The Culture Fix

I began my day with an invigorating cold shower. Upon querying the front desk we were informed that there was some maintenance being done and hot water would be available later. This was welcome news as the only thing my wife hates worse than a cold shower is going without a shower at all. This also meant I would have the opportunity to tease her mercilessly - it’s just something I do.

I was working on a good line containing the word “princess” when she stepped in so I waited for the inevitable yelps and squeaks that would help inspire my muse. I waited some more. Nothing. Okay, I thought, she’s toughing this one out and doesn’t want to give me the satisfaction. I went to plan B which was to open the door and, feigning concern, say, “It’s okay if you want to cry, princess.”

You know the ending. I open the door and the steam comes billowing out. My wife, obviously enjoying a hot shower, taunts me with, “Mmmm…this shower feels sooo good.” What a little brat.

We took stroll around the resort, or part of the resort as this place is enormous, winding up at the Bistro Restaurant for a breakfast of Mexican sweet bread and chilaquiles. Chilaquiles, according to the menu, is a popular breakfast in Mexico. It consists of a layer of corn tortilla chips - smaller than those used in nachos - covered in either a rojo (red) sauce or verde (green) sauce and topped with just about anything you want. My wife had verde with chicken and I had rojo with a fried egg on top. Both were served with sides of frijoles refritos. Both were delicious.

The price, with a glass of orange juice (my wife raved about it), a glass of grapefruit juice, two chilaquiles, one basket of sweet bread, two bottomless cups of particularly good coffee, and a twenty-something percent tip was $25 USD.

Not knowing where the day would take us we strolled around the resort some more and ran into Jorge, one of the resort’s timeshare folks. He made a quick pitch and we politely declined as is our custom. I only mention this because over the course of the day we saw him everywhere - the sky pool, the main pool, the boutique, when we were being shuttled around in a golf cart - literally everywhere. Perhaps there is more than one of him. About the third time we saw him he said, “You know it’s fate that we keep meeting up like this.”

It became a running joke by the fifth or sixth time we met. He’d ask, “How about now?” I’d pretend to ponder it a moment and reply, “No, senor.” Truth is, he was funny, intelligent, and articulate. Another guy I’d like to toss back a few cervezas with.

We found ourselves at the sky pool which is located at the top of the resort, two golf cart rides from our room. It is one of those “infinity pools” that, when you are in the water, gives the illusion that the pool stretches to the Pacific Ocean and the horizon beyond. We grabbed a couple of lounge chairs and ordered the first of two margaritas we would each drink before noon.

It’s a small world. We found ourselves sitting next to a winemaker from none other than Santa Rosa, California, one of our favorite places on the planet. We routinely go to Napa and Sonoma counties on wine buying excursions and he has what we both consider to be a “dream job.” As we sipped our ritas in the sun we chatted about wine, memorable vacations, the great microbreweries of California, Fidel Castro’s recent announcement that he was abdicating, Cuban cigars, and our favorite gins. We spent a mostly pleasant hour there before heading to the beach.

I say mostly pleasant because sitting a few chairs down from us were two older couples barking out orders to the staff, griping about the service (it was fantastic), and generally complaining about everything. You know the type. One of them, a gentleman in is 60s, was wearing a speedo.

Even though the fellow was in reasonably good shape, age and gravity takes a toll on a man’s area that would generally covered by a speedo. He was no exception. It’s like, “Dude, get some boxers over those droopy lads, will ya?” My wife simply declared, “Ewww.”

On the way to the beach I forked out $32 USD for a Cuban Cohiba. Certainly a resort price, but one of the boxes I wanted to check on this vacation was to sit on the beach, drink cervezas, smoke a Cuban cigar, and watch whales.

So that’s exactly what I did.

I ordered a bucket of Pacifico in bottles, my wife a margarita, and I enjoyed a terrific smoke while we watched the whales, seabirds, sailboats, cruise ships, fishing boats, and bikinis. We idled away the entire afternoon in this way and it was wonderful.

Nightfall found us back in our room where we ordered sushi. Yeah, sushi. In Mexico. It was a perfect ending to the day. We were both asleep by nine.

View from the sky pool.

Us, the pool, the Pacific, and infinity.

A year-round resident here.

It's a big place.

This redhead keeps following me around.