The creepiest drink ever
Here 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."