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May 16, 2009

The creepiest drink ever

creepiestdrink.jpgHere is Owl Meat Gravy with a rather spooky guest post:

The setting: Asunción, Paraguay October 1995. Last night in a food court in the Brazilian jungle waiting for the bus to Asunción. Strangers danced the lambada, while weary travelers chomped down on greasy fast food.

I arrived at the Central Bus Terminal in Asunción the next day. I saw families of bowl-cut blondes in denim overalls, straw hats, and calico print shirts. What the ...? Apparently there are scads of Mennonites and Amish in Paraguay.
 
After finding a hotel, I settled into the outdoor cafe of a much better old hotel. I was dressed poorly and felt tired and dirty. For this story you need to know that people often think I am German, based on my appearance and name. I am not.

I settled into the stabby rattan chair and asked the waiter for a whiskey, something local. I know, Paraguay whiskey? I was exhausted.

The waiter said in Spanish that I didn't want that and he would bring me a nice whiskey for very little guarani ($) ...

The waiter returned with a white towel draped across his forearm and an elegant silver tray. On the tray was a bottle of very good Scotch, a glass, a silver bowl filled with ice and silver tongs. He poured me a glass and added a single cube. He left the tray with the bottle, told me to enjoy myself, and vanished. I thought that it was odd to be treated so well, when I looked like a poor American traveler. I swirled the cube in the glass and took a sip. My inner monologue: Ah ... that tastes ... civilized.
 
I relaxed and took in the colonial courtyard. Businessmen walked together with no sense of urgency.  It was uncommonly peaceful, almost gentle. Another slow sip. I look to my right and see an old man sitting in the shade wearing a tan linen suit, a crisp white shirt and a pale blue tie. He reminded me of one of my college professors, a Prussian with the posture of an ironing board and the calm mastery of one who had been there and seen that.  
 
The well-dressed man caught my eye like a tractor beam, raised a glass of the same Scotch, and nodded affirmatively to me. I nodded back and drank from the warming glass. I paused and sensed that a hidden history was swirling around me and that I was some sort of accessory after-the-fact. A twitchy shudder descended from my shoulders. When I looked again, the man in the linen suit was gone.
 
I finished my drink, had another, and motioned for the waiter. I asked for my check. He said, "No, no, Sir. It has been taken care of. You owe nothing. Please enjoy your stay in Paraguay."

(Getty images)


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Posted by Sam Sessa at 9:00 AM | | Comments (10)
Categories: Bars & Clubs, Owl Meat's Tipsy Tuesdays
        

Comments

Send lawyers, guns and money.

I love that photo. Nice how you made the guy B&W. He looks ghostly. I'm guessing you don't have any real pictures. Nazi war criminals are funny like that.

Ooooo that is spooky.

Amish in Paraguay? That would be kind of startling.

I'm glad to see you back Owl. The next to last paragraph is just plain brilliant. Tractor beams and hidden history. Cool. Great great story. More please!

Owl,
great story. You should try your hand at murder/mysteries and that genre. You could make mucho dinero!

Terrific, OMG. The photo is very cool, too. But watch out--next you'll be dreaming of Roland the Headless Thompson Gunner.

Thanks Rob. I have too short an attention span to write novels.

Nice reference Miss Piggy. It's hard to talk about Paraguay without thinking of some Warren Zevon songs.

Stay tuned for the continuation of Earnest Goes Blogging Week, as this week's D@L guest post is so sincere you're going to wonder who switched brains with me. Then it's back to shenanigans.

Don't worry Midnight Sunners, this is the only serious thing I sent to Sam. If he runs any more of mine they will be the usual light-hearted fluff. No more Nazis, I swear.

OMG, too bad I'll miss your D@L post on Thursday, as I will be leaving the country for a few weeks to try and restore my health, and most likely will be avoiding the Internet, too.

Stay away from Mexico YumPo.

I was directed to this Web site by one of my students.

This is tremendous. What is it doing here? No offense to the blog, because it certainly is appropriate to the category.It seems a bit out of place. Clearly this is the work of an interesting writer not named owl meat gravy. I hope to see more in a more prominent place and possibly with the author's genuine name. Well done indeed, but sometimes a taste is simply not sufficient. Go Sun! I support you.

I feel that the Baltimore Sun is heading toward an interesting vista with this sort of informal essay/memoir. Good luck fellows.

I was directed to this Web site by one of my students.

Stop it, Mom.

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About Erik Maza
Erik Maza is a features reporter at the Baltimore Sun. He writes for several sections of the Sun paper and contributes weekly columns on music and nightlife. He also writes and edits the Midnight Sun blog. He often covers entertainment, business, and the business of entertainment. Occasionally, he writes about Four Loko, The Block, the liquor board, and those who practice "simulated sex with a potted palm tree." Before The Sun, he was a reporter at the Miami New Times. He's also written for Miami magazine, the Orlando Sentinel, the Sarasota Herald Tribune and the Gainesville Sun. Got tips? Gripes? Pitches? He's reachable at erik.maza@baltsun.com. Click here to keep up with the dumb music he's listening to.

Midnight Sun covers Baltimore music, live entertainment, and nightlife news. On the blog, you'll find, among other things, concert announcements, breaking news, bars closings and openings, up-to-date coverage of crime in nightlife, new music, round-the-clock coverage of Virgin Mobile FreeFest, handy guides on bars staying open past 2 a.m. on New Year's Eve and those that carry Natty Boh on draft. Recurring features include seven-day nightlife guides, Concert News, guest reviews of bars and concerts, Wednesday Corkboard, and photo galleries, as well as reader-submitted photos. Thanks for reading.
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