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I arose the next morning to the sounds of breakfast cooking. Terry was making quesadillas behind the bar, in the kitchen of our perlita. Our time share came with housekeeping so we left the rinsed dishes in the sink and waited for Shelly to return from her manicure.
Determined to try parasailing, Shelly led us to a thatched roof shack on the edge of our private beach. The sounds of Basia poured from the open front as we waited for our lift to the boat that would be pulling my nervous amigos into the air. Danny and Shelly, deciding to ride tandem, gave their weights to the Greek god behind the counter, and just made it under the limit. When the time for their liftoff came, as they sagged toward the sea, each had second thoughts about having fudged on the numbers. But soon all was well because they were quickly pulled high above the Sea of Cortez.
After Shelly's big adventure we slowed our pace by lounging by the pool. It was on this day that we discovered our new afternoon watering hole, the pool bar. For the rest of the trip, happy hour, here with our new friends, would be our daily ritual. Reluctantly, as the time drew near to pick up Terry's husband, Andy, at the airport, we said adios to the crowd and were soon on the hiway back to San Jose del Cabo.
Arriving half an hour early, we searched for a seaside restaurant some of the regulars recommended, on our way to the airport. Since we couldn't find the place, we pushed ahead. As we neared the airport we saw a rickety thatched roof cantina and decided it was time to eat with the locals.
As I surveyed the menu, I looked up to notice Shelly and Terry looking somewhat
confused.
Asking what the problem was, they said they didn't know what to order. Wondering about their sudden lack of decisivness, I finally discovered they were looking at the Spanish side of the menu while I had been given the English side up.
My fish stew was good, once I got past the disturbing images of what appeared to be tentacles and other unidentifiables floating in my bowl, but the best was yet to arrive. As I poked around at my soup, the waiter placed my "salad" in front of me. To say it was guacamole and shrimp, is an understatement. The plate was slathered from rim to rim and about an inch thick with a layer of guacamole. Atop the guacamole were wall to wall shrimp tails pointing up at me, just waiting to be dredged through the guacamole. "Now this is paradise" I thought to myself. Eating with the locals is good!
After clearing Andy through customs, we faced the trip back to Cabo, though, taking it by jeep was much more fun than the tour bus. The rest of the day was spent enjoying the beach and pool. Shelly and Terry and I took turns riding waverunners but my favorite craft was a motorized lounge chair.
As we puttered around in the sea, we suddenly heard shouts from the shore. We looked to see crowds of people pointing and yelling in our direction. We began to panic that it could be a shark. In the water in front of us, came a school of fish, arching, over and over, out of the water and back in again, moving in our direction. It appeared they were going to keep coming toward us and jump on top of our raft, but just as they reached us, they dove under,then continued arching into the air after they passed.
When dinner time arrived, we drove to The Trailer Park, a restaurant in the center of, what else, a trailer park, where we met up with a fun couple we met on the plane to Los Cabos. The food and atmosphere in the family owned restaurant was spectacular. The menu on the wall, won my heart immediately when I saw the combo I would order. After pitchers of margaritas, our food began arriving in courses.
The most fabulous of all, my entree, a monster lobster tail, served with melted butter, was joined by a chile relleno. The best of both the seafood and the Mexican that Cabo has to offer. The plan tonight would be to hit the bed early, in preparation for a 5:00 AM fishing trip tomorrow.