-Hey man, sorry to wake you up. Can you hand me the tent please?
-It’s in the back. You’re with Sammy?
Marco had moved in me and Lukas in La Chichona. Three people living in a van was tight, even for an extended Mercedes Sprinter. Marco had helped me build La Chichona back in Montreal and so, he had secured his spot forever. We looked for a safe place to park and settle down for a bit. Since Marco had been in Puerto Escondido for two weeks already, he suggested la Punta, a trendy neighbourhood on the edge of town.
We parked in front of the beach, in the parking lot at the end of the main street. La Punta is famous for its wave, a long left point break that unrolls all year long, regardless of swells or tides. The wave had attracted surfers all over the planet. The wave enabled a tiny place consumed by swamps and mango trees to blossom into a lovely surf village.
The downside of la Punta was its popularity. On any given day, there were at least 50 people in the water, most of them beginners. Beginners don’t know about surf etiquette or priority rules, and having twenty people paddling with boards out of their control is a recipe for accidents.
The upside was the incredible amount of fit people in the neighbourhood. Yes, you know where I’m going with that. We couldn’t believe our eyes. So many beautiful girls walking around in bikinis, summer dresses or tiny shorts. Marco and Lukas didn’t know each other, but bonded after commenting on every other girl’s body. Men are all the same.
We sank into la Punta’s rhythm, hung out at cafés, and stared at every girl that passed by. Our heads were moving in unison, like the crowd in a Wimbledon final. We interrupted our conversations mid sentence and did not resume where we trailed off. It was both funny and sad, educated gentlemen acting like brainless penises.
The three of us were single, travelling in a van, and looking for action. Being in la Punta and talking about girls all day long was not easy, we had to act. The question of where to fuck rose again. This time we decided we would work together so at least one of us would score. The Three Musketeers united against hornyness. All for one and one for all.
At night, we returned to Puerto Dreams, the hostel where Marco stayed at first. He had met a pretty Austrian redhead and three dates later, he was still trying to get laid. “Bad luck”, he said. Lukas and I agreed to assist him. We sat at the hostel rooftop and scanned the crowd. An old man was cooking a barbecue. Marco’s girl joined us shortly after, her name was Sammy. She was young, energetic, and outspoken.
We were discussing a random topic when Sammy made an awkward comment that left us all confused. Again later, she made a misplaced comment and started laughing out loud, by herself. WTF was that!? She was creepy, even scary. Lukas and I shared a quick concern look. Then we turned to Marco. His face was screaming, “I know… but she’s hot!”. Lukas and I nodded in approval. We called her Crazy Sammy.
Lukas treated me to some Mezcal, a local liquor, and in a smooth move, we turned our back to Marco. We talked and gave Marco privacy. Our conversations deepened throughout the evening: cultural differences, education, history, and racism. Alcohol loosens the tongue.
We left Marco with Sammy and returned to the van hoping to hear spicy news the next day. In the middle of the night, I heard a knock on the door. Marco came back to La Punta, with Sammy. The hotels were all closed. He had to improvise. The next morning, Lukas and I were having breakfast when Marco joined us. His face was pale, he had tiny eyes and looked like shit. We smiled and waited. Whatever happened would be worth telling. After we left the hostel, Marco got wasted, went clubbing, hooked up with Crazy Sammy, and ended up pitching a tent on the beach.
All that hassle and he didn’t even get laid! They were fooling around when local fishermen saw the tent moving and surrounded them. They laughed at the funny picture and made loud comments to get them out. Four attempts, four fails! Poor Marco. Lukas and I were ruthless. We laughed to tears that morning imagining the scene. After Marco took his share of abuse, we promised to help him break the spell. The fifth attempt shall be the one.
Following my friends’ adventures was as entertaining as living my owns. Travelling with Marco would be far funnier than I had expected.