One, Two, Three Vaquita Four

by Broeghan Carroll (Canada)

A leap into the unknown Mexico

It was a faded night on my 23rd birthday wandering through a strip of paradise named Cancun with an aura of anticipation for the remainder of the 10 days to come. Me and my two Spanish speaking friends stumbled from a place titled “La Vaquita”, which translates to: “the little cow” (and no they do not sell food). Yes, I also assumed it was for the vast amount of alcohol foreigners consume while on vacation to our cheaper country counterparts, however, we embraced our inner cow. The three “Vaquitas” wandered down to the beach after a late-night round of tacos to see what else could be found as my hunger for adventure had still not been filled. We were met by a group of what appeared to be party goers as far as we could tell by the shield of darkness. They approached us with plenty of bottles in their hands and outstretched arms. “Cerveza mis amigos!” The first man shouted while stumbling towards us and we could hear the fizz as he twisted their lids. After we finished a couple of generously shared beverages from our new friends, they pointed at us as a group and I invited them back to our condo. We wandered back in the mystic moon of Cancun in search of a later evening, however, upon arrival the security started shouting and pointing at our local companions shouting: “Prohibido!” We continued to talk with the guard he insisted that it was against the rules to have guests. My friends arrived at agreeance with the security that we should just go upstairs. I refused their help and said, “Wait until you hear about our night!” My Mexican friends shouted in Spanish and my new crew stumbled off into the darkness. We found ourselves at the closest convenience store to continue our search. They eyed my hand as I removed it from my pocket – like a hungry pack of hyenas would to a nearly fallen animal – and I revealed what pesos I had left from the night out. I have never seen a human’s eyebrows drop as fast as theirs did when I raised my palm to eye level. “Cerveza?” Before their eyes had to be THE poorest white man they had ever come across. As I held out a loose scramble of 12-15 Pesos in coins before them, they quickly walked back to grab a cheap 12 pack instead. You’d think the story would end there right? Not for the birthday boy. I continued to wander around with my newly found band of Mexican accomplices. With the little Spanish I could speak we somehow continued conversing until I could see the sun peeking over the horizon. Suddenly, three members of their crew were gone and I was left with only two men as they escorted me back towards my condo. I could see a smile curl up their cheeks filled with anticipation as we looked onward into the rising sun. I reached my arm around one of my new amigos back to grab the last beer when I felt something tucked into his pants beneath his shirt. Without hesitation, I lifted up the back of his shirt and removed the object that was poking out from the top of his pants. It sent a shiver down my spine as I held it tightly between my index finger and thumb. “Why do you have this?” I inquired as I stared into his small deep brown eyes. Him and his friend began to get nervous and shrugged in dismay. “Why?” I asked again more insistently as I took a step backwards. Then as I saw his other friend reach behind his back, a loud voice sounded behind me. “Congelar!” I turned around to be greeted by a 9mm being pointed directly at me. Without hesitation, raised my hands in surrender and shouted: “Una turista!” The now identified police officer sprinted past me with his gun still out chasing steps behind the two men that I perceived to be my friends. There I stood on the sidewalk on the edge of the Cancun strip with a picture of me and my friends from “La Vaquita” clenched between my fingers.