2 Days And 2 Nights Of Booze And Naked Girls: The Strip Clubs of Nuevo Progreso
"She lives like tomorrow isn't coming and yesterday never happened."
- Crystal Woods, Write Like No One Is Reading
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Friday, Day One: Nuevo Senorial
There are a lot of strange places I expected to find myself in my life. Sitting in the corner of a darkened Mexican strip club in a dusty border town wasn't one of them. 2:30 in the afternoon, beer in one hand, pen in the other, making observations about the club and its clientele for my weird little travelogue.
Sometimes you just have to roll with the weirdness life throws your way. Sit back, enjoy the ride, make the most of it.
Not that it was difficult. The beer was cheap, the girls beautiful, the staff friendly and accommodating. Certainly not the worst experience of my life.
The customers at this early point on a Friday afternoon were all middle-aged and older Americans. Spending well, drinking heartily, being loud, and groping the girls as much as each individual dancer was comfortable with. In a weird way its what I imagined a Mexican version of Valhalla to be like.
Those enjoying cavorting with the girls must have felt the same. The ones wearing wedding rings might have felt differently, but I wasn't there to conduct any interviews. I was doing my level best to merely be a fly on the wall with my notebook and cheap beer supply.
One of the customers appeared to have brought his wife along with him. An older couple, but not that they were letting that get in the way of their enjoyment. She put money down the front of more than one dancers panties while her husband hooted and hollered as if his favorite team had just won the Superbowl. Clearly these were people for whom age and responsibility were no roadblock to debauchery and good times. My kind of people.
At one point shortly after I arrived a dancer named 'Kimberlee', I suspect not her real name, took to the single pole on the stage and put on a truly amazing show. I honestly can't recall if she removed any clothing during her dance. She was agile, almost hypnotic, in her ministrations. It was more impressive considering the stripper heels she wore could better be described as stilts.
Kimberlee was not a tall woman, but in those shoes, nearly circus stilts, she towered over the other girls and most of the customers. How she kept her balance let alone managed to dance in those things is a mystery I will never be able to unravel.
A while later I sat in my darkened corner and watched a fantastically attractive dancer give a lap dance to a bald man from the American midwest. He sat there in stunned silence as the girl plyed her craft expertly. When the song ended she turned to him and grabbed his crotch.
He seemed pleased with the action, as anyone most likely would be, but the dancer was not. She turned to another dancer and in hushed Spanish said to her "It must be cold in here.". Both girls laughed, the American who clearly spoke zero Spanish laughed along with them, and a good time was had by all in one way or another. I guess. Certainly not as much of a good time as could have been had.
Perhaps he should have spent some of his wad of cash at one of the local pharmacies before visiting the titty bar. Ah, the road not taken.
One observation I made early on is that Nuevo Senioral plays a lot more American music. Classic rock, modern pop and dance hits, clearly for the benefit of their mostly American clientele. They do play Latin dance music, but that seems to be more at the girls request than for the benefit of their customers.
When a slow song, in any language, began playing it signaled the girls to begin giving complimentary lap dances to all present customers. Almost in unison they would rise from their chairs or the laps of customers and begin to move sensually to the beat of whatever was playing. My guess was its a sort of advertising scheme used in the club, one that seemed fairly effective. The tables were nearly emptied and the private dance booths filled up before the song was finished.
The club itself reminded me of most mid-range strip clubs in the US I have been to. Shockingly, that number is very low, but still enough to compare. Its not all that surprising as their primary customers are day tripping Americans. Crossing the border with their friends or solo, with or without their wives, sneaking off to get a cheap beer in the company of gorgeous local girls that they wouldn't normally have the chance to touch.
Etiquette in a Mexican strip club is a lot different than the average club in the US. In America if a girl lets you touch her, its generally against the rules or reserved for private and much more expensive dances. Here its expected that the clients will have their hands all over the girls in short order. Not that its an 'anything goes' atmosphere as Cole Porter would say, but most things go. Push it too far and the girl will politely but firmly let you know. Push it again and a large man you probably didn't notice on your way in will grab you up like a child dropped into a pen of angry gorillas at the zoo. There are no second chances when you break what few rules the clubs have. Interlopers and rule breakers, American or otherwise, are not tolerated.
