Updates from the Mexican underbelly

The best thing a relaxing, get-away-from-it-all hotel can do to help recovering workaholics and interent addicts is to offer a complimentary business center with new computers and a super fast internet connection.  Thus, here I am, reporting tidbits from the Cabo San Lucas underbelly.

First, I should report: Joe, Mr. “I’ve never been sunburned in my life” has gotten a bit red.  Or, as he says, “It’s not a sunburn, it’s just tender-like.”  We’ve been practically bathing in Clinique After Sun Rescue Balm, which I highly approve of.

Joe also passed his CFA, Level 2.  Praise be to Jebus!  If he passes Level 3 next June, we’re going to Provence and never coming back.  Pack your bags now for the 2011 harvest.

The food in Mexico is good.  Like, really good.  As I type this, we’ve just returned from Tabasco Beach, also known as the Happiest Place in the World.  If you ever make it there, please eat the marinated steak tacos.  Un-effing-believable.  We like Tabasco because the food and drinks are delicious and reasonably priced, and the staff there tends to you leave you the fuck alone.  No one whistling in your ear, demanding you take a jello shot while three giant sombreros are plopped on your head (let me pause here to remind everyone that Joe and I are 65).  Surprisingly, the food at our hotel has also been outstanding–we’ve ordered room service no less than 4 times (should I even admit that?  Oh well.).

The one exception to food in Cabo not being delicious is at uber-touristy places like Cabo Wabo and Mango Deck.  Like their American counterpart Chevy’s, they’ve got the formula figured out: high volume, minimum of 3 to 4 turns a night, which means you can skimp on service and food quality, then charge higher than normal prices.  I remain unimpressed with such tourist traps.  Last night I was forced to watch a mid to late 20something man have his pants pulled down and his bare ass slapped multiple times by two Mexican sisters while his extended family looked on, under the guise that it was his “17th birthday” and “he was a virgin.”  Okay, that sounds pretty funny, but believe me, it was painful to watch.

An observation: vendors/promoters in Mexico really, really need to work on their sales pitches.  Walking along the Marina two nights ago, taking it all in, we were bombarded with people shoving menus in our faces and trying to herd us into their restaurant, no doubt replete with sugary margaritas and barely passable fajitas.

Vendor: Ay Guys!  You ready for dinner?  You want to see menu?  You guys honeymoon?  You want to eat?

Me: [A quick, polite shake of the head]

Vendor: Okaaaaay, so you say,  “NO THANK YOU,” MISS.

The thing is, having worked in many service jobs, I know it’s not like it’s THEIR fault they have to act like such huge douchebags a desperate used car salesman.  And to some extent, I also get that the majority of people who walk by them are probably pretty rude and treat them like second class citizens since they’re not AMERICAN and ENGLISH SPEAKING.  But then, this happened last night:

Vendor: Hey Guys!  You ready for dinner?  You want to see menu?  We got seafood and steaks! You want to eat?

Me: No, but thank you!  We ate a little earlier and are already stuffed!

Vendor: Psshaw. [He gives us a scoffing, disdainful look, then a quick dismissive hand wave] You guys eat waaay too early.

Yes, Mr. Dude, it’s welcoming words like that that ensure I’ll back to your restaurant TOMORROW night for dinner, and I’m sure that later this evening, when my partner and I are parched from the hot, still air and oppressing humidity, we’ll walk back and patron your large bar and order $500 pesos worth of beer and margaritas.  Thanks for making the decision so easy for us.

So there’s that.

Our very favorite vendor:

“Ay guys.” [Holds up some silver bracelets towards us] “You like thees?  No?  You like some weed?”

Things we’ve done: parasailing (turns out I have a developing fear of heights), snorkeling (rental snorkeling masks are racist in that they don’t fit well against Asian faces), ate a ton of food, drank a ton of beer, and read a lot.  I’ve plowed my way through two books: Interpreter of Maladies (a bit depressing despite the unbelievable Pulitzer-prize worthy writing), and Atonement, which is now easily on my top 5 books ever.  Beautifully written.

We’ve also been fortunate enough to see several amazing moonrises, watch the Browns play terrible football at a pre-season game, have clear, sunny skies and be bypassed over by timeshare salespeople because we are not 25.  Our hotel is really awesome.  We have a junior suite that is just as big as our apartment.  It also has a huge balcony that overlooks the pool and the beach, complete with two big lounge chairs for us to cozy up in.  If you’re ever staying in Cabo, I definitely recommend Casa Dorada.

Joe and I have been asked if we’re on our honeymoon 3 separate times.  He’s been called Mr. McGinley twice, and my husband once.  So somehow, we look far younger than 25, but are still ready to be bound together for life.  Go figure.

Things we need to do: Jet ski.  Eat at this place called Edith’s.  Eat at this place called Lorenzillo’s (an oyster and lobster restaurant on the water?  Sign me up!).  Sit by the pool (again).  Get a hydrating facial either on our last day, or back in the city because both of us are sporting some pretty parched skin.  Go to Tabasco, again.  Take a nap.

I should warn my readers now (all two of you) that much to Joe’s delight, I’ve been totally remiss in taking pictures.  So photos of delicious eats, red-hued Joe and perfect sunsets are surely NOT to follow.

Onward we go, into 3 more days of fun in the sun!

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