Weekend in Cabo

The Swell had been too big, and mostly blown out, for nearly a week. Jay’s shoulder was bothering him. We were all going slowly insane with Boredom so we headed into Cabo for a couple nights During April’s full moon. Cabo has a reputation for being a world class party town, with it’s selection of high priced resorts and nightclubs, many of them owned by aging rock stars.
We rolled in, and found a Hotel room. We got lunch. Jay didn’t want to do nothing except drink, so he set himself up at an open air bar about three in the afternoon, and Troy and I went wandering down to the beach to see what was what. The beach is lined with exclusive resort hotels, about ten of them, and their deck chairs run out to the high tide line. The beach is steep, and the water crystal blue. Mexican kids frolic in the surf ad gringo kids poke their toes in the water. Offshore there are hundreds of yachts and jetskis, and charter boats. Dudes yell at fat guys on shore, trying to persuade them to go marlin fishing. People everywhere are trying to sell you shit. The family patriarchs of the families that tour these resorts are almost exclusively miserable looking: they spent a year saving up for a week or a few days in a place only slightly more interesting than the living room and not nearly as relaxing.
This was the place Poof hung out, and raved about Cabo’s virtues. Troy and I spun off into an endless succession of Poof jokes, as we walked back towards the centre of town, traversing an industrial corridor dividing the town and civilization from the alternate universe of the resorts, a place nobody is allowed to enter of leave. Posses of maids in pharmaceutical grade smocks wandered to and from their workplaces sipping coca colas, and trucks loaded with Haagen Daas ice cream and other American luxury items roared up and down the starkly utilitarian service road.
When Troy and I met up with Jay, he was making small talk with a couple of stunning young Spanish ladies. Jay then took off with them and their group of friends, tagging along with them to dinner while Troy and I chased down Emily and Ashley (Two students from Reno) and the two of us took them through the famous nightclub, Cabo Wabo. These girls were difficult to connect with, they were American, and they spoke only in code. After a couple tedious beers the girls split on us, running away with a pair of Mexican wrestlers they met the night before.
Troy and I struggled to make headway the rest of the night, but we ended up just getting so drunk and demoralized that Troy the game theory specialist wound up losing twenty dollars at tic tac toe to a Squid Roe waiter who drew a # on our table and laid out his money. Shot girls injected Tequila jello into our mouths, while blowing a whistle, tweaking our nipples, and slapping our asses. Things got blurry.
The Next day we nursed hangovers and watched latin television all day in the hotel room. Jay had arranged for us to meet Daniella and Loquisha, and a couple of her friends outside the movie theatre at 7:00. The girls ran into their friend, Mariella, shortly after. Mariella was even more stunning that Daniella and Laquisha.
These girls, the women we met there, they are entirely unlike any females I’ve met before. They may well have been leading ladies from unreleased Pierre almovar films. They were fiery, voliatile, but entirely even tempered and wise. They were sharp, and they would cut you, but they also glowed from the inside with a soft warmth. These Spanish ladies are of an entirely different breed than those you find in the northern provinces. Daniella was the girl jay was after, but she was too good for him. She had, in early april, come to Caboafter breaking up with her fiancée of nearly a year, after their relationship fell apart while she was working in a Washington DC embassy. Daniella had cat eyes, and the bone structure of women you see in Egyptian hieroglyphs. Daniellas close friend Loquisha, was the youngest and the loudest. She spoke fluent Italian and French on top of English and Spanish. Loquisha Snowboards in Taho, summers in Italy, and spent nearly a year in San Fransisco before coming to Cabo San Lucas. I’m guessing she doesn’t really need to work if she doesn’t want to: She’s taken care of. When Loquisha drinks she goes crazy. On the first night she threatened Jay with castration if he tried anything on Daniella; and she threw her cell phone into the marina in an unrelated incident. She has the look of a glamour model, and the amped up, ultra-extroverted personality of the latin afternoon talk show hostesses you see yakking on the local televisions. Troy and her were locked in verbal combat most of the second night.
Mariella is a Scotia Bank employee who arranges loans for the investing Americans and Canadians who come here to blow cash on retirement homes and southern getaway’s. She grew up in a middle class family in central Mexico, but drives a BMW that we all piled into for a snort from the dolphin petting zoo on the Marina to Cabo’s club district. Mariella was very quiet and reserved until after her first beer, when she took off her shoes and lterally let her hair down. By the end of the night she was dancing on tables, and clapping her hands to Madonna tunes, while blowing kisses to people all over the room.
These women were beautiful, I can’t stress that enough: I don’t know how to talk about them, and from the moment we met them, Saturday evening, until the wee hours of Sunday morning, the night was a delirious blur, as they escorted through the sparkling ruins of a crystal town. We cartwheeled down golden stairways through plazas of ganglia glitterati, amidst the stroboscopic camera bulbs and the thumping of electronic dance music. We laughed, drank, and danced the night away. So much happened, we visited so many places, and I became so razzle dazzled by the surreality of it all, that trying to recall is like waking up from an epic dream and trying to piece together the details: It just goes and goes.
We drank champagne on a thirty million dollar yacht, and joined a birthday party at an Irish pub that served Canadian beer, we danced at the Zoo, Squid Roe, Red’s Martini bar, and this place on the Marina. Mariellas laughing face is permanently etched into my mind, and it’s the only memory that remains in focus. These girls knew every important person in the town, it seemed: Laquisha parted waves of stone faced bouncers with stretched arms, and Daniella laid out gringos with blown kisses. Mariella brushed off Mexican suitors left and right, and everywhere we went we were with the most amazing women in the joint.
We caroused until early in the morning, just before dawn, just before the Sunday churchbells began ringing, the girls bid us farewell, and vanished quietly into Cabos secret places where they slept.
Jay Troy and I walked back to the Hotel Dorado single file with a brown bag full of Whoppers(ironically, though burger king was the most familiar food we’d eaten in a while, it was what made us sick). The Roosters had begun to crow, and the casualties of the night were being collected up from the gutters into plywood boxes by stout but muscular cigar smoking men. Old women with jangling rosary beads prayed to Mary on behalf of Cabos victims

We stumbled into our room and sprawled out on our lumpy beds, saying nothing. Soon we fell asleep watching Jackie Chan leap Spanish subtitles with partly chewed mouthfuls of taintburger in our mouths.
After getting back to the beach, on Sunday, the full moon waning, the three of us flopped around in a semi arid dream state until the crystalline fringes of the golden halo envcircling our weekend in Cabo San Lucas slowly disintegrated to hangover.
I sat down with a local guy who eats a potato for breakfeast each morning. He wouldn’t give his name, because if I knew it, I would have power over him. He told me how he bussed it into Santa Rosa to the docks where 700 hp fast boats unloaded their wares, after crossing from the mainland in under two hours (a 16 hour ferry ride). The man told me he was a botanist, and he had attempted to cultivate 70 marijuana plants but they were eaten by the rats when he had to hide the potted plants out in the dessert for a few days. A boy selling freezies from a cooler came by, and I bought my nameless, sketchy Amigo a freezey.

I was gonna say that the 3 girls we caroused with over the weekend had blessed us somehow, but really, our testosterone levels were through the roof, and we surfed like maniacs, the three of us, in the gigantic and terrible swell that’s been smashing los Cerritos beach for over a week now. Sea monsters were rearing up from the depths and draped their liquid jaws down over us. But we persevered, and battled those mythic creatures until our lungs were full of water and our arms and backs were burning from paddling. Though Jay is a knight, and Troy and I are but squires, the two of us both managed to get some good slashes in against the cool blue hides of the dragons that were swimming out there.