Whither to Hike, to Skank, or to Donate Capital to Drunk Men (and Other Conundrums the Mighty Mighty Bosstones Might Resolve)
This year, Shannon demanded two birthday trips. She is becoming entitled because I always shower her with attention and gifts, by which I mean I regularly tell her “hi” and sometimes I leave my used earplugs on her nightstand.
You’ve got to fight for your right to party.
In addition to dragging the kids to the mediocre ruins of Tazumal, Shannon also requested a proper date — just the two of us — wherein we hike to the Tamanique waterfalls. These falls, cascadas in Spanish, are situated a few miles uphill from the hip surf town of El Tunco, where many go to find themselves but not find a shower.
If you Google “cascadas de Tamanique” you will find a handful of backpacking and travel blogs describing the details of the hike. These posts are all very exotic and romantic, and will be accompanied by photos of young people in skimpy bathing suits and unmanicured facial hair (though not typically on the same person, emphasis on the word “typically”). Not pictured will be mountains of the authors’ unpaid and temporarily ignored student loan debt that will be addressed once said backpacking/travel blog begins generating a six figure income, or once the midterm elections get close enough to scare the Biden administration into writing off the loans, whichever comes first.
Shannon escorting our guides to the waterfalls.
In any case, Shannon and I simply drove to Tamanique like the boring middle-aged bourgeois vehicle owners that we are. We found a dirt lot filled with palm and banana trees with a fence around it and parked there. We gave $5 to a man standing on the sidewalk outside the fence, reasoning that his physical proximity to the parking lot was the same as corporate affiliation with the parking lot.
He matter-of-factly took our money and asked if we needed a guide for the hike. I said yes, since I believe in supporting local economies, and also I’m afraid of being alone with Shannon in the wilderness because all she wants to do is make out, and all I want to do is enjoy the outdoors, connect with nature, and ponder Platonic ideals, like the Mighty Mighty Bosstones*.
Sent the chaperone to go look for crawdads.
Within a few minutes, Natalie and Yasiel, our intrepid guides, showed up in flip flops. I use the term “guide” here loosely. Natalie and Yasiel were both mired in early adolescence and, as such, were only marginally skilled navigators and wholly unskilled conversationalists. To be fair, they were skilled at acne.
We started walking the mile and a half down to the falls. Natalie and Yasiel mainly walked several steps behind us and ate pupusas. But I made sure to keep them close so as to prevent Shannon from doing anything kinky, like holding my hand or changing the subject away from the Mighty Mighty Bosstones.
Impatiently waiting for this teenager to stop chaperoning.
It wasn’t that difficult to reach the waterfalls. We probably could’ve done it without a guide. But then who would we have thrown ten dollars at? The pod of drunk men standing unsteadily beside the road near the entrance to the waterfall access trail, that’s who. All they need is a little startup capital and I bet they could really build something, like a small pile of empty beer cans.
At the waterfalls, Shannon didn’t want to jump in. Said it was too cold. Really she was still pouting because she thought our date was going to be like Romancing the Stone but it was more like Lord of the Rings, in the sense that she was trying to do something really important (make out) but there were always little people around messing it up.
Since Shannon wouldn’t jump in, I coaxed Natalie and Yasiel into jumping in with me. We had a good time. I bet they felt like they were really earning their ten bucks. Anyhow, that’s the impression that I get.
*The band may be gone, but the skank lives on.
