I checked in online, and Julian, the head boxing coach, took me to the airport. The junior boxing coach drove by and shook my hand to say goodbye. My mother gave me a hug.
Since, I only had a carry on, I didn't need to go to the airport early. My wait time, after passing through the TSA line, was only about 15 minutes. That was good.
My flight was pretty empty. Everybody that came was old people. Like real old and rich geriatrics (and I don't mean to age discriminate but they were a cranky group) that needed assistance. I slept on the airplane ride, and I had a nightmare. Reality jolted me awake from it. I woke up in a fright, and I realized it was just a nightmare.
When I landed in Cabo, I didn't even know how to get to the hotel. And since I'm here for three weeks, I wasn't going to pay for an expensive shuttle or car. I walked to the open bar at the airport and asked the Mexican server boy for instructions.
"How do I hitchhike to the convention center?"
"Take a bus. Get off at the Mega. Then you can hitchhike."
"Hey you got some big balls."
I shrugged and said, "I've traveled."
I sat on a rock near some large cactus, just waiting for a bus with the other Mexican workers. The sunset had lit the sky a pink and purple with its dying light. The mountains reminded me of the desert mountains of Arizona - full of coyote and Indian magic.
The bus came, and I got on. I was the only foreigner. All the white rich people get a taxi or rent a car. It was a slow bus. And it was a slow ride.
Everyone pretended to not notice the only Chinito on the bus. But everyone knew I was on the bus. I've been taught to not press attention to yourself while traveling. That seems not to happen to me.
When it dropped me off in front of the Mega, a superstore like Walmart, I walked to the side of the street and hitchhiked. A taxi eventually got me, and we negotiated a fee of $4 USD to get me to my hostel. We spoke some Spanish. He asked my name and I said, "Paul." He said his name was "Angel."
I dropped my bag off in the hostel. I ate near a local restaurant, which had the best Mexican tacos I had in my life. It was called the "Hangman." I had Cantonese tacos, pibil pork tacos, and artichoke quesadillas. The tostadas were to die for. They were hardened in a charcoal oven and not deep fried in corn oil, like back in Los Angeles. I loved dumping guacamole on the tostadas and mixing it with fiery hot sauce.
Later at night, I met one of the guests at the hostel named Rachel. She was a mulatto, which means she was half white and black. Her father was from the Appalachian Mountains in West Virginia and her mother was Jamaican. She chatted about her life and why she was in Cabo, and I listened because I know one secret in life: all women like to be listened to. I listened to her all night. Momma taught me that.
Rachel invited me to meet her friends tomorrow. They're planting an organic farm nearby. I agreed. What else am I going to do in the middle of nowhere, in a place where the desert meets the ocean and sky?
In any event, I knocked out at 11:30 pm. I was tired and exhausted from the travel and having little sleep. But in the middle of the night, a force jolted me at around 4am.
I looked at the walls, and there were shadows that looked like human shadows. At first, it looked like there was one guy and three girls, and they were all having some kind of orgy. At first, I thought it was my imagination, but I quickly thought to myself: Why does this stuff always happen to me? At first my interests were piqued like that of a boy coming across his first naughty magazine.
But then I realized, suddenly, - they were just that - spirits and shadows without a human shell. They're forms moved around the walls. They giggled and laughed and then left my room.
I went back to sleep. In the morning, I was definitely well rested.