30 Days of Indie Travel- Day 21…LOVE AFFAIR
BootsnAll says: When we travel, our senses are heightened. We feel more alive and we’re more free to do things we might not at home. We can be who we want. There’s an air of urgency to everything we do – we know our time here, in this place, and with these people, is limited. If we want to do something, we have to do it now. It’s no wonder then that many travelers have relationships on the road. Tell us about a “special someone” you met while traveling.
We first met on a bed.
Before anyone starts getting any ideas, we were in a nightclub. You know you’re in a classy joint when someone thinks it’s a good idea to install beds in the outdoors area. (Although I probably shouldn’t be expecting classy in Tijuana, right?)
I had made my way outside for some air and quickly decided I didn’t like it there. There were artificial palm trees and sand on the floor, looking completely unnatural in the surrounds of the club. I kept losing my footing in the sand and sliding clumsily all over the place, like trekking through snow.
I came across a girl passed out face-down in the sand. No-one around seemed overly concerned.
While not a medical expert by any stretch of the imagination, I decided that inhaling sand is not the healthiest thing in the world and decided to help her. We were close enough to one of the idiotic (but in this case, useful) beds that I could lift her out of the sand myself and drag her into a recovery position.
She was completely out of it and I sat beside her. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t glad of the excuse to sit down, it was not a fun night. I had seen one of my friends catatonic after his drink was spiked. A guy built like a rugby player, it would take seven people to carry him back over the border, where he would scream incoherently and shake for nearly twelve hours. We had heard rumours about people being drugged when they went out in Tijuana but assumed it was exaggeration and that normal precautions would suffice. Unfortunately these normal precautions don’t work if the bartender is the one drugging you.
I was sober, only getting waters and throwing the ice away. (May seem paranoid but trust me, roofie-laced ice was common-place). The girl slid off the bed and groaned, landing in the sand. I began to understand how she had ended up there in the first place. This time, I couldn’t get her up by myself. I needed help. She wasn’t bad enough to warrant medical attention, she was just in a very deep sleep and in no mood to wake up.
I stopped a passing member of staff and asked him to help me get her onto the bed. In a mix of Spanish and English he told me he couldn’t help me, he wasn’t “allowed” to touch any patrons and would get in serious trouble for doing so. I was starting to get annoyed. This shouldn’t have to be my problem. I wasn’t this girl’s mother. But I just couldn’t leave her like that.
He appeared out of thin air and offered to help. Between us we got the girl back on the bed and into a more stable position. I thanked him. Over the girl’s prone body, we talked and laughed. He was Irish too but from the other side of the country.
It was one of those rare moments when you just know that someone is on your wavelength. There was no awkwardness or long silences, it was like we had known each other for years. He asked to me to go somewhere else with him, somewhere better. I told him I couldn’t leave without finding the drunk girls friends and tearing them a new one.
Ships passing in the night.