YOUR SPANISH LULLABY:: Philip Tetro has the time of his life in Mexico City, coming across front row tickets for not only one, but two MDNA shows. Read on to find out what made him cry, dance and sweat in a land far away…
BROUGHT TO YOU BY :: W HOTEL, MEXICO CITY
It was in April last year when Shaun Proulx decided that he, Patrick Marano and I should go to Mexico City to see Madonna. Still feeding off the insane excitement I was feeling from the tweet Madonna sent me only days earlier, he says with typical Proulx-fidence: “I think we should manifest going to Mexico City. You coming?”
Of course I was. But then got lost in life. Seven months of hard-work, Pride 2012, two new television shows, a falling out with three of my closest friends, a new boyfriend and new apartment north of the city. Madonna in Mexico City came faster than I had anticipated, we didn’t even figure out flights until just before we left.
If it happens, it happens. But it will happen. More Proulx-fidence that, after two years, I’ve just sort of learned to trust. It works most of the time. And when it doesn’t, then “it wasn’t meant to happen.”
This, however, was definitely meant to happen:
Patrick and Shaun wanted some time alone time as this was a “sorta honeymoon” that they haven’t been able to take since their wedding last year, so they got there a day earlier than I did. I flew into the world’s second largest city (population 20,450,000) by myself a day later with a feeling of anticipation that I had never felt before. Something magical was in the air.
I got off the plane at around 3PM central time. My lack of sleep and anxiousness (not only for the new city, the language barrier, and of course, a Madonna concert) was like a cloud in front of my eyes. I was in a Mexican trance. In line waiting to pass through Mexican customs, I turn around only to spot a few familiar faces: Madonna’s musicians, back-up singers and some dancers are behind me.
Don’t say anything, don’t say anything, don’t say anything, don’t…
“Philip Tetro! Fancy seeing you here!” A part of Madonna’s management it’s Samantha Hess who helped me organize my tickets to the Toronto concert and has recognized me right away.
Don’t shit your pants, don’t shit your pants, don’t…
I play it cool (sweat), ask about her flight, tell her why I’m there (as if she didn’t already guess), and I’m on my merry way through customs. Or so I think. Of course, I don’t have a pen on me and have to go to the “pen-less loser section” and then head to the back of the line, all in front of Madonna’s posse, in order to fill out the Mexican customs forms I find out they need completed.
Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t…
I hurry out of the airport and sheepishly wave goodbye to Sam (we’re on a nickname basis at this point), feeling like she was that popular girl in high school and I was the band nerd, and attempt to order a taxi. Three taxi booths, four taxi booth people and finally a 35-minute cab ride through the eye-popping streets of Mexico City streets later, I arrive at my destination: the gorgeous W Hotel.
We, again in pure Shaun Proulx fashion, stayed in the Yorkville-esque region of Mexico City: Polanco, special guests of The W. The neighbourhood and the hotel are absolutely beautiful. As soon as you walk in, an incredibly appropriate “Strike a Pose” light greets you from the lobby bar.
I’m hear my name and make my way to the end of a long path surrounded by white leather couches on one side and a waterfall pond on the other where Shaun and Patrick are enjoying W Hotel-size Grey Goose martinis at the back of the bar. After the hugs and kisses, I go check-in with the hotel staff. Conjuring up any sort of sentence I can with my University-level Spanish intellect, the staff responds in perfect English: “We heard you’re a huge fan of Madonna’s. This is for you.” And I’m handed a pamphlet about a Madonna art exhibit that had just happened in Mexico City not long before we got there; very few exist I’m told.
Even in Mexico, they know I’m a Madonna fan. Mission Accomplished.
RELATED :: Read Shaun’s take on their Great MDNA MXCO Adventure here.
I turn around to let Shaun and Patrick know I’m going to put my bags in my room before we go eat dinner and see the W Hotel doormen suddenly throw open both front doors. A sea of people walk through.
The same people I was in line with at the airport: MADONNA’S PEOPLE ARE STAYING IN MY HOTEL. Don’t shit your pants, don’t…
Not one for asking for more than I think I deserve, I don’t rush over and beg Sam for front row tickets to the Madonna concert that I flew over 6, 000 miles just to see, like you might expect me to have done. I was content with being away, period, and the thought of Madonna in any capacity is truly all I need.