Later in the afternoon a good looking American came in. Well dressed, clearly with a little money to spend. There was a brief confab among the girls as to who got that one. The winner ended up with no drinks, no tip, and a look of utter boredom as the young guy was only interested in his phone. He sat there slowly drinking his beer with beautiful half naked girl trying to get his attention. His only concern was whatever he was looking at on his phone. Some people have strange priorities.
My primary contact at the club, a man I will refer to as 'DJ', explained that this was pretty slow for a Friday. A week of freezing rain had driven most of the usual winter business from Texas and elsewhere away, or at least kept them indoors. DJ isn't a DJ, and he isn't the manager according to him. Though the man identified as the manager referred to him as such. DJ says he is merely a waiter, but the way he flits about the club putting out one fire after another and tending to the needs of the clients one could easily believe he was the man in charge. He certainly was instrumental in getting me permission to sit in the corner and observe their business for a day.
If you are reading this, "DJ", thanks. I owe you another clove from my jealously guarded horde (cloves are nearly impossible to find in Mexico) to be sure, and at least a beer or three.
I left in the late afternoon to head to Santana, located less than a block away from Nuevo Senorial and right next door to Vampiz. The go-to restaurant in Nuevo Progreso for a proper home cooked meal at very reasonable prices. Popular with the locals, tourists brave enough to search for excellent food off the well beaten path, and at least one starving Americano writer; your friend and humble narrator. When I left Nuevo Senorial there were a few tables of customers, drinking and cavorting with the girls as one would expect.
When I returned to my plastic lawn chair at Neuvo Senorial, the vantage point set aside for me by the very nice folks who run the joint I found it devoid of customers. It was a Friday, but it was also cold as hell with just enough rain to keep all but the most dedicated pleasure seekers at home.
The girls had mostly congregated on the sofas at the entrance. One of them had a large, comfy looking blanket that most of the lingerie clad strippers were huddling under for warmth. They laughed, joked, showed each other amusing things on their phones and generally acted like one would expect from employees of any casual work place during their down time.
Typically when a customer buys a drink for a girl at Nuevo Senorial it arrives in a glass filled to the rim with ice. This is not because the girls prefer it that way, but rather its a means of keeping them from getting far too intoxicated to dance early in their shift. Customers receive a proper beer or whatever mixed drink they prefer from the bar. The girls on the other hand get a glass of mostly ice, their beer poured from a supply of 40 oz. bottles stored in the beer chillers behind the bar. When they are on the clock at least.
This policy does not seem to be enforced during downtime and the girls were hitting up the bartender for full sized beers while cuddling for warmth and entertaining one another with cat memes and photos of their families and children while awaiting the next influx of fresh customers.
That influx of fresh American blood and full wallets of cash and credit cards did not arrive while I as there for the second half of the night. There was a trickle of locals who were all more interested in the bar than the girls.
As I said, the weather was shit, and most of the usual crowd of Americanos looking to spend their money on booze and the company of gorgeous women never came in their usual numbers. At least not while I was still there.
At one point a few of the girls, no doubt curious as to why this strange man, me, was sitting in the corner drinking and smoking cloves where the manager usually posted himself approached me. They entreated me to join them, either in their warm amusements on the sofa under that very cozy looking blanket or for a proper lap dance, drinks, and all the wonderful things that potentially come with that. I was not an unknown quantity exactly. Most of them had seen me barking on the corner for Vampiz before or occasionally sharing lunch, a drink, or a smoke with DJ and the rest of the management of this fine establishment.
Never the less it was a quiet afternoon, with no mass influx of American retirees with fat wallets in sight, so I provided what military snipers refer to as a 'target of opportunity'. I tried to explain that I was merely there to observe, to document the day and my experiences there, but they were having none of that. They were bored, it was a slow day, and if one thing can be said for me its that I usually look like I'm a good time, or at least up for one. In some way or another. Professional strippers can smell money and vulnerability better than your average wall street investment banker.
Make no mistake, it was a tempting offer, one of the most tempting of my adult life. Here was an entire club full of gorgeous women whose job above all else is to facilitate their clients having a good time. While I was enjoying myself, as I enjoy my strange job a great deal, and the never ending supply of cheap-yet-decent beer, a few codeine tablets in my pocket (for purely medicinal purposes), and my case full of cloves provided me with amusement. Those, and the entire voyeuristic aspect of my day there proved great fun indeed.
