Recently, my husband and I vacationed in Cabo San Lucas, Mexico. I can’t be sure, but it seems like the least Mexican part of Mexico. Nonetheless, there is plenty to learn for a chica from Minnesota.
1. There is no lost and found in Mexico.
I learned this one the hard way. And on further thought why should there be a lost and found anywhere? In school, it was always finders keepers, losers weepers. Apparently somewhere along the politically correct line somebody decided it wasn’t emotionally healthy to be weepers and decided that finders are to take found stuff to a designated area called “lost and found” so that losers could find their lost stuff and stop weeping. And further more, finders who didn’t bring found stuff to said lost and found were only slightly better than thieves. But is this even logical? Anyway, at the time, I wasn’t thinking about this or really much of anything other than lyrics to songs. I’d had several beers from the buckets (notice the plural. It’s important) of beer we had ordered at Cabo Wabo. I entertained myself, as I tend to do, by dancing and lip-synching to Respect. Aretha’s got nothing on me! Other than boat loads of talent, but anyway, I got hot from all the dancing and took off my jacket. I hung it on the back of my chair where it stayed until, I suspect, the manager found it and gave it to his girlfriend. We did go back the next day, silly Americans that we are. The manager looked around his office as if my jacket would somehow magically appear and said, “I don’t see it.” Um, yeah. I hope his girlfriend enjoys the jacket. Closely related to Lesson #1 is this corollary: Don’t wear a jacket while getting drunk in Mexico.
2. No matter how tan I get, the locals will always laugh at me.
Every year I have dreams of going to Mexico and getting an absolute enviable tan. This despite the SPF 30 sunblock I obsessively slather on my skin because along with these dreams I have nightmares of skin cancer and wrinkles. Still, I’m severely lacking in pigmentation so really, any tan is a lot of color on me. I thought I did really, really well this year and was pleased with how brown I got. I looked much less like the corpse I usually resemble. At the ticket counter while getting our boarding passes for the flight home, the local gentleman (read: very nice Mexican man who never looks like a corpse) inspecting my baggage asked what we did while in Mexico. I told him we mostly laid on the beach and drank pina coladas. “Look at my great tan,” I said, holding out my golden brown arm. He turned away quickly so I wouldn’t see how hard he was laughing. He isn’t the first local to guffaw at my pitiful tan but he is the kindest. I told him it was okay, I understood. Still, I’m always tempted to flash my great white behind so they would know just how pale a person can be! And just how gorgeous my tan really is.
3. Just because I’m hysterical doesn’t make a shark attack impossible.
I admit it. I have irrational shark fears. Especially since I’m from Minnesota and as far as I know, there have been no sightings here. However, they have been found up the Mississippi River so for all I know, they are coming for me. Seeing Jaws (that ridiculous movie with that horrible fakey plastic shark!) at the impressionable age of 9 has left an indelible mark on me. It didn’t help that I slept in a room that night with a crib in it. The bars made shadows around the room like a cage. Just like the very cage that stupid shark ate through to get that guy. Oh, I get heart palpitations just thinking about it! Anyway, while in Mexico, my husband and I and some friends decided to rent some wave runners. I wasn’t keen on the idea because while I love being at the ocean or on the ocean, I have no interest in being in the ocean. I really feel since I have such a strong irrational fear of sharks, they will somehow sense this and attack me out of spite. And then have a big laugh about it with their shark friends.
Go ahead. Laugh. I really believe this. It just seems that’s the way the Universe works. It has a warped sense of humor.
The wave runner wasn’t all that big and not that stable. If I fell off that thing, I would have had a coronary. I rode it around for our allotted half hour, squeezing the seat with my knees so hard I got bruises on them. It was fun, but nerve wracking and I’m not inclined to do it again. When I got home, I tell my friend this story and she says, “There aren’t shark attacks in Mexico.” Which just sounds wrong. I get on the Internet to do research. I found reports of shark attacks all over Mexico and specifically in the Sea of Cortez, where we were. Also, hammerhead sharks breed just a few miles from there and you can’t tell me that sharks stay where they are supposed to. I also found a picture a diver had taken of a shark at Lover’s Beach (right where we were!) where it was not supposed to be. And not long ago, someone caught a tiger shark in the Sea of Cortez. It wasn’t supposed to be there either. And! And if the sharks don’t get you, there’s barracuda, octopus, morrey eels, not to mention jelly fish. I love my husband but I think our marriage could do without him peeing on me should I get stung by a jellyfish. I respect all these creatures enough to just stay out of their home. I don’t care how rare it is, I’m not chancing anything.
I’ll think I’ll just sit on the beach, drink pina coladas (without my jacket) and work on my tan (with a little help from some self-tanner). Lesson learned.
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