By some miracle, we were seated close to the front of the plane and were at the front of the line going through customs. Looking back, I was surprised when saw at least two hundred people behind us waiting in line.
I was beginning to think that maybe we had endured the worst of our trip and that things were finally going our way.
I was even more elated when all of our luggage was waiting for us at the carousel.
With bags in tow, we were ready to face ‘The Gauntlet.’
We had been warned that the minute we hit the airport lobby, we would be accosted by a swarm of smiling Mexicans urging us to purchase their services. We weren’t disappointed.
Undoubtedly, the four of us reeked of ‘tourist’ as we stood there, overwhelmed by the chaos around us.
A well-groomed fellow approached us. “Are you looking for transportation to your resort?”
I nodded. We had nixed the idea of renting a car and driving in a foreign country where none of us spoke the language.
He pointed to a jovial gent seated behind a counter. “That’s Jorge. He’ll take care of you.”
Jorge was good-natured and all smiles. After inquiring about our resort destination, he asked us if we had booked any excursions for our stay. We hadn’t, but had looked at our various options on the Internet and decided we wanted to take the City Tour and enjoy a Sunset Dinner Cruise. Ox had seen where we could go on a camel safari in the desert outback and talked me into it while the girls said they’d pass on that one.
We hadn’t booked because we figured there would be a concierge at the resort. We did discover that the City Tour was about seventy bucks each, the Dinner Cruise was over a hundred each, as was the camel safari. We also knew the cab ride to our resort was about sixty bucks each.
After we shared our vacation plans with Jorge, he offered us a deal we couldn’t refuse. Each couple would get everything we had mentioned, including transportation to and from our resort plus $200 in cash for a mere $85. All we had to do was listen to a ninety-minute timeshare presentation.
We had been down this path before. The timeshare industry is notorious for offering fantastic incentives to lure awe-struck tourists into their swanky resorts where they talk them into purchasing a thirty-thousand dollar vacation package.
After a brief conference, we decided to accept Jorge’s offer. We were confident we could endure ninety minutes of hard sell without buckling, and frankly, Jorge’s package was exactly what we were looking for.
He was delighted with our decision. When it came time to book our tours, he suggested we wait until later in the week because rain had been predicted for the next two days. I thought that was a bit odd. The sun was shining and I remembered reading on the Internet that this was a ‘tropical desert’ with less than seven inches of rain per year. We took him at his word and booked our tours on Wednesday, Thursday and Friday.
As promised, Jorge led us through the throng of vendors to a mini-van and handed the driver a chit to pay for the ride to our resort.
So far, so good.
It was a twenty minute ride from the airport to the resort.
We were impressed from the moment we stepped out of the van.
While a bellman was retrieving our luggage, one smiling fellow offered us warm washcloths so we could ‘freshen up’ after our long journey and a second fellow brought us flutes of bubbly, ice-cold champagne.
I thought the girls were going to have an orgasm right there in the lobby and we hadn’t even checked in yet.
A young couple had arrived just before us and as we sipped champagne together, we learned that Matt and Heather had come to Cabo to celebrate their honeymoon. Visions of Ox and Judy’s disastrous honeymoon cruise popped into my head and I almost blurted out, “I hope your honeymoon turns out better than my friends.” Before I could elaborate, we were called to the check-in desk.
When the guy at the front desk looked up our reservation, he informed us that we had each been booked into a garden-view studio, but we could upgrade to an oceanfront unit for an additional fee.
“How much additional?” I asked.
He punched some buttons on a calculator. “I’ll give you a 10% discount. Only $266 a week more.”
When I looked at Maggie, I could see that ocean front was definitely in our future.
“Sure, let’s do it,” I replied and handed the guy my credit card.
“Sorry, cash only for upgrades,” he said, handing my card back.
That certainly didn’t sound right. I handed him the cash and was even more suspicious when he tucked it away in a drawer. That was something I was definitely going to mention to Armando when we met.
Our next decision was whether or not to purchase their ‘all-inclusive’ food package. For a mere $1,120 per week per couple, all of our food and drink from any of their three fancy restaurants, any time of the day, would be furnished.
I’m not a big eater. In fact, I avoid ‘all-you-can-eat’ restaurants because it doesn’t take much to fill my little tummy.
Ox is another matter altogether. I would swear the guy has a hollow leg. It was a no-brainer decision for him.
After a brief consultation, Maggie convinced me how nice it would be to just order anything we wanted any time we wanted, so I caved in.
This time the guy took my credit card.
When the paperwork was done, the bellman took us to our rooms.
The moment we walked in, I realized the extra $266 was well spent, even if it wound up in the guy’s pocket.
The entire ocean side of our unit was composed of sliding glass doors which opened onto a deck probably no more than a hundred feet from the shore.
As we stood there together watching the frothy waves breaking on the shore, Maggie slipped her arm around my waist.
“This is just perfect,” she whispered.
I had visions of us laying together, listening to the sound of the waves, as moonlight and cool tropical breezes filled our room.