Not nearly as much fun as a room full of gorgeous strippers with nothing and nobody else to amuse them would have been. I might be decent at playing the role of passive observer, but I'm not a corpse, and not yet at the point in my life where my drug of choice is knock-off Chinese Viagra. The temptation to be the sole recipient of these girls attentions, paid for or otherwise, was a hell of a difficult thing to say no to. But say no I did, more than once. To the shock of many, most of all myself.
Having explored the club, observed the staff both naked and clothed in action, and now drawing a crowd of very attractive, very persuasive women I decided to take my leave from Nuevo Senorial. I said my goodbyes, thanked the bartender and management for the fly-on-the-wall opportunity, and reluctantly began the walk home
Instead of going over the entire days events and figuring out how to turn my notes into something that might be readable or even enjoyable, I found myself lost in a different sort of thought.
I kept thinking about how, when I'm old, sick, and dying, I'm going to be laying there in bed kicking myself about the time I had the attention of every gorgeous woman in a deserted Mexican strip club. Oh yes, I do believe I will be kicking myself about that for years to come. The sacrifices I sometimes make for my craft...
Saturday, Day Two: Vampiz
"Around the outside of the room other beautiful women wearing little or
nothing at all flitted between the infatuated, intoxicated men,
sometimes luring them away for a private dance. The men would follow
obediently, weighed down by lust and credit cards."
- R.D. Ronald, The Zombie Room
[[They have a sign on the front of the building, but I suspect this is how most random clients discover what waits beyond the privacy curtains at the end of the entrance hallway.]]
There are a lot of strange places I expected to find myself in my life. Sitting in the corner of a darkened Mexican strip club in a dusty border town wasn't one of them. 2:30 in the afternoon, beer in one hand, pen in the other, making observations about the club and its clientele for my weird little travelogue.
Sometimes you just have to roll with the weirdness life throws your way. Sit back, enjoy the ride, make the most of it.
Not that it was difficult. The beer was cheap, the girls beautiful, the staff friendly and accommodating. Certainly not the worst experience of my life.
The customers at this early point on a Friday afternoon were all middle-aged and older Americans. Spending well, drinking heartily, being loud, and groping the girls as much as each individual dancer was comfortable with. In a weird way its what I imagined a Mexican version of Valhalla to be like.
Those enjoying cavorting with the girls must have felt the same. The ones wearing wedding rings might have felt differently, but I wasn't there to conduct any interviews. I was doing my level best to merely be a fly on the wall with my notebook and cheap beer supply.
One of the customers appeared to have brought his wife along with him. An older couple, but not that they were letting that get in the way of their enjoyment. She put money down the front of more than one dancers panties while her husband hooted and hollered as if his favorite team had just won the Superbowl. Clearly these were people for whom age and responsibility were no roadblock to debauchery and good times. My kind of people.
[[A clients-eye view of the interior, taken during a lull in the days trade.]]
At one point shortly after I arrived a dancer named 'Kimberlee', I suspect not her real name, took to the single pole on the stage and put on a truly amazing show. I honestly can't recall if she removed any clothing during her dance. She was agile, almost hypnotic, in her ministrations. It was more impressive considering the stripper heels she wore could better be described as stilts.
Kimberlee was not a tall woman, but in those shoes, nearly circus stilts, she towered over the other girls and most of the customers. How she kept her balance let alone managed to dance in those things is a mystery I will never be able to unravel.
A while later I sat in my darkened corner and watched a fantastically attractive dancer give a lap dance to a bald man from the American midwest. He sat there in stunned silence as the girl plyed her craft expertly. When the song ended she turned to him and grabbed his crotch.
He seemed pleased with the action, as anyone most likely would be, but the dancer was not. She turned to another dancer and in hushed Spanish said to her "It must be cold in here.". Both girls laughed, the American who clearly spoke zero Spanish laughed along with them, and a good time was had by all in one way or another. I guess. Certainly not as much of a good time as could have been had.
Perhaps he should have spent some of his wad of cash at one of the local pharmacies before visiting the titty bar. Ah, the road not taken.
One observation I made early on is that Nuevo Senioral plays a lot more American music. Classic rock, modern pop and dance hits, clearly for the benefit of their mostly American clientele. They do play Latin dance music, but that seems to be more at the girls request than for the benefit of their customers.
