RIO MUCHACHO
Here is the 2nd chapter of Joe Montaperto's new memoir - Escape From the Planet of the Arts
Young German girls. They are everywhere at Rio Muchacho. All around twenty one, twenty two. Dreadlocked hair. Nose rings, armpit bushes. Tattoos. Also, they seem to be radical anarchists.
I imagine though, that in five years or so, most of these girls will be wearing sensible shoes and corporate approved haircuts. When you’re in your very early 20s, you have a lot of romantic ideals. Let them have fun while they’re young though, y’know? They’re not hurting anybody.
I have to say though, Rio Muchacho has been a sweet landing spot. The other volunteers are mostly a bunch of 20 something pseudo-hippie types from all over Europe. They all speak excellent English, pretty good Spanish, and we’re all mixed in here with the local Ecuadorian workers.
Everybody has been very kind though, and have really helped me settle in - even though I still feel a little awkward from not really knowing anyone.
There’s this one German kid who’s kind of hilarious though, he’s absolutely been an ice-breaker... he always tell me to go up to these German girls and say:
“Ya, fraulines, Ich möchte dein Lederhosen sein" - and - "Ich möchte dein Venischnitzel sein."
I go up to them and say this, and they laugh hysterically, which of course, cracks me up. Later, I find out this means, “I want to be your lederhosen '' (German tight leather pants), and “I want to be your venischnitzel'’.
Complete nonsense, of course. It makes no sense. But it’s good for some hearty laughs, and definitely helps me connect a little better, y’know?.
Also, miraculously enough - I’m sleeping pretty well!
Thank God.
Everything changes drastically, however, one day, maybe ten days after I get there... one of the Rio Muchacho staff tells me to move my stuff off the top bunk, where I’m the only one staying - because there’s a new volunteer coming in.
“Gimme a minute, and I’ll have all this shit outta here, ok?”
The new guy walks in and, oddly enough, seems to be studying me for a minute.
“I know you”, he says.
I’m immediately suspicious.
“What?! From where?!”
“Weren’t you at Omega Institute (this holistic center in upstate New York) - maybe nine or ten years ago?”
“Oh my God… yeah… yeah… you’re the … the… French guy - right?!
Olivier, or something…
Philippe.
Yeah… yeah.. Holy shit, man, that’s crazy! You worked with me in the cafe that summer, right?”
We shake hands, embrace, and start catching up on the past 10 years. Then we make plans to go to town next week to celebrate.
This is where it gets interesting..
So, we go to this bar in the next town, Canoa, where everybody goes to hang out, right, and for some reason - this bar has no vodka! I mean - a bar with no vodka… that’s kind of insane, y’know?
I have a lot of congestion, I don’t know, maybe a cold, or something, so I wanna drink a few screwdrivers (vodka and OJ) and even though I’m pretty annoyed about it, I say yeah, gimme gin and orange juice then, alright? Me and Philipe are talking, and I’m throwing down one after another like a madman - to the point of where I lose count.
Pretty soon, I get into this absurd argument with this Colombian guy sitting next to me - about shrimp - and whether the shrimp they have at Rio Muchacho is really organic or not! It soon becomes really heated - we’re actually on the verge of exchanging blows - and Philiipe has to separate us!
Next thing I know, the bartender kicks us all out! Me and Philippe immediately proceed to another bar - which does have vodka - and now I’m downing a bunch more screwdrivers - until the bar closes at, like, two in the morning. Somehow, we then wander onto the malecon (kind of a cement boardwalk), where we run into this bunch of teenagers who are drinking Aguardiente. Little do I know that this is some extremely potent shit, man! One hundred and 20 proof, or something!
Deadly
