Saturday morning came way too early, sun shining through the thin curtains of the dorm room. I got up, thinking I might eat and give everyone time to get up and out and perhaps return for a bit of recuperation.
The first thing I did was go to the lobby and buy a ticket for the desayuno de la casa (con tocino), the biggest breakfast available (with bacon, please). I also asked if there was a chance of upgrading to a private room, there was no way I’d survive another dorm-room night. I was in luck, a private room (shared bathroom) would be available by one and I jumped at the chance.
The breakfast was good, though the eggs and bacon tasted like they’d been marinating in salt for a few days—perhaps it’s a way of helping partygoers with their water retention.
Spent most of the day by, and sometimes in, the pool at the Casa Roja. As usual, the place was filled with people from all parts. The german/norweigian team were nursing hangovers after an interesting evening (I met three of them coming back when I got up, around 08h00). Met some Israelis, a nice bunch but so aggressively on the prowl that they created a void of females around them wherever they went.
The most interesting conversations were with Margot—a repentant accountant from New Zealand—and Oliver, an American economist of some sort. Oliver was also a cyclist, who been to La Paz to train for upcoming competitions (great place, due to the altitude) but wound up taking a break from the drudgery of his work and staying in Cuzco, Peru, working as a cycle tour guide.
By the evening, Tom—a brit and the most interesting soldier I’ve ever met—joined our little group. He almost convinced me to head to Cambodia, describing in fascinating detail this remote beach which is officially a Cambodian naval base but basically one boat that maintains a few land-to-air defence canons and plays volleyball on the beach all day. Apparently, some computer geeks leased out the beach for 100 years at a ridiculously low price, built a few huts, and rent them out to tourists. Sounded like a weird and interesting paradise, somewhat like that “The Beach” movie. Maybe next year 😉
By the time it was dark, Margot, Oliver, Tom and I were well acquainted and having a good time, but for the exception of the participation of the Casa Roja resident barman. That guy started off as an interesting voice in the mix, if a bit overly sarcastic, but as the percentage of alcohol in his blood rose, so did his need for attention—at any cost. He became disruptive, with attempt to shock everyone with nonsensical, but distasteful and downright gross comments about molesting teens and shit. The guy needs some help, but it wasn’t going to come from us. We ditched him, and the Casa Roja, and hit the town, heading to Bella Vista by cab.
We hit a few bars, where Oliver insisted on ordering the drinks and getting charged absolutely insane prices. After a few times, I took care of it and costs magically went down.
By four or five in the morning, I headed back to the casa, leaving the group in Tom’s capable hands. As I arrived, I met up with the Casa’s official cook and organizer of barbecues—a nice kiwi who’s easy to get along with. We decided to share a beer, and soon enough there were about 8 people re-opening the bar out back. My friendly cook was acting a little drunkenly weird, though, and started getting aggressive. At one point, he actually pushed me—as a “joke”–but I was a little drunk myself and reacted by bodyslamming the guy. He literally flew away, smashed into the wall and fell to the floor. Everybody turned to the scene, surprised. I realized I’d put a little more juice into it than intended, and rushed to help him back up, apologizing. His eyes were wide and his was a little freaked out, unsure if I was going to help him or pound him. I tried to reassure him, helped him up. Stayed another few minutes to ensure all was well, but that was enough for me and I headed to bed shortly thereafter.