Greetings from Cabo San Lucas

The Arch of Lands End, Cabo San Lucas, Mexico

I promised my old-fart friend Sue a blog from Cabo, where I am staying with my friend Debi (name changed to protect her from her kids) compliments of her niece and husband. This is the fourth location in Mexico I have visited. I discount the first, being Tijuana when I was about 13 and visiting cousins in San Diego. I recall colorful chaos. The trip did not ignite a burning desire to visit our southern sister.

Many years later, many years ago, we ventured to Nogales a few times. By then, having experienced some of the world and heard stories of this shopping mecca, the aggression of the shop owners did not disarm me. Rather, the enthusiasm and business style of the vendors, the color of goods, and the overstocked shops tickled me. Nini Dair showed interest in a blanket only to be chased down the street, the vendor reaching out to her and shouting increasingly lower deals. I don’t recall whether she came home with any blanket. She trembles with signs of trauma if you bring it up.

Puerto Peñasco (Rocky Point) set on the northeastern point of the Sea of Cortez is my happy place. It has been our south-of-the-border destination for the past 30 years. The fishing village retains much of the Mexican charm while morphing into a resort destination. The beaches are phenomenal, sandy and spacious and clean, the people friendly, the vendors manageable, and the seafood fresh. Several years ago a rough pier was built in anticipation of cruise ships; no liner has yet to appear. Sandy Beach, once the destination for cheap camping, is now filling in with resorts and time-shares.

So along comes an opportunity to fly to the tip of the Baja peninsula. From the veranda of the condo at Villa La Estancia, I look beyond the eponymous rock called Land’s End to the Pacific Ocean and the edge of the earth. This is upscale resort country. Cruise ships and elegant yachts disgorge thrill seekers on jet skis and the more cautious on kayaks. I see no shrimp boats heading out at night and returning with their edible treasures in the early morning. A quick drive through town reveals garish nightclubs enticing young cocktail seekers rather than the beach bar drinkers of Rocky Point. The difference may be fed by the ease of access: one must fly to Cabo San Lucas while we drive easily to Puerto Peñasco from Phoenix; e.g. Cabo invites money.

It is hot and humid, the breeze unable to dry the sand from my feet. Yesterday’s clouds softened the effect allowing me to write outside, cold wine at hand. I channeled Hemingway—write drunk, edit sober—although he didn’t say that. The glass was filled with ice and enough white wine to satisfy me for the hour as I write about Cabo San Lucas.

Each day we spend a few hours at the pool, shaded by umbrellas manipulated by attendants, plunging into the pool to cool off or swim to the bar for a drink. I read, stare, check my e-mail, read, stare. To view the beach, I stroll over to the fence and look below. Access is via a full flight of stairs. It is inviting, but the stairs are intimidating.

It being overcast and tolerably warm, I ventured down those stairs and plodded through the dry sand tilled by earlier walkers towards the surface smoothed by the incoming swell, the turquoise of the Pacific ombre. I was nowhere near the crests. Nevertheless, I had miscalculated the distance of the tide and quickly lost balance as the water reversed its course. Down I went, uninjured but scurrying to avoid the next blast. Thank you, Noreen, for teaching me the downward dog many years ago, as that is my method for rising from the ground. Not fast enough. The wave swept by, taunting me, and was on its return to the deep when two Mexican gentlemen from the resort approached me, took my hands, and walked me not beyond the wave but up to the parched tilled sand. Having been here three days now, I fully understood their Spanish, their fingers gesticulating so there would be no misunderstanding: Stupid old lady, stay away from the water. Do not go beyond this sand!

I graciased profusely and showed my commitment to safety and their peace of mind by remaining close to the wall for the few minutes I remained. This morning adventure would be book ended in the evening following a beautiful sunset cruise flowing with drinks and crowned by shots of tequila (the trick is to pretend to drink and chug water) as Tequila by the Champs played in the background and then, against my protests, a stop at another bar, samples of fresh fish caught that day by the amiable men at the table next to us, and then, down the steps to the cab where I caught sight of two bodies lying together on the drive: our host and Debi. Our host took a detour to the hospital with a dislocated shoulder and facial laceration. Debi, with signs of concussion, made it to the condo only to frighten me one more time when I found her on the floor of the bathroom, conscious but unable to get up. Having no access to Mexican gentlemen, I awkwardly but successfully assisted Debi to her feet.

There is great sadness to these stories. Not long ago I enjoyed riding and fighting the waves in Puerto Peñasco and could return to the safety of the sand with little difficulty. Now I will always need some hands to steady me if I want to walk the beach. Many of my limitations involve balance. I am wary of unfamiliar terrain marked with stairs. I am nervous not because of the climb, but because I don’t react quickly to a stumble. In assisting Debi, I realize I should always have someone nearby to help me if I do find myself on the ground.  

I don’t see myself returning to Cabo San Lucas, not because it isn’t a beautiful place, but I have Puerto Peñasco close by. I won’t return to this beach during this visit, being on security’s watchlist. These resorts are situated limiting views to the ocean or a wall, not as enticing as Puerto Penasco’s beaches. I will enjoy the ocean from the terrace or from a chaise lounge under the shade of an umbrella, the rhythm of the surf floating me safely on the waves in my memories.