Sam notices me again and sort of winks as she’s whisked away by the twenty people surrounding her, all waiting for the elevators to go to their luxurious rooms (I wonder if they all had hammocks in their rainfall showers like I did?). I freeze in place and absorb everything that is happening to me. Patrick and Shaun (whom I’ve called “Dads” since the day I met them) and I settle in, and then meet to go out for a night of authentic Mexican cuisine and drinks.
The next day, we go for breakfast and do some souvenir shopping. I’m planning my special Madonna outfit for the night in my head while Dads browse the shops of Polanco. Suddenly I get a text message, from an American number:
“Your wristbands are under your name at the Madonna Friends and Family booth at the stadium.”
WRISTBANDS FOR THE PIT. MADONNA’S GOLDEN TRIANGLE. TICKETS THAT NORMALLY COST UP TO $1, 500 EACH.
Sam saved my number from Toronto. Don’t cry, don’t cry…
I cry.
The three of us jump up and down like children on Christmas Eve. Shaun falls to the ground.
We were scheduled to be taken on a three-hour bus tour of the city, so off we go on a three-hour bus tour of the city. It felt like an eternity: all I cared about was the concert.
We get back to the hotel. I get ready and meet in Dads’ room for some tequila before a hotel driver takes us to Foro Sol (you can’t just hail a cab in Mexico City or else risk robbery / kidnapping). We get out of the car after some dizzying Mexican traffic, and are enveloped in a sea of thousands of Mexicans in a sight we called, Madonna Market: rows and rows of underground Madonna memorabilia, from socks to pillows, made by Mexicans to sell to the expected 55, 000 people each night. My excitement sky-rockets, but I don’t buy anything because I refuse to support the counterfeit Madonna Merchandise Machine. I really, really, wanted the socks, though.
Three security guards, two gates and thousands of people passing us later, we are brought to the Madonna Friends and Family booth. I get our wristbands. We are led through a tunnel and are given a night that I will never forget. Madonna performed the best I’ve ever seen that night, to a sold-out crowd of almost 60, 000. Up-close and personal, she winked at us a few times did not disappoint. She was on fire and even gave us a Spanish Lesson. My Dads’ eyes were sparkling as they watched, and since I had seen the show two months earlier, I was more entertained by their reactions to the songs/performances that I already knew to expect. And nothing is more special than Mexicans chanting the Vogue rap with their thick, strong accents.
It was, truly, one of the best nights of my life.
Just when I think it can’t get any better, Sam texts me – that same night – to see if I wanted to go to the second concert on Sunday. I respond, “YES, PLEASE”, without any hesitation, but Dads opt to see more of the city; Shaun needs time to recover from What Just Happened.
The next night I go to the second concert alone, which finishes at around 1AM, five hours before I’m due at the airport, which is very close to the stadium. I spend an hour in Madonna Market deciding whether or not I need Madonna socks, and hitch a ride to the airport with strangers to make my 6AM flight the next morning.
Yes, I hitched a ride with strangers to the airport. In Mexico.
I meet Shaun and Patrick in the morning and we prepare for our flight home. I’m in a Madonna daze for the entire trip and reminisce and consider: This is my reality. Madonna knows who I am, her entourage knows who I am, I happen to stay at the same hotels as them, and they give me front-row tickets to concerts. What else am I capable of? I guess we’ll just have to see.
For now, my main concern is not only Finding Madonna, but finding Madonna socks.
Thank you to Samantha Hess at Guy Oseary Management for making my dreams come true three times in 2012; And thank you to the amazing team at the beautiful W Hotel Mexico City for putting up with me voguing in the lobby, for not kicking me out when I stalked Madonna’s dancers, for not getting mad when I didn’t wear slippers in the spa and for not charging me when I made all my sheets/robe/room smell like Madonna’s Truth or Dare perfume. Muchas gracias.
RELATED :: Read Shaun’s take on their Great MDNA MSCO Adventure here.
