What happens in Cabo...

Emma Gilchrist nails it: Cabo is a party animal, and Todos Santos/Pescadero is a hippie.

In El Pescadero, we live a five-minute walk from Cerritos Beach, which is featured in Gilchrist's article. We also live within walking distance of San Pedrito beach.



San Pedrito

San Pedrito is isolated and wild. We can walk for miles and see few people, even though there are some homes within view. Cerritos has a restaurant and bar that sometimes hosts live music, massage tables, and--as the article shows--horses hanging out if you feel like renting one for a saunter through the sand.

Even so, Cerritos and the nearby Pueblo Magico of Todos Santos are indeed laid-back hippies, chillin' out in peace and quiet, compared to the party animal action of Cabo, which is an hour south of us.

We just spent a few days in Cabo with our friend Jimmy, who has a house there. Or more of a compound, with  multiple units that he's remodeling.

Jimmy's compound

Jimmy and Dave in the compound's open-air kitchen.

It was cool staying in a locals neighborhood. Most visitors stay in resorts and see just the main strip. We came in through the back door. One morning, Dave and I walked about ten blocks through the 'hood, just checking things out.

A few blocks from tourist central.

Jimmy drove us through the exclusive Pedegral neighborhood, climbing in the car up bumpy cobblestone streets. We saw outrageous views and mansions the size of exclusive resorts brimming from the mountainside.

Pedregal view

 At Los Deseos in the Golden Zone of Cabo Marina, we ate tres quesos fundido. As a lover of cheese to rival Wallace, I watched enthralled as the waiter placed three different types of cheese into an oven-hot molcajete. As the cheese melted, he poured in tequila then lit it so it flamed up.  Next he scooped portions of the gooey mess into thick corn tortillas.



The died-and-gone-to-heaven tres quesos looked something like this.

At Arts & Sushi, Jimmy introduced us to the No Name Roll, a sushi roll that has to be eaten to be believed. For yummy dessert and coffee, we went to Señor Sweets.

Eating the No Name with Jimmy, Pete and Chrissy.

And yes, we did experience the party animal milieu at places such as Medano Beach, where people sit on swings at the bar and where drinks are always two-for-one...that is, when you order booze. My lemonade arrived solo.

Party animal hanging out at Medano Beach.

At night, we wandered the streets through reveling crowds. The atmosphere had a Vegas tinge. In the infamous Cabo Wabo, people danced on the bar to the blasting music. And not just any people: most of them were probably in their sixties and above. If I joined in, I would have been the young 'un--not my usual pace in partying crowds. Who said only young people get in the Spring Break spirit? Perhaps Cabo contains the magic of the swimming pool in Cocoon.

At the outdoor bar of Cabo Blue, I boogied to the band--a group of guys in their twenties playing 1970s classic rock. Nice to see the younger generation keeping our tunes alive!

We had a few more experiences I'm not going to write about in this blog. What happens in Cabo stays in Cabo. (Although I will probably write about it in my next book. Stay tuned.)

 

"Only Connect." - E. M. Forster

Home for now.

We are staying in a house of a woman we've never met. Talk about generosity of strangers. Doreen's house is a charming bungalow two blocks from the beach. She's my sister's next-door-neighbor in Leucadia, a little slice of paradise just north of San Diego.

Being here is one of the many sweet coincidences--or serendipities or synchronicities, call them what you will--that have peppered our journey. Dave and I had planned to come here in October to stay at my sister Ann's house while she and her husband surfed and siesta-ed at the tip of Baja.

But--and here's where the details get fun--while Dave and I were in Australia, Doreen and Kit (another neighbor) went to see the Ellen show. And there they won a trip to...Australia!

As a result, Doreen and Kit traveled to Australia shortly after Dave and I had been Down Under. And Doreen offered us her house.

A short walk from the house.

Now we get to spend a couple of weeks next door to family. Doreen happens to return the day after Ann and Bruce take off for Mexico. So we will just pack up and move next door.

Getting here was another matter. Our drive from L.A. to San Diego was fraught with traffic. Silly us, we'd thought the freeways wouldn't be packed on a Saturday mid-day. But we'd neglected the little detail that this is the land of the always-packed freeways.

Combined with the fact that we'd driven from Northern California to L.A. the previous day, we were a bit bedraggled when we hit Leucadia. Imagine how we'd have felt if our lives weren't filled with such generosity.

Uncle Gort

In L.A., we'd spent a night with Nancy and Andy. We've been there so much in the past few months it feels like we should call Gort (the huge robot in the front yard) "Uncle Gort." Nancy had stocked the house with some of our favorite things: yogurt, fruit, coconut milk. We also had a sweet, teary moment when she thanked me for not dying. No wonder she's been my best friend since high school. (For a picture of us at a Doobie Brothers concert in 1980, click here.)

Scarlet and Ann

When we hit Leucadia, my sister treated us to one of my favorite all-time meals: her famous beer-can chicken. Oddly, you impale a chicken on a partly-filled can of beer and BBQ it. I bet this insanely delicious way to cook a chicken originated in trailer parks. Thank god for drunken innovators.

The next day was another BBQ with extended family: Bruce's nephew Bryce, his wife Amber, and their two Uber-adorable children.

Mother and daughter adorables (Ava and Amber)

Sisters

In a short few days, the theme of this trip has become communal gathering around food and drink--oh, and dogs. The next day, Dave and I felt sufficiently rested and settled into Doreen's pad so we made dinner. The tribe this time included Ann, Bruce, their son Beau, and Judith, a family friend. Dave made his blue-ribbon ribs, the smell of which tortured the dogs.

Digging in.

Bex being tortured.

Kit (the other Australia trip winner) lives just a house over with her husband Mark. They met up with Doreen in Australia and returned the other day. Although still a little jet-lagged they threw a party last night in their lovely yard, a field filled with fragrant lavender and fringed with grape vines.

At dusk, we enjoyed the company of the tan, flip-flopped, friendly group. In keeping with coincidences, one of the party guests was Sharon, an Australian. Another was a hilarious, frenetic story-teller named Guy. He was leaving the next day for Europe. He bought a round-trip ticket to London but had no specific plans. It sounds like he's going to show up at the door-step of friends in England, France and Sweden.

In the past I would have lived vicariously through him. Now we're living just like him. Guy is our kind of guy.

His huge slug of a pitbull--the adorable Ivan--roamed the field with the two other guest dogs. The three canines wove around our legs then burst out in a full run, butting bodies like bumper cars.

When the the sky darkened, Kit lit candles. A large screen was set up to show slides from their Australian adventure. And there was Doreen. Dave and I marveled at the fact that she stood in some of the same places we'd just traveled through two months ago. We've never met. We are separated by thousands of miles. But we are living in her home and surrounded by her friends.

It was as though there, under the stars, all of life magically converged. My sister laughed. A dog yipped. Dave's hand touched mine. I was at peace.