Heatwaves are the best – living in the tropics is even better [Long post]

It’s been well over 10 years and I should be over it by now, but I just can’t. I’ve got time off from work but can’t really leave the house due to reasons. The past few days I was occupied but treated myself to a low dose cannabis tincture at 2-4pm and once that’s settled an apéritif.

My grandmother always said that it was the devil, but my grandfather – who was both nearly senile and a walking albeit dated, encyclopedia – would tell us a riddle : what has 6 letters and is a medicine for everything? We all guessed and tought and tried to work it out but couldn’t. Then he’d smile and say : Pastis.

So about 2 weeks ago coming back from somewhere on a hot day I bought myself a bottle of pastis. Not Ricard, I gave myself a present and bought a fancier more expensive bottle. Now I can’t tell the difference at all, but it still tastes better.

A few days ago I had been drinking the same drink for a few days when I was once again in the shop. The bottle of Campari was smiling at me. Why not? I can’t remember where I learned about Campari-Soda, but boy do I find it a superior drink.

But a few days went by and although I can alternate I needed something else. Today was particularly hot and I open the fridge. There’s the variety pack of Kombucha of which the pineapple-chili one stands out. Right next to it is the homemade limoncello a friend made. A big lowball glass halffull with ice, one part limoncello, one part kombucha, a good amount of lemon juice and a slice of orange. Not exactly sure how I’d call it, but it was awesome. And the limoncello was strong enough that it gave me a slap when I was drinking too fast.

That’s my type of drink – strong with plenty of ice. I find I can drink it a little too fast, making me tipsy sometimes nearly instantly, but as I slow down and follow the pace of the ice I just stay on the perfect level. A similar drink was a margarita on the rocks I once had in Mexico.

I had met two guys – Jack an American from Filipino descent and Steve an Australian – in Cancún. Not really our type of city we made for the Isla Mujeres. The hostel had a really chill vibe and a reputation for it’s beach parties, but the sun was setting and we figured we’d go for a stroll.

Dinnertime for the big hotels and the beaches were empty. The guys working the beach were done stacking the chairs and had a drink. I grew up in a beachtown myself and I’ve done a similar job and it made me fall in love with the scene. The sun was low now and we see this short and chubby Mexican dude, shirtless and with a booming voice walking back from a bar. “Fuck, let’s get a drink and watch this sunset,” someone said. Nobody contested.

I’m reminiscing about this scene – and believe me, I’ll get right back to it – because of the heat and I wonder what it is I miss the most. Life wasn’t easy there because it’s the tropics. Life was easy because I was 22 years old, done with college, had a bunch of savings and didn’t mind spending them slowly doing fuckall but get tipsy in Latin-America. Now I got a house, a kid, a job I don’t hate and money coming in. I still got lots of stuff to pay and do before everything is in order, but I feel like I’m in a luxurious position. Still the apéritifs don’t taste as good. I miss the adventure and I miss it badly. I miss meeting new people every day. And somehow when living this settled life, I don’t want to meet new people. They’re so hard to ditch if they turn out assholes. In traveling life you meet an asshole, worst case scenario you’re stuck for 2 hours together and then you never see them again. Obviously you’ll run into them again, 1200km and 25 different beds later. But you’ll hear their voice and go motherfucker! Anyway.

We get to the bar and relax. The bartender is closing up, but it’s clear he’s not closed just yet. He’s preparing something and Steve goes: “man, that’s some cocktail this dude is whipping up.” “Why, what’s in it?” “A shit-ton of lemon juice and a shit-ton of tequila.” The Mexican with the booming laugh waggles towards the bar. We’re probably staring with a grin on our face and he shouts to us : “hey, gringos! you should try this man’s margarita! it’s the best!” The bartender grins at us and someone says: “tres por favor.”

What follows was a big glass of ice with a most potent liquid. We sipped it ever calmly and it became my trademark drink for the longest time : a margarita on the rocks. No blending, a little salt to dip, but not on the rim, just perfect. So today, with no tequila at home and all out of limoncello I cut up a lime and squeezed it in my bottle of Belgian Pale Ale. When feeling tropical it doesn’t matter what drink you add lime to, as long as you do.

Tomorrow ima find me some rum and bring out the hammoc.