A sultry Mexican heat deadens my muscles and mind, furthering the general sleepiness from a red-eye flight aboard Mexicana.
Cultural quirks of an exotic land seep into the routine of daytime airport mania. The thud of eager passengers lining up to watch the offloading and reloading of each plane, noses pressed to the glass. They share the dedication and loyalty of a lab awaiting his master. Women prop themselves on tottering heels (‘a minimum of three inches’ notes Alan, yawning from his bench across the cavernous airport hall)., as they generously sway their curves dangerously across the slippery floor.
The dusty landscape surrounds out hurtling van quickly absolving our travel-weariness. We are now feeling the excitement of our arrival in Los Cabos. Alternating spotlights of sunlight polka dot the surrounding hills which are as pimpled and hairy as a teenage boy. Angry graffiti (is there any other kind?) swears at us from bridges, pavements, open storefronts and homes. The shame of the community, nakedly honest, for all to see. “Abierto” swings a sing from the tortilleria, staking its claim on the corner intersection. The swell of hills, leads us down to the shimmering sarong of water below. Coco trucks melt in the side-windows as we pass. A string of low grade resorts splatter the roadside, and I shiver in the air-conditioned car.
Our resort, The Pueblo Bonito Sunset, it turns out, is at the end of a long line of orchestrated avenues scarring the dry hillside. Below, the rough sea smacks the shoreline with vengeance. Their lobby smells of lavender and perhaps it is this which softens us up to agree to a complimentary breakfast and timeshare tour the following morning. 90 years of jail time in this egomaniac’s empire. I’m just doing it for the spa and food vouchers. Alan, I suspect, wants the bottle of tequila. He tears into their numbers pointing out the inefficiencies of such a model. The retiree salesman is so unsuspecting shifting his flipflopped feet. “The more time you give me on the beach, the more likely I will be to sign up for a lifetime of this” I announce, pushing out my chair.
Staff dressed for a tennis match and in hair nets pad around us, in their great numbers. It is like they never sleep. There’s always a golf cart waiting to take us to our turret at the top of the castle. I pity the brides for their formulaic, calculated nuptuals, as they receive a standing ovation from the poolside set en route to the beach. It’s Disneyland on speed.
