Mexicanisimo

There we are in Los Cabos, on the Sea of Cortez. You will notice that we are standing up. This will be that last time you'll see a photo of us in this post in which we are entirely vertical. This trip was not about getting stuff done. The famous Arcos? Nah, couldn't see em from my beach chair. This trip was about relaxation. Which I can do very well. Better than most. Many people will get antsy and start looking for activities long before I've even flipped onto my belly and ordered my 2nd chocolate banana smoothie. Don't be jealous. It is just a God-given talent that I have carefully developed for more than 30 years.
We arrived Thursday afternoon. See how happy I look? That's because I read my book for nearly 2 hours straight on the airplane, and nobody bugged me. Plus, I'm in Cabo, which doesn't make me sad, either. Okay, I'm standing up in this one, too, but if you lie down on the runway, someone might think you are crazy or high, and you might get a body cavity search.

After we checked in, they loaded our bags into a golf cart and took us to our room. Andrew was just coming back from some important business at the pool. I stepped out of the cart, and part way on to a low step separating the garden from the walkway. I was thrown off balance, but just barely. I knew I was going down, but not quickly. I had time to flail my arms around a bit, then think to myself: "self, you should grab the armrest on the front seat of that golf cart, then you won't fall into the bougainvillea and make a scene." So I grabbed it, but the seat was not hooked down, so then I'm holding the seat high aloft and falling down, down, into the planter. Somehow, I caught myself, put the chair back in its rightful place on the cart, and stood up. Everyone is looking at me. Without a pause or even a word of greeting, Andrew pipes up in Spanish, telling the hostess lady that I really like to drink. I think there were hand motions, too. Which is a pretty funny joke. Only she doesn't crack a smile, and says something roughly translated as "Hey, we are in Mexico. That's cool."

Here we are at lunch by one of the pools with our good-lookin' hosts, Jen (mi hermanita) and the birthday boy Andrew (thanks so much for inviting us to your party). Somehow, we lounged around the room for too long and missed breakfast. I might have eaten some dulce de leche candy earlier in the day. This was a 'working lunch' since Jen and I discussed how we should start our own European travel show, like Rick Steves only with better fashion (no fanny packs allowed, we'll just risk getting pick-pocketed), less boozing (probly no boozing), and maybe bring our kids (perhaps not all eight) and pay them to eat local delicacies on camara a la Anthony Bourdain. We are pretty sure our show could put Samantha Brown out of business. She's a little annoying. (What? If you don't know who I'm talking about, you aren't watching the Travel Channel enough.)

Also, notice that Jen is wearing one of three 4-piece swimsuits she brought for the trip. They consist of bottoms, tankini top, short swim-skirt, and matching cover up, which often looks like a cocktail dress or something one of the ladies holding the suitcases on that game show with Howie Mandel might wear. One worker at the spa asked if she was ready to go out for the night. Jake pointed out that swimsuit fabric is very expensive (don't want to know how he knows that), and Jen was carefully and modestly draped in yards and yards of it.

We spent most of our time, sleeping and waking, on our behinds. Here's Jake, checking his email from our bedroom balcony.
Here I am, doing something important like thinking about whether I want my chips with guacamole or salsa. (Answer: both.) Or maybe I'm thinking about Mexicanisimo, the buffet from the previous night. Overheard at the Mexicanisimo dessert table: Father says to his daughter "Hey, lay off the lady fingers." What sort of off-the-grid, underground lair in Kansas must this guy live in, to have seen nary a churro in all his years? Has he never been to Disneyland, or even less exotic places like the Costco snack bar? And if his daughter has never had the pleasure, either, let her eat what she likes. Only, they shoulda tried the flan, as well. It was quite remarkable, as flan goes.

All this doing nothing isn't all fun; it can have a dark side, too. I said more than once that I felt so relaxed that I might pass out. I could easily sink into unconsciousness or even into a coma for hours or days and no one would notice. Jake is demonstrating this phenomenon in the photo below:

When Jake awoke, he said he had to get up and go to Wal-Mart, because he thought he was developing bed sores. No one joined him. The rest of realized that bed sores are just the risk you take when you start lounging full-time. It takes time and patience to build up callouses in all the right places.

On our last day, I talked Jake and Jen into walking the extra twenty steps or so down from the pool and into the chairs down on the beach. No, I wasn't looking to swim. I'd already seen too many crabs lurking around to even think about getting in the water with the critters. Jen called us adventurers as we hiked down the stairs, and she kept humming "Pioneer Children sang as they walked," because nobody ever goes down there (except for the pool waiter, who followed us down with umbrellas and towels, and asked us if we needed drinks).

It was hard to leave Cabo, but I got two more hours of reading in on the plane (book turned surprisingly sad, and, blind-sided, I found myself in tears. Hungover plane neighbors probly did not judge me too harshly. They felt like weeping, too, as the ocean disappeared into the clouds.

I returned home to some good Mother's Day loot. Cards, a beaded fan and bracelet from Ross, a bookmark, necklace and ring (which has a beaded tail that hangs down about 5 inches from my hand) from Sam, a card and poem from Jane, and flowers from Jake. My Mom made green chile burritos to alleviate our culture shock and help us smoothly re-assimilate into Arizona society. It is good to be home.

Now to the laundry. Mi ropa esta muy sucio. Except, I keep hearing a rustling sound coming from the laundry area, and I'm pretty sure there is something alive in there. It sounds too big to be una cucaracha. Maybe it is el chupacabra.