The Culture Fix

I have two confessions to make.

One, I am no longer the adventurous traveler. I don’t sleep in hostels, wash my clothes in a sink, share a bathroom with strangers, and I’ll likely never again visit a place that doesn’t have reliable internet service. Those days are behind me.

I bummed around Europe a bit in my 20s, roughing it, occasionally sleeping in train stations or parks and bathing, well, when I could. There comes a point in one’s life, however, call it old age (I’m 47) or perhaps we’re simply so enslaved by our careers that on those occasions when we are able to escape we tend to want to be pampered. To recharge. We want a room with a view.

Looking back, I like to think that this is the natural evolution of the traveler. I can certainly understand if the hardier, younger travelers disagree. I could not have foreseen this either.

My other confession is that I am quite unable to give Mexico an objective assessment. I spent the first 17 years of my life in San Antonio, Texas, in a humble part of a city where Hispanics constituted the overwhelming majority of the population. This was a city that embraced multiculturalism long before it was the fashion elsewhere so despite my lack of Spanish or Indian blood I have a cultural link and true affinity with and for the people of Mexico.

I’m not likely, therefore, to take offense because the concierge winces when I butcher his language or a server in a restaurant doesn’t come by every five minutes to coddle this Yanqui. And, when I tell a timeshare hawk “No, gracias” as I did five times that afternoon it is with the realization that they are merely doing what I came here to escape: A job.

The airport at San Jose Del Cabo has one runway which, upon landing, the aircraft has to turn around and taxi back in the opposite direction in order to get to the terminal. This explained the couple of “S-turns” the pilot made across the final approach - we were waiting for an aircraft to clear the runway. Two other flights arrived around the same time as ours and together three plane loads of turistas descended upon the terminal and, to my dread, customs.

Like most of my fears - planes, claustrophobia, customs officials, there are so many more (I could write about my neuroses but this is a free hosting site and there isn’t possibly enough bandwidth) - this one was completely unfounded. Mexican customs was fast and efficient and we were quickly sent through to the timeshare gauntlet.

The timeshare hawks occupy two rooms that lie between baggage claim and ground transportation. They sit in official looking booths and nab the unwary by saying something like, “What hotel are you staying at?” or “Which travel company did you use?” As I was shell shocked after the flight and still uttering prayers of thanks to God, Jesus, and the Blessed Virgin Mary (I’m not Catholic) It took me about five minutes to get through to the hotel van.

The trip to the hotel took about an hour and we chatted away the time with fellow turistas and our driver, Jiame. Check in was also uneventful until we turned to go to our room and were approached by another timeshare person.

I can say without shame that if anyone is going to get me to a timeshare presentation it is going to be a pretty Mexican woman. But driven by hunger pangs we politely declined and jumped on a cart to head to our room.

Our cart driver, Cesar, part stand up comic and part linguist, gave us a tour of the Pueblo Bonito Sunset Beach enroute to our room as well as a few pointers on speaking Spanish. He was also fluent in English and French, leaving me with no small case of “language envy.“ He seemed like a terrific guy - intelligent, funny - the kind of guy I would like to drink with which remains the highest compliment I could pay any man.

When we arrived at the room we went straightaway to the balcony - that all so important view - just in time to see a whale surface in the Pacific. At that moment it seemed all of the hassle and exhaustion from travel faded away and I realized that we were truly on vacation.

Cesar also recommended hitting the Mexican buffet at one of the resort’s restaurants, La Nao, which we did. I tore into frijoles refritas y chorizo, duck chimichangas, some of the best beef tamales I‘ve ever had, and pork in pasilla pepper sauce, to name a few.

The meal, plus 3 Margaritas, one Negro Modelo, one bottled water, and a 25% tip ran $100 U.S. It was, in my Tex-Mex refined gastronomic opinion, worth every penny.

The fifth attempt at timeshare jacking took place when a woman that I had assumed was the restaurant hostess approached us as we were still gushing on about the dinner and asked, “Did you like the Mexican buffet?” After realizing she was another timeshare hawk we politely declined her offer went back to the room.

I fell asleep at 9:00PM, exhausted, stuffed, and a mere 22 pages into “The Life and Times of Mexico.”

Thus endeth day one. Here are a couple of shots from the balcony this morning.