When a slow song, in any language, began playing it signaled the girls to begin giving complimentary lap dances to all present customers. Almost in unison they would rise from their chairs or the laps of customers and begin to move sensually to the beat of whatever was playing. My guess was its a sort of advertising scheme used in the club, one that seemed fairly effective. The tables were nearly emptied and the private dance booths filled up before the song was finished.
The club itself reminded me of most mid-range strip clubs in the US I have been to. Shockingly, that number is very low, but still enough to compare. Its not all that surprising as their primary customers are day tripping Americans. Crossing the border with their friends or solo, with or without their wives, sneaking off to get a cheap beer in the company of gorgeous local girls that they wouldn't normally have the chance to touch.
Etiquette in a Mexican strip club is a lot different than the average club in the US. In America if a girl lets you touch her, its generally against the rules or reserved for private and much more expensive dances. Here its expected that the clients will have their hands all over the girls in short order. Not that its an 'anything goes' atmosphere as Cole Porter would say, but most things go. Push it too far and the girl will politely but firmly let you know. Push it again and a large man you probably didn't notice on your way in will grab you up like a child dropped into a pen of angry gorillas at the zoo. There are no second chances when you break what few rules the clubs have. Interlopers and rule breakers, American or otherwise, are not tolerated.
Later in the afternoon a good looking American came in. Well dressed, clearly with a little money to spend. There was a brief confab among the girls as to who got that one. The winner ended up with no drinks, no tip, and a look of utter boredom as the young guy was only interested in his phone. He sat there slowly drinking his beer with beautiful half naked girl trying to get his attention. His only concern was whatever he was looking at on his phone. Some people have strange priorities.
[[The shower stall located in the main room for extra-special performances. Its much, much nicer than the shower in my apartment. Mine has no hot water, or hot strippers in it. Usually.]]
If you are reading this, "DJ", thanks. I owe you another clove from my jealously guarded horde (cloves are nearly impossible to find in Mexico) to be sure, and at least a beer or three.
I left in the late afternoon to head to Santana, located less than a block away from Nuevo Senorial and right next door to Vampiz. The go-to restaurant in Nuevo Progreso for a proper home cooked meal at very reasonable prices. Popular with the locals, tourists brave enough to search for excellent food off the well beaten path, and at least one starving Americano writer; your friend and humble narrator. When I left Nuevo Senorial there were a few tables of customers, drinking and cavorting with the girls as one would expect.
[[Santana Cafe, eatery of choice for locals, savvy tourists, and drunk writers. The selection of food, the quality of it, and the service are amazing.]]
When I returned to my plastic lawn chair at Neuvo Senorial, the vantage point set aside for me by the very nice folks who run the joint I found it devoid of customers. It was a Friday, but it was also cold as hell with just enough rain to keep all but the most dedicated pleasure seekers at home.
The girls had mostly congregated on the sofas at the entrance. One of them had a large, comfy looking blanket that most of the lingerie clad strippers were huddling under for warmth. They laughed, joked, showed each other amusing things on their phones and generally acted like one would expect from employees of any casual work place during their down time.
Typically when a customer buys a drink for a girl at Nuevo Senorial it arrives in a glass filled to the rim with ice. This is not because the girls prefer it that way, but rather its a means of keeping them from getting far too intoxicated to dance early in their shift. Customers receive a proper beer or whatever mixed drink they prefer from the bar. The girls on the other hand get a glass of mostly ice, their beer poured from a supply of 40 oz. bottles stored in the beer chillers behind the bar. When they are on the clock at least.
This policy does not seem to be enforced during downtime and the girls were hitting up the bartender for full sized beers while cuddling for warmth and entertaining one another with cat memes and photos of their families and children while awaiting the next influx of fresh customers.
That influx of fresh American blood and full wallets of cash and credit cards did not arrive while I as there for the second half of the night. There was a trickle of locals who were all more interested in the bar than the girls.
As I said, the weather was shit, and most of the usual crowd of Americanos looking to spend their money on booze and the company of gorgeous women never came in their usual numbers. At least not while I was still there.
