Mexico City: Reggaeton anyone?

FB_IMG_1488633943015Eight months, countless countries. I’m not going to lie, I am feeling pretty exhausted and time shows. I’ve been travelling much slower in South America then I did in Central. Some days I’ve done absolutly nothing; well, apart from “life’s admin” and I have not felt one bit guilty for doing so. After all, back home I’d be entitled to some sort of weekend or holiday. Why should this be any different; travelling feels like a full-time job?

For my last two months in South Americam I’ve now found the perfect spot to relax; Ayampe in Ecuador. About 30 minutes away from party town Montanita. Although this, in comparison, is a much smaller, chilled out town. Exactly what the doctor ordered. To replenish myself and eradicate all the alcohol abuse my body has endured over the last year. Which, I have to admit, is ALOT.

When I am not practising yoga and surfing (both of which I’m not particularly good at but you know, who knows, I may suprise myself and improve over time), I am normally just chilling. With much more time on my hands, I can now dedicate my free time to catching up and writing those blog posts I’ve utterly failed at writing.

So here you are. I’m back on here, fully committed to you guys, and promise to never leave you again. EVER.

Now, where did I leave you? Ah, yes, Mexico City. My biggest memory of this capital has to be the night our hostel went to Reggaton.

My friends (shout out to legends Marianna, Maria and Tom) hadn’t planned on going out that evening (it was Sunday after all) but one Australian in question changed our whole night and the events to follow.

Picture this. It’s 7.30pm and there is a very passed out Australian passed out on the sofa. Getting a seat on the sofa is relatively slim as it’s quite small, so what you don’t want is someone misusing it. Like Mike* (names have been changed to avoid this Trump supporting, racist guy from getting egged. Or worse). Mike being the comatised Australian of course.

Marianna decided to wake up the guy by shouting in hid ear (good work, love). Normally, you would think a guy in this state would decide to put himself to bed. Oh no, not this one. This one decides to drink some more. A lot more.

Fast forward to 11.30pm and Mike is absolutely paraleytic. He has his pants (trousers to us English) around his ankles and shouting/spitting in people’s faces.

As his travel buddy was going out my friends and I did not want to be left the misfortune of ‘babysitting’ this dude so we had no option but to venture out too.

The reggaeton club itself was random but fun. We drank 2 pints of beer in one glass and chatted to locals (we definitely stuck out but like a sore thumb but rather than get subconscious I always like to embrace it).

After a few hours, we all decided to head home. We were just making our way down the stairs when I had the strong desire to turn to my friend Tom to ask him what I should do with my beer (this was very strange for me to ask this as normally I would never question it. He told me to just leave it on the staircase in which I did. We had no more than stepped out theĀ  club door when two police officers swiftly came along … arresting two of my friends for… yup, drinking on the streets. At the time I was very relieved I made the rare decision to leave my drink, but then realised that the pair arrested weren’t the best candidates (not that they were putting themselves forward to be arrested).

One could hardly speak Spanish and the other one was making some questionable/flexible moves that night that we wondered whether he was on more than just beer.

We decided that we should try and track them down. So we got an Uber (any excuse to order one with us) and went to the nearest station. Except when we showed up they weren’t there…only the evidence (the half-drank beer). The station told us to head to another one, just out of town. Our taxi driver absolutly loved this trip; he was making 110 per cent to track down our friends and I think he secretly felt like James Bond.

When we began approaching the second station it became apparent that most police stations were located in some of the dodgiest streets and areas. This one was situated behind a park. The two strong spanish speakers got out the car, leaving Marianna and I. As we examined our surroundings, we spotted a handful of people hanging around the park and very close to our car with their hoods up. We might have felt more safe if the windows of the car hadn’t been left open, and so we crept into the front seat and tried to wind the windows up, failing miserably. Soon enough, the car alarm was blaring out and within seconds the taxi driver was sprinting across the park towards us. When we returned, we explained our concerns and so he left again, securely locking us in. Eventually everyone returned after no joy of finding the two guys and no idea where they were. We decided to return to the hostel and wait for news there (whilst drinking more rum of course).

We were surpised that within an hour, the boys had returned. They told us that apparently they had to pay to get let off and when they did, they were let out in a dodgy neighbourhood. They were standing on a corner trying to find their bearings and an Uber, when another police car came along and tried to arrest them again. The officers thought that they were trying to pick up prostitutes as they were just lingering on a corner in an area renown for it. Luckily, the boys managed to explain themselves and the police officers kindly offered to give them a lift home. When the guys got out, they tried to offer the police money, which suprisingly they declined.

Turns out there are bad cops, and then there are good cops.

Oh, and also drinking on the Mexican streets is not allowed. Two free foreigners and a long Uber journey later, lesson learned.

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