating, attending weaving class to be honest I just wanted to be in my bottom bunk bed at the hostel. Hanging out with the girl who thought she had a parasite and spent the last couple of days in the bed parallel to mine extruding from both ends. There always must be one. Unfortunately, I had gone basically the whole trip without seeing the night life and I have rules.

I must:

1. Experience the local alcohol of choice, Mixed drink, beer or straight liquor

2. Sit on a park bench, It’s nice to watch life go by

3. Do THE touristy thing, do the one thing everyone is there to do

4. Eat at least one local dish, depending on the stomach

5. See the night life, with other travelers, with locals or a mix

   
   

Everything was already checked off the list, except for the night life. It was only the first location, I bargained with myself, lets at least see it through to the second.

7:15

Our leaders attempt to herd us like a couple listless border collies through the streets again. They lead us through a narrow stepped entry way, this time Abba is playing, it was all of the chart toppers during the age of my grandparents. Fortunately my grandparents are more motown then YMCA. We form two lines and unhinge our jaws once more for our pinky fruity shot. The claps of other volunteers on either side forming a soul train line as we enter. Its time for a real shot.  I order a tequila shot from the bar and down it, finally feeling a slight burn as it hits my chest.

The group filters through and everyone packs in seeming a little more relaxed and ready to dance hearing songs they can sing along to. So we dance, we clap, we raise our voices in song, and yes, we even did the YMCA. The hostel volunteers even climbed on the bar to pour more shots in our mouths as we danced on. But, to be quite honest my heart wasn’t in it. I’m not drunk enough to do this sincerely.  I go outside to join the smokers, and look at the lake and mountains. Luckily, our time at that location was almost over and it was time to round up the group again. I wanted to dance but with my heart in it, where I can really feel the music. I mean we’re in Guatemala can we at least go to a reggaeton place where the beats are more familiar to me.

8:00

Well my wish came true. The next place was nothing but reggaeton. Not too many people were dancing though . I’m gonna go on a little bit of a rant here but it needs to be said… why do people go to a club with music that is too loud to talk and try to talk? Why aren’t you moving your body? Why aren’t you dancing!? Like I get it you’re horned up looking for someone to take home tonight but that’s all body language not too many words necessary because in my experience you end up talking yourself out of the bed. Nonetheless, I danced on finally getting to express myself through movement the way my body was craving. Also potentially feeling a tinge of tipsiness after completing yet another entrance ritual of a shot being poured in my mouth. I was finally feeling good. At this point my group was taking part in the talking at a club as I danced in a corner by myself.

8:30 or maybe it was 8:45PM

The construct of time was leaving me as I started to no longer feel the need to check my phone for the time. I was officially enmeshed in the herd as we headed to the next place I skipped along chatting with another group of girls. The pink juice had officially run out at the previous place so we were finally free to enter the next place with our mouths closed. I bipped and bopped around going upstairs then downstairs then up again simply trying to find some space to exist. It was packed. I found a seat upstairs, sure the place was playing reggaeton and I did get to dance a little bit with some Brazilian guy but the night was over for me mentally. I was joined on the bench by the old group of girls I was with, I guess theres no moment of solitude in a crowded club with little seating. With the night coming to a close I did what any person would do sober or not and found the nearest street cart and bought something fried. There was a drunk Australian guy explaining to the food cart lady through slurred speech “Ella tiene diarreah” as he points to his friend. Unfortunately it seemed like that was all the Spanish he knew as he repeated it over and over as the food cart lady gave him a polite smile and her friends behind her laughing at the spectacle.

9 something maybe later who knows

What I do know is that I was probably the first one out of my hostel dormmates to leave the pub crawl. Besides the sick girl all the beds were still empty. I switched in to my bed clothes and climbed in to the bottom bunk narrowly avoiding hitting my head on the metal frame. There’s no A/C in the dorm and I was one of the not so lucky ones whose room was on the street with a club right across from it. All that to say is open windows and loud music means we’ll see how well I will sleep tonight. All the noise they making I might as well go back out. I put in my ear plugs which drowned out the noise just enough for me to finally rest.

Thank you Mr. Mullets.

See more from the Pilot Issue of Arrival Mag below:

Arrival: Untold (Physical)

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