Our first story takes place in the sunny Caribbean… Well, not so sunny, to be perfectly honest! Half of the time it was raining really heavy — probably because we went there around the New Year’s eve. Anyways, we had just arrived there and went straight to board our boat that had been booked in advance along with all the provisions we needed. All, except for one thing — rum! Sure we needed rum — it’s the damned Caribbean, you know!
After some discussion, we ended up with sending a small group to scout a local liquor store. And it’s probably the third time already that we remind you that the action takes place in the Caribbean — even the smallest and the lousiest place in the vicinity had like… 1000 brands of rum to offer! The guys must’ve had panicked and instead of choosing by some rational criteria (price / package / “I just want that one!”) they decided to ask a local for advice.
It might had been a good idea if not the language barrier: a mix of English, Russian and pantomime versus his French-Creole made this linguistic struggle somewhat intense. However, in the end he seemed to finally grasp the basic concept while happily pointing at one of the rum bottles. Feeling a bit under too much pressure, our guys decided that diversifying a bar assortment is for pussies and… marched out of the store with 6 bottles of that stuff.
Boat unmoored, anchor’s aweigh, and we finally cast off towards our much anticipated sea adventures — high time to open the first bottle! Much to our surprise, the alleged “rum” tasted pretty much like rocket fuel. Not that it mattered after some 5 minutes though — probably the worlds’ “fastest blackout” record. “Acclimatization” was our first guess the next morning. The following hypothesis included “jet lag” and “seasickness”.
After 3 days of fearless experiments on ourselves with no visible improvements regarding the repulsive taste or splitting hangover, one of the guys decided to decipher a bottle label just to find one curious detail: 70% ABV! From then on our rum stash miraculously transformed into a strategic reserve of lighter fluid. And that actually came in quite handy — local charcoal had pretty much the same combustive qualities as pencil lead: left a lot of smudges but didn’t burn.