At one point a few of the girls, no doubt curious as to why this strange man, me, was sitting in the corner drinking and smoking cloves where the manager usually posted himself approached me. They entreated me to join them, either in their warm amusements on the sofa under that very cozy looking blanket or for a proper lap dance, drinks, and all the wonderful things that potentially come with that. I was not an unknown quantity exactly. Most of them had seen me barking on the corner for Vampiz before or occasionally sharing lunch, a drink, or a smoke with DJ and the rest of the management of this fine establishment.
Never the less it was a quiet afternoon, with no mass influx of American retirees with fat wallets in sight, so I provided what military snipers refer to as a 'target of opportunity'. I tried to explain that I was merely there to observe, to document the day and my experiences there, but they were having none of that. They were bored, it was a slow day, and if one thing can be said for me its that I usually look like I'm a good time, or at least up for one. In some way or another. Professional strippers can smell money and vulnerability better than your average wall street investment banker.
Make no mistake, it was a tempting offer, one of the most tempting of my adult life. Here was an entire club full of gorgeous women whose job above all else is to facilitate their clients having a good time. While I was enjoying myself, as I enjoy my strange job a great deal, and the never ending supply of cheap-yet-decent beer, a few codeine tablets in my pocket (for purely medicinal purposes), and my case full of cloves provided me with amusement. Those, and the entire voyeuristic aspect of my day there proved great fun indeed.
Not nearly as much fun as a room full of gorgeous strippers with nothing and nobody else to amuse them would have been. I might be decent at playing the role of passive observer, but I'm not a corpse, and not yet at the point in my life where my drug of choice is knock-off Chinese Viagra. The temptation to be the sole recipient of these girls attentions, paid for or otherwise, was a hell of a difficult thing to say no to. But say no I did, more than once. To the shock of many, most of all myself.
Having explored the club, observed the staff both naked and clothed in action, and now drawing a crowd of very attractive, very persuasive women I decided to take my leave from Nuevo Senorial. I said my goodbyes, thanked the bartender and management for the fly-on-the-wall opportunity, and reluctantly began the walk home
Instead of going over the entire days events and figuring out how to turn my notes into something that might be readable or even enjoyable, I found myself lost in a different sort of thought.
I kept thinking about how, when I'm old, sick, and dying, I'm going to be laying there in bed kicking myself about the time I had the attention of every gorgeous woman in a deserted Mexican strip club. Oh yes, I do believe I will be kicking myself about that for years to come. The sacrifices I sometimes make for my craft...
Saturday, Day Two: Vampiz
"...this was why men fell in love with strippers and escorts: it wasn't
the licentiousness, the dissembling, their craven willingness to do
whatever you wanted. It was the way they would, out of the blue,
surprise you with the psychic ability to know what you needed."
- Chris Bojalian, The Guest Room
[[A friendly, family-owned vampire themed strip club in Mexico. Yes, really.]]
Full journalistic disclosure right up front. I sometimes work for Vampiz. Usually barking on the corner drumming up business, occasionally as a DJ (though I still play too much weirder American music for the managements tastes), and have an upcoming gig rewiring their sound system in the hopes that every guest DJ they bring in after me doesn't fuck up the entire thing in short order.
The owners were also gracious enough to let me stay/squat in their other building, the former Carlito's Cafe, when I first arrived in Nuevo Progreso. So I didn't have to spend what little savings I had left on hotel rooms. They also invited me to their home for Chirstmas dinner, having known me at that point for less than six hours. The memory of that meal and the welcoming atmosphere I felt from them, their friends, and families won't effect my objectivity, despite it being one of the best home cooked meals I've had in years. It was honestly one of the best Christmases I've had in ages.
They are in my humble, informed opinion, good people.
That disclaimer out of the way here is my honest assessment of Vampiz. The purpose of this article was to review the two premiere "gentlemen's clubs" here in Nuevo Progreso, and that is exactly what this will continue to be, despite my positive interactions and generally warm feelings towards the owners of Vampiz.
This particular day of observation was a double working experience, as in addition to making notes and taking everything in as I had planned I also spent most of the morning in the DJ booth. Not that this interfered with my observations or objectivity, it just made for a more hands on experience. Not hands on in the way most customers enjoy the club, but you get the idea.
The boss had given me access to part of his music collection for the club and so I spent most of the morning playing reggeton and latin dance music with only the occasional interjection of my own preferences.
