Sunday, July 30, 2006

Mancora, Peru

One street.
One wave.
This is what is Mancora in reality.

I have no clue why people choose on the unique coast road of the north of Peru, Mancora ant not San Juan the village before or Pedro del Mar the village after, but everybody was there that weekend. It was also the National Day, and during a whole weekend people came to that small street from every part of the north of the country. It was a mix of local people with they tanned face from the sun, surf addict with they tanned back from the sea, and the tourist with they white face looking for some sun. This is always interesting to watch how the mix is cooking. Usually neo-hippies arrived at the end of they (s)trip usually plant a tent on the beach, and try to find a way to make few bucks. They sell necklaces or bracelets made of seashell or other local materials. The tourists try to found out the best deal in town, the one in which you can have a beer, a shower and a sandwich for 99 cents. And the locals try of course to make everybody happy by selling what they other wants, like surf lessons, Pisco Sour on the beach, Ceviche on the side road, or other drinks that one’s imagination can not size unless drunk.

My hostel was 25 meters away from the beach, at the end of the road, after the sand dune and before the village recycling program. I was really happy in fact that I was a bit far away from the main road, because you can’t sleep at all during the night when the disco is at your foot step, unless you are already death. My problem was in the early morning, because I was at the end of the beach restaurant road, and at around 8 AM they all start playing music to attract clients. My wake up call was a thousand layer cake of local music. And I have to say that, that weekend I heard more Shakira and her lips moving more than one millions time. This, of course will count toward the most popular tune of the summer. Geta will have to make it up on perfusion for the last week if he wants to rich only the top 10.

Everybody’s job in this one street in the middle of the desert is to take some sun during the day and some fun during the night.
And we all did it very well.

During 3 nights I partied like a dog from bar to bar and slept my night on the beach rolling over one side to the other to finish my tanning. I was in party heaven. My digestion system was on a 3 hours turn around due to some empanada testing, and all the alcohol help me kill the remaining parasites that I had at the end of the weekend.

The only time I heard silence was during the 15 minutes blackout at 4 AM in the morning the last night I was there. I left my liver and some energy in this town, but I am sure that somebody will use them.

What is worse than competing at a bar with one Irish?

Two Irish.