I was about to suggest we get a head start on that when our phone buzzed.
It was Ox. It was three o’clock in the afternoon and we hadn’t had lunch. He was ready to initiate our ‘all-you-can-eat’ food package.
Reluctantly, I put my amorous plans on hold and we headed to the restaurant.
Since it was so late in the day, we opted for just a snack to hold us over till supper. We ordered chips, cheese dip and pina coladas.
As we sipped our fruity drinks, I was reminded of Steve Martin in The Jerk, where he holds up his drink with the little umbrella and says, “Be somebody!”
At that moment, I couldn’t think of anyone else I’d rather be.
There I was, in a beautiful resort in a tropical paradise with the love of my life and my two best friends.
This would undoubtedly be a vacation I would never forget.
CHAPTER 7
Our Saturday evening was everything we had hoped it would be.
We met at the fancy restaurant and made the most of our ‘all-inclusive’ package.
In addition to the soup and salad appetizers, the girls had grilled shrimp, I had prawns wrapped in bacon and Ox ordered the biggest steak on the menu.
After dessert and coffee, the waiter brought us our checks.
I nearly dumped a load when I saw Maggie and I had racked up a $990 bill. The waiter must have seen the look of horror on my face.
“That’s pesos, Senor, not American dollars. Take off one zero.”
It was still ninety bucks. ‘Do not pay’ was stamped on the bottom of the ticket. At that moment, I was glad we had purchased the meal package.
After supper, we shucked our shoes and walked the beach in the moonlight.
Later, we drifted off to sleep listening to the waves breaking on the shore.
Sunday morning, we were up at the crack of dawn.
Jorge was to pick us up and drive us to the Cabo San Lucas marina so we could meet the timeshare guy for breakfast and our obligatory presentation.
&n
bsp; As we drove through the city, I kept hearing little ‘oooohs’ and ‘ahhhhs’ from the girls as we passed shop after shop selling all kinds of trinkets and Mexican crap. I saw lots of serapes hanging in storefronts. Mary would be a happy camper.
When Jorge handed us off to the timeshare folks, we were each given our very own salesperson. We had hoped for ‘strength in numbers’ but what we got was ‘divide and conquer.’
Our salesman, Mike Garcia, turned out to be a very likable guy. He led us to a waterfront restaurant where we enjoyed a fantastic breakfast while he shared interesting tidbits of information about the city and the marina.
After breakfast, he led us to the sales office for our presentation. Thankfully, Mike wasn’t a hard-sell, pushy guy and we actually enjoyed our time with him.
When it was over, we were introduced to a very attractive Mexican lass who gave us the tickets for our tours and counted out the two-hundred bucks that had been promised.
We had also been promised transportation back to our resort and as Mike was counting out pesos for our taxi ride back, I mentioned the girls would probably do some shopping before we headed back.
I saw the look of concern on his face. “I’m not sure you should do that. If it were me, I’d get back to the resort immediately.”
“Why? What’s the rush?”
“Hurricane Odile. It’s a category 4 storm and it’s heading straight for Cabo. It will probably hit late this afternoon or early evening. This is a bad one. It’s going to get really ugly.”
Hurricane! I was speechless.
We had been in Cabo less than twenty-four hours and NOT A SINGLE PERSON had mentioned that we had walked into a hurricane. Not the airlines, not the custom officials or the folks at the resort. The only mention of bad weather was when Jorge mentioned that it might rain for a couple of days.
All of these people HAD to know that a hurricane was coming, but no one said a word.
Then I remembered the two-hundred tourists lined up behind us at customs, eagerly anticipating their vacation in paradise. Obviously, no one had told them either. Who, in their right mind, would fly into a hurricane?
When Ox and Judy joined us, I could see by the looks on their faces that they had been given the bad news.
“Holy Crap, Walt! This is a disaster! How could we not know a hurricane was coming?”
“Damned if I know. Let’s get back to the resort.”
We hailed a cab, and as we rode through the city streets, storefronts that had been open earlier were now closed and shopkeepers were putting tape and plywood on the windows and doors.
The sun was still shining, but as we drove along the coast, we noticed the breakers hitting the shore were huge. The three to four foot swells that we had seen earlier were now thirty foot monoliths crashing on the beach.
Back at the resort, the desk clerk stopped us.
“We need to move you to more secure rooms. With the coming storm, you are too close to the ocean. You should go pack. When you are ready, call the front desk and we will send a bellman to move you.”
By this time, it was almost two o’clock and we had not had lunch.
The sun was still shining, but clouds were forming to the south.
“We haven’t eaten,” Ox said. “Do we have time to grab a bite of lunch?”
The clerk checked his watch. “Maybe, but hurry.”
We were the lone diners in the restaurant. By the time we placed our orders and our food arrived, the sky had darkened and the wind had increased in intensity.
We had taken maybe three bites when the heavens opened up and it started raining harder than I had ever seen in my seventy years.
“Oh oh,” Ox said, staring at his burger. “We may have waited too long.”
Decision time.