Because if one is going to be DJ'ing at a strip club, no matter what country you find yourself in, My Life with The Thrill Kill Kult should be on the playlist somewhere. Especially one with a sexy vampire theme going for it. Its a moral imperative.
It was a Saturday, with much better weather than the Friday I spent observing things at Nuevo Senorial. A fact I assumed would ensure a more steady supply of customers, and early on I appeared to be correct in that assessment.
Vampiz opens fairly early for a strip club, around 10:00am. Unusual on either side of the border. When I first became acquainted with the place that struck me as more than a little odd to say the least. Their strategy for opening so early became clear pretty quick as the first customers this Saturday, indeed most days, seems to consistent largely of regulars. Americans and Mexican.
Being open early, the promise of friendly, beautiful, and compliant (as their sign says) girls combined with cheap beer and $5 USD shots of quality tequila brings all the middle aged American men to the yard. At least, that is the goal. Not by the truck or tour bus load, but more than enough to justify waking up at the crack of dawn and getting the club ready for action on most days.
Instead of an evening of quiet observation from the corner it would have been Dr. Villa, two of the gorgeous girls from Vampiz, your friend and humble narrator, and a rapidly accumulating collection of empty beer bottles (regular sized for us, and adorable half sized bottles the bar serves the girls for the same reason Nuevo Senorial serves their dancers the over-iced contents of 40's) and tequila shooters lining the table.
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The owners were also gracious enough to let me stay/squat in their other building, the former Carlito's Cafe, when I first arrived in Nuevo Progreso. So I didn't have to spend what little savings I had left on hotel rooms. They also invited me to their home for Chirstmas dinner, having known me at that point for less than six hours. The memory of that meal and the welcoming atmosphere I felt from them, their friends, and families won't effect my objectivity, despite it being one of the best home cooked meals I've had in years. It was honestly one of the best Christmases I've had in ages.
They are in my humble, informed opinion, good people.
[[I mean, just look at it... nothing on that plate wasn't home-cooked and completely amazing. Not pictured were the excellent homemade tamales.]]
That disclaimer out of the way here is my honest assessment of Vampiz. The purpose of this article was to review the two premiere "gentlemen's clubs" here in Nuevo Progreso, and that is exactly what this will continue to be, despite my positive interactions and generally warm feelings towards the owners of Vampiz.
This particular day of observation was a double working experience, as in addition to making notes and taking everything in as I had planned I also spent most of the morning in the DJ booth. Not that this interfered with my observations or objectivity, it just made for a more hands on experience. Not hands on in the way most customers enjoy the club, but you get the idea.
The boss had given me access to part of his music collection for the club and so I spent most of the morning playing reggeton and latin dance music with only the occasional interjection of my own preferences.
Because if one is going to be DJ'ing at a strip club, no matter what country you find yourself in, My Life with The Thrill Kill Kult should be on the playlist somewhere. Especially one with a sexy vampire theme going for it. Its a moral imperative.
It was a Saturday, with much better weather than the Friday I spent observing things at Nuevo Senorial. A fact I assumed would ensure a more steady supply of customers, and early on I appeared to be correct in that assessment.
Vampiz opens fairly early for a strip club, around 10:00am. Unusual on either side of the border. When I first became acquainted with the place that struck me as more than a little odd to say the least. Their strategy for opening so early became clear pretty quick as the first customers this Saturday, indeed most days, seems to consistent largely of regulars. Americans and Mexican.
Being open early, the promise of friendly, beautiful, and compliant (as their sign says) girls combined with cheap beer and $5 USD shots of quality tequila brings all the middle aged American men to the yard. At least, that is the goal. Not by the truck or tour bus load, but more than enough to justify waking up at the crack of dawn and getting the club ready for action on most days.
[[DJ Raw Shark rides again!]]
[[The sign leading to the private dance area reads "You Want It, You Get It!", Vampiz version of Harry Gordon Selfridge's legendary motto 'The Customer is Always Right.]]
If one arrives right around opening most of the girls are still getting dressed/undressed as the case may be. Preparing for the day, putting on their war paint (make up), perhaps even having a late breakfast. One day it was a giant pile of delicious homemade pancakes with all the trimmings. A pancake breakfast with a large group of very friendly off-duty strippers is another situation I never imagined myself in. Things at Vampiz are somewhat atypical for most strip clubs in my experience, but not at all in a bad way.
