Chapter 2

January 14, 1991 Lunes

Sitting here at Squid Roe – excellent margaritas!! No buzz, but feeling like a headache is brewing. It’s from being in the sunshine too long. The Americans that come to Cabo are a strange crew. This sleepy little town seems like a magnet for peculiar people who are both friendly and also seem like they’re running away from real life. The pretty waitress here is primping herself openly at the mirror on the wall.

*****

Another sunny Mexico day slips into chilly darkness. It’s so peaceful here in Cabo, day and night, with the exception of the infamous barking perros. Don’t they ever get tired? The roosters don’t bother me. The mosquitos have become utter annoyance; they are everywhere in flight and twice the size as the breed at home. I’ve killed dozens already tonight while reading Savage Ecstasy, a book from the house’s library.

This book is so poorly written; however, the plot is fascinating and has stolen my attention for several hours. The love scenes are pathetic. I’m know I’ve dreamt up steamier scenes than these. I hate romance novels. Won’t be caught dead with one back in New York.

*****

January 15, 1991 Martes

At Las Palmas restaurant, on Playa Médano. 70s music here. I like the music at Squid Roe better. There’s no one interesting enough to watch. I have to be one of the whitest gringos in this place. Mom is a week ahead of me with her tan, having come a full week before I got here.

We just had lunch and I’m feeling very content sitting here with my trashy novel and my Corona. Such a cliché, I am.

This is definitely a bad place to come if you’re single. Night Fever is playing now and I keep half expecting some John Travolta lookalike to come out of nowhere and hit the floor. The locals really love their American music. Vogue is on regular rotation just about everywhere.

We are waiting for the car – it seems Gloria (the caretaker of the house) spoke to el mecánico, Hector, who said he’d retrieve the car from San José del Cabo and also offered to drop us here at the beach for a few hours. We thought he mumbled something about coming back in three hours with the Datsun. Who knows – in a place where everything is mañana?? I suggested we have been here longer, seeing as we had lunch after baking in the sun and, noting its position over Cabo now, I would venture that it must be almost four and way longer than three hours. We settled for another seat on the patio at the restaurant, ordered dos lemonellas and pondered our predicament. We decided to call it a day and headed home in a taxi – Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride, Mexico-style.

*****

Miércoles

The days are slipping by so quickly, and yet so slowly. Everything is in slow motion here and you find yourself getting sucked into it before you even realize it happened. Mom just asked me if I’m sure I don’t want to go to the beach today, and to tell the truth I don’t really care one way or the other. I just find myself answering, well… whatever, sighing heavily as if even the effort of a response is too much. I just dropped two postcards on the floor and I don’t even feel like picking them up.

Gloria came in this morning to tell us that Pago Pago is aquí. Pago Pago, the lean, mean, white piece-of-shit machine is back. One of the many guests of our villa named the car Pago Pago, which is auditorily hilarious but not so much in translation. I wonder if we’ll still need to carry several jugs of water with us whenever we take the car out?

*****

Jueves

Saddam Hussein’s deadline came and went, and of course he’s doing his own thing and the U.S. has begun minor fire. We watched the President’s address yesterday on the TV at Señor Sushi. Great drinks! Yummy Piña Coladas and 2-for-1 cervezas at Happy Hour.

We had dinner last night at El Coral – lobster for $12 but the food wasn’t very good and there were billions of moscas on the table, thus ruining my appetite. Everywhere are open air establishments, and flies just come with the territory.

We got an early start today – mailed our postcards, had lunch at the Giggling Marlin. Always good, but lethal margaritas. My non-alcoholic drink of choice here is lemonella. Gotta keep my wits about me during the daylight hours, I think.

Now we’re back on la playa by Las Palmas, a little windy today and a bit overcast. The sun is warm on the skin. I have my Walkman on – the only tape I brought with me is Madonna. This is where I long to be, la isla bonita…

Piña coladas, contrary to their sweetness, inspired a lovely violent dream last night. I was with José and his very large family and we left without him – he was running after us so we drove slowly and then lost him around a corner. When he came into view again, I saw two men beating him with pipes, so I’m screaming for us to go back for him. I got out of the car and he’s unconscious and I was afraid he was dead, but then he came to.

This really friendly dog decided to make me his number one amiga on the beach – he’d just come out of the ocean, ran over and rolled around on my towel, much to my surprise and horror. Mom laughed like a loon and suddenly I got hysterical and the commotion attracted a crowd of onlookers – mostly the Mexican salesmen who troll the beach selling shit that’s “almost free.”

Later…

We had dinner tonight at Señor Sushi – and consumed way too much. Strawberry daiquiris, cerveza, Caesar salad, Teriyaki chicken, Lobster, Mexican coffee, Kahlua flan, Kahlua and cream, brandy, …. TOO much. We were serenaded by a man with a guitar, who looked very much like José. (Yes, being in Mexico is like being in a constant state of deja vú.) He had no idea how funny it was, and there was just no way to explain my amusement. The waiter asked me to go dancing after 11:30 tonight. What is it with me and waiters?