It was a good five minute walk from the restaurant to our rooms. It was a foregone conclusion that we were in for a good soaking. Should we go or wait for a break in the storm?
We finally concluded that if this was just the opening volley of the hurricane, it was probably only going to get worse, so we charged into the down pour.
By the time we reached our rooms, we were drenched to the skin.
Drying off as best we could, we quickly tossed our clothes into our luggage.
I called the front desk and the clerk said that a bell boy was on the way.
Thankfully, the rain had abated some, and we made it to our new rooms with no damage done.
We were now in an older, five-story structure that was set back several hundred yards from the beach. We were on the third floor, our balcony facing a courtyard and pool, with the ocean in the distance.
When the bellman left, we breathed a sigh of relief.
We looked like a pair of drowned puppies, but we were safe for the moment and had all our stuff.
We stripped, toweled off and put on dry clothes.
It was four in the afternoon and the storm was growing in intensity.
There was no doubt that it was going to be a dark and stormy night.
We had just begun to settle in when there was a knock on the door.
Two members of the resort staff, dripping wet, handed us two Styrofoam boxes, a small flashlight and a note, then hurried down the hall to the next room.
The note confirmed our worst fears. It was written in broken English. I had to laugh at their grammar, but the message was quite serious and to the point.
INSTRUCTIONS BEL AIR RESORT
Dear Guest
Due to hurricane intensity “Odile,” we ask read this post and follow the signs.
We believe there will be since 6:30 pm staggered power cuts.
We are providing a small lamp, but we
recommend to optimize battery.
We consider, about 7pm will feel the major intensity of the hurricane
Please extreme caution.
We ask you stay away from the windows, close windows and curtains.
If you feel great wind intensity, go into the
bathroom, along with your personal
documents, wallet, ID, passport, etc. and
close the door.
If possible, also keep your suitcase in the bathroom, if not possible, secure it somewhere in the room. Wait until it’s all over.
Do not leave the room, for any reason, until we indicate please.
We are providing a box lunch, as there will not be service food and drink, while we’re on
contingency.
Water and coffee in your room have been
stocked for your convenience.
We are concerned about your safety, we will do
all in our hands, to cope with this emerging
situation, but we require your comprehension and
understanding.
Thanks for your cooperation
The Management
The instructions left little doubt that the danger was real and if we were going to survive we’d better batten down the hatches.
At that moment there was another knock on the door.
Ox and Judy had been given the condo next to us and Matt and Heather were across the hall. The four of them scurried into the room as the wind whipped down the open hallway.
“This really sucks!” Ox grumbled, holding up the Styrofoam box with its cold sandwich and bag of chips. “I’m gonna starve!”
We hadn’t eaten since breakfast. The storm had interrupted our lunch and it looked pretty certain that all we were going to get for supper had just been delivered.
“Based on the letter we just received and what’s going on outside,” I replied, “your culinary choices are probably the least of our worries right now.”
“Yeah, you’re right, but still --- can you believe it! A friggin’ hurricane!”
I turned to Matt. “So how do you like your honeymoon so far?”
He grinned and gave Heather a hug. “Well, it’s certainly an experience we’ll never forget --- if we live through it.”
A heavy gust of wind sho
ok the building and the lights flickered.
“Better get back to our place,” Matt said. “We still need to stow our gear.”
“Us, too,” Judy said, giving us a hug. “Be safe. We may not see you again until this thing is over.”
The four of them stepped into the hall. The wind had intensified so much that it was a struggle for them to get back to their rooms.
I pushed the door closed and latched the deadbolt and chain.
The lights flickered again.
“Better get ready before the lights go out,” Maggie said, taking stock of our situation.
Another gust of wind rattled the sliding glass doors. The entire east side of our unit was glass and I envisioned some object, propelled by the wind, shattering the doors, sending shards of deadly shrapnel into the room.
I pulled the heavy vinyl curtains closed and shoved the coffee table against them to hold them closed.
A small retaining wall, about three feet high and a foot wide, separated the living area from the bedroom. I dragged the upholstered love seat to the retaining wall and muscled the thing on top of the wall. I figured that if the glass blew in, the thick couch would provide some protection from the flying glass.
The note from the management said to stow our gear in the bathroom, so I dragged our luggage into the shower.
The rest of the bathroom was about five feet wide and five feet deep. The sink and stool occupied almost half of that space.
I brought one of the vinyl patio chairs into the bathroom for Maggie which took up what little room was left. It looked like I’d be spending the night on the can if the storm intensified.
Satisfied that we had done everything possible to secure our safety, we grabbed our sandwiches and bottles of water, plopped on the bed, and flipped on the TV expecting to see news about the approaching storm.
There were at least twenty Mexican TV stations. I flipped through them all and NOT A SINGLE ONE even mentioned that the storm of the century was bearing down on the Baja peninsula.
Back in Kansas City, the weather guys break into regular programming if it even looks like there is going to be a heavy dew.
[Lady Justice 18] - Lady Justice in the Eye of the Storm Page 5