Perhaps its the fact that Vampiz is a smaller establishment, around half the total square footage of Neuvo Senorial. Maybe its the occasional wholesome pancake breakfast, or it could be the dynamic that management has established with the girls and some of the regulars but the feel there is a lot more personal, more intimate than other clubs I've been to or worked at.
I don't mean intimate in the sexy sense, though there is no lack of that as the girls are gorgeous and certainly know their trade. When I say intimate I also don't mean the size of the place. Its smaller than the other club to be sure, but rather its the staff and how they interact, with customers and each other. Its... friendly for the most part.
There is a single stage with a pole, and that pole sees a fair bit of use as one would expect. Hell, one evening after closing the resident primary DJ/Master of Ceremonies, DJ Diablo took to the stage and began a reasonably competent pole dance to howls of laughter and cheers from the staff and received more than one request to 'take it all off'. Diablo was drunk, very drunk, which is why I suspect he wasn't all that mad when I began pelting him with quarters yelling along with the girls for him to show off 'the goods'.
He didn't show off much, and certainly not 'the goods', but I can't blame him. Not many people are willing to get naked in a room full of their coworkers for about a buck fifty in quarters.
Despite the nicer weather the day turned out to be much quieter than a typical Saturday in this particular branch of the service industry. Most tourists walking along the main artery through Nuevo Progreso were of the older-to-ancient variety, sometimes with their families in tow. Its hard to convince a conservative family unit from Texas or Minnesota that they need to spend a somewhat nice afternoon basking in the glow of gorgeous naked women, downing cheap beer, all the while bass heavy Latin electronica blasts from the house sound system. No accounting for taste.
It couldn't have been total loss in that department as while I was sitting down in Santana to charge my phone and escape the music for a moment to put my notes in order two familiar faces strolled by. One belonged to an older gentleman who works at the club, a sometime bartender, sometime assistant manager, and occasional flyer tout on slow days who is known simply as 'Tio', He speaks no English and my Spanish is shit, so we have never had a proper conversation, but I like him all the same. He knows the business and takes exactly zero shit from anyone, both qualities I can respect.
The other fellow passing stopped immediately at the door to Santana and called out 'My Brother!' and before I could look up from my notebook I knew exactly who it was; Dr. Pancho Villa, M.D. As quickly as he had vanished the last time I saw him here he was. Arms outstretched for a hug and his usual 'I'm on top of the goddamn world' attitude and smile on full display,
We ended up having a bite to eat at Santana, as I have found it is almost impossible to not eat there once you walk in. The constant, amazing smell of home cooked Mexican food combined with the friendly staff could give anyone a powerful appetite. I had already begun the day with one of my go-to dishes for brunch when I end up leaving the house without any food at all, their phenomenal scrambled eggs with chorizo plate.
Farm fresh eggs, and farm fresh chorizo crumbled into the mix, served with a hearty helping of refried beans and dirty rice which would give the unnamed taquria Tabby and I had breakfast at once in SoCal and have never been able to track down again a run for its money. All that plus fresh, warm tortillas and their homemade pico de gallo makes for a hell of a meal to start the day.
Farm fresh eggs, and farm fresh chorizo crumbled into the mix, served with a hearty helping of refried beans and dirty rice which would give the unnamed taquria Tabby and I had breakfast at once in SoCal and have never been able to track down again a run for its money. All that plus fresh, warm tortillas and their homemade pico de gallo makes for a hell of a meal to start the day.
I was still stuffed from breakfast, but their amazing bassa/catfish plate called out to me and Dr. Villa's arrival at Vampiz was delayed somewhat as we continued to shoot the shit about whatever topics came to mind.
Thankfully, I was correct in my previous article about the man; Dr. Pancho Villa, M.D. did ride once more. All the way next door for another long day of drinking, telling stories, loving Mexico and its people as if he were a native, and being an absolutely generous gentleman to his companions for the day/evening.
Thankfully, I was correct in my previous article about the man; Dr. Pancho Villa, M.D. did ride once more. All the way next door for another long day of drinking, telling stories, loving Mexico and its people as if he were a native, and being an absolutely generous gentleman to his companions for the day/evening.
