Cavorting in Cabo

I know…enough with the travelogue…enough with our little trip to Cabo.

After a couple of posts, it begins to feel like sitting in your neighbor’s rumpus room for 3 hours oohing and awwwing over his 1,500 slides of the Eisenhower locks.

 So I’m gonna wrap it all up today…I promise.

Sort of….

Besides there's some sort of a major snow storm approaching that may or may not dump as much as 1,000 feet of snow on the Northeast, so I’m gonna start shoveling as soon as I finish up...even before it starts 

And I’m sure none of you are in the mood to hear about how incredible it is to bask in the warm glow of summer sun, while you’re back here freezing.

So I won’t mention it…I promise…again.

Sort of….

Last summer I wrote that every vacation develops a rhythm of its own choosing. The sooner you discover that rhythm and step in time to its particular beat, the sooner you’re able to let yourself go wherever the music wants to take you.

Well, for wary, greenhorn international travelers like Z and me, on the first day of this vacation we danced to a very slow, dirge like beat, characterized more by a waltz that a ch-cha.

Once we settled in our room and slipped into our shorts and T’s, we met up with K and John by the pool bar and immediately proceeded to confuse the entire staff with our instructions as to what we needed charged to our credit cards and what went to our rooms.

Don’t ask…it’s complicated.

But it was necessary…and it served us well…I think.

And since Cabo is a resort town, everyone took it in stride. In fact, for the rest of the week the staff referred to us as “Turistas locos gringos”, which I think translates loosely to “Cool Guys”.

So that was nice.

After catching up over a couple of Margaritas and a heaping plate of Nachos Grande, we decided to pick up the tempo of this vacation salsa and bravely headed out for a stroll around the Marina, which harbored some interesting characters, along with a few yachts, slightly larger than our hotel.

This little “pleasure vessel”, in particular, which was available for a week’s charter at the low, low price of 750,000 Euros or 1,016,025 US Dollars, boasted its own helicopter pad and, of course, helicopter.

Unfortunately our stay consisted of only 6 days and 5 nights, so we had to take a pass.

Not that we didn’t have plenty of opportunity to sail the deep blue seas, as our walk along the promenade elicited at least several dozen invitations to go fishing from a bunch of nice folks eager to help out a group of eager new arrivals.

One particularly nice fellow even offered to show me some pictures of his sister, but Z insisted we had to keep moving; I think because the overwhelming number of friendly locals had her tempted to buy everything from genuine silver jewelry, authentic Mexican sombreros, antique pottery and glassware from the time of Cortez to vintage T-shirts that once belonged Charo.

It was almost as convenient as shopping on Amazon…and everything, we were told, was a really great deal!

As the week progressed, so did the rhythm with every sunrise over the prominent mountain in view of our balcony.  In view of just about everywhere we went, actually.

It also helped that our particular Mexican Conga was aided by the friendly wait staff that serviced the pool, and somehow knew exactly when it was time to haul out the Piña Coladas and Strawberry Daiquiris.

We were 2 hours behind US Eastern time so we felt absolutely no guilt over starting by 11 AM…or even 10.

After all, it was noon somewhere.

And since our primary activity for most of the week consisted of lying about on these plush couches, which I believe were designed by Antony & Cleopatra, it seemed like the thing to do.

Of course we also ventured out to the beach most afternoons, as well, which was about a 20 minute walk around the harbor.  Oddly enough, “beaching it” did not seem to be a prime Cabo activity, I guess because in January, the water is only 75 degrees and considered “muy frio” by the locals.

Of course it was far from “frio” for this caballero and I wasn’t coming all the way to Mexico without splashing around in the Pacific for a while…with or without the threat of water taxis potentially introducing me to the bow of their little boats.

Apparently in Cabo, waving your hand over your head, in any manner, whether on land or sea indicates that you are in need of a cab.

It’s not that I minded almost becoming a figurehead for the Gaucho II, but I found it unnecessary for Z to tip the guy on top of it.

But I have to admit, taking the water taxis is a good way to get around to the various beaches and points of interest in Cabo…as long as you’re actually sitting in the boat.

They’ll even drop you off at a remote beach for a couple of hours of fun in the sun, and come back to pick you up…eventually. 

Of course, you have to take into consideration that this kind of aquatic transportation requires you to get your feet wet—literally—in order to get in and out of the boat, once you reach your destination…that is, when you can actually catch up to the boat, which is rising and falling with the ocean swell, even just a foot or two from the shore line. 

Of course being an industrious group, we didn’t have too much trouble in that department as Z knocked me to my knees and volunteered my back as a stepping stool for the rest.

Not that I minded, but I thought they could have told the water cabbie that I was supposed to get on the boat too. 

But not to worry, I somehow channeled my old 25 year old self, ran through the waves and managed to propel myself up and over, twist around and plop firmly onto the bow…much to the relief of my fellow Cabo Cruisers.

Well, I assume it was relief, since they had their backs to me, taking in the last of the sights.

Throw in all the nightly dinners under the stars, complete with a moon rise over the dark ocean horizon and you pretty much have the gist of our Cavorting in Cabo.

Before we knew it, a few days later, the car service was dropping us off at our frigid front door around Midnight, and our summer in January was officially a memory.

A distant memory, even now, but something to keep us warm the rest of this winter season.

Which reminds me, I better go get the snow shovel out.

I think I see a few flakes….

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