If I went back to Vampiz after that I knew how the day would turn out, it was pretty much assured. Any chance I had of playing objective observer would be dust in the rear view mirror of the good doctors aged yet shockingly fast sports car. The thing is as old as I am, literally, but certainly runs a mile much faster than I could ever hope to.
To return to Vampiz then and there would have meant sharing a table with the good doctor, so I politely declined so as not to be rude. I would not have been able to resist his persistent offers of beer and tequila to share along with his beautiful companions. As I said before I like the guy, he's weird as hell but damn good company.
Instead of an evening of quiet observation from the corner it would have been Dr. Villa, two of the gorgeous girls from Vampiz, your friend and humble narrator, and a rapidly accumulating collection of empty beer bottles (regular sized for us, and adorable half sized bottles the bar serves the girls for the same reason Nuevo Senorial serves their dancers the over-iced contents of 40's) and tequila shooters lining the table.
Not that any of this sounds bad. At all. Except of course for my already easily dis-tractable work ethic in such scenarios. Reluctantly I returned to my tiny apartment to begin writing up this long overdue post.
As I was walking home I began thinking back on various customers and situations that have arisen in my short time at Vampiz. Once, not on this day, but a previous one spent barking on the corner an older American couple asked for directions to a good beauty salon. The wife wanted a pedicure and the husband didn't seem to want anything. At least not until his wife had her feet being worked over by Juno and Anna, the skilled ladies at Abby's salon on the corner.
His wife engaged in a relaxing pedicure he asked me, quietly, if there was somewhere near by he could get a cheap beer. I told him that Vampiz, the strip club I was working for had $2 beers, with a free lap dance. He told me over and over again as we approached the club that the girls were of no interest to him, he just wanted a beer. I said that was fine, lap dances or more, were by no means mandatory and lead him straight to the bar. Circumstances brought me back to the club about 15 minutes later with more customers and I found that goodly and very married gentleman enthusiastically getting a lap dance from one of the beautiful girls on duty that day.
As I was walking home I began thinking back on various customers and situations that have arisen in my short time at Vampiz. Once, not on this day, but a previous one spent barking on the corner an older American couple asked for directions to a good beauty salon. The wife wanted a pedicure and the husband didn't seem to want anything. At least not until his wife had her feet being worked over by Juno and Anna, the skilled ladies at Abby's salon on the corner.
His wife engaged in a relaxing pedicure he asked me, quietly, if there was somewhere near by he could get a cheap beer. I told him that Vampiz, the strip club I was working for had $2 beers, with a free lap dance. He told me over and over again as we approached the club that the girls were of no interest to him, he just wanted a beer. I said that was fine, lap dances or more, were by no means mandatory and lead him straight to the bar. Circumstances brought me back to the club about 15 minutes later with more customers and I found that goodly and very married gentleman enthusiastically getting a lap dance from one of the beautiful girls on duty that day.
Admittedly I did not spend nearly as much time at Vampiz as I did at Nuevo Senorial, but I don't feel that to be a barrier in writing this. Cumulatively I've spent a lot more time at Vampiz as should be evident by now. If the purpose of this article had been to choose which club is better, which is not an never was the point I was trying to make, than my skipping out early to avoid a marathon drinking session with one of the most unique individuals I have ever encountered would be remarkably unfair.
But as I said, this wasn't a contest. It was merely an attempt to give a brief glimpse into the day to day life of two similar yet very different businesses here in Nuevo Progreso. To peel back a bit of the sleazy mystique that tends to surround such places and make them seem far more sinister or nefarious than they truly are. Both clubs are fine establishments, its just a question if what sort of atmosphere you are in the mood for.
Having worked in showbiz since I was about 15, and in more than one night club, concert venue, and the odd strip club I can't help but cast an ultra critical eye at certain things. Mostly on the technical side, but honestly none of that is worth mentioning here. Both clubs are run, as far as I can tell by decent, hard working people who strive above all else to give the customers what they want. Drinks, pretty girls, an enjoyable atmosphere, an escape for those in need of it, and of course to make some money while doing so. Just like any other business.
“My time in heaven was up, and I was being told I wasn't the marrying kind by someone who undresses for a living.”
- Chelsea Handler, My Horizontal Life: A Collection of One-Night Stands
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