November 09 Monday Cabo San Lucas
It’s Monday night in football season in the U.S. and I guess millions of fans are glued to their beers and TV sets rooting for their favorite teams, and I can care less. My life of cheering for the Denver Broncos during the Elway era is a distant, meaningless memory. But I skimmed a Huffington Report and noticed I was equally disinterested in the latest NSA disclosure, the sniping of the Republican candidates running for president, or the bomb that took down the latest commercial airplane. I occasionally have pangs of guilt about things I used to care about, but my watery world spins on a different axis, and the world of CNN and Monday night football are a planet or two away. To sum it up in an altered phrase from the movie Gone With the Wind (a great name for a sailboat)….” frankly my dear friends, I don’t give a shit” Harsh? Disloyal? Maybe. But you too will arrive at a point of view from a far planet some day.
Tonight Raven’s Dance and I sit alone swinging gently from our seventy pound CQR anchor and 200 feet of chain rode. We are resting between chapters in our journey. The craziness of sailing the Mexican Coast and successive Ha Ha parties is behind us. And ahead in a few days is a new crew and a new destination, La Laz, and our first sojourn into the Sea of Cortez.
For a mariner, the port IS the Scene
Let me take this pause to describe Cabo. For many it is the night life. But for a mariner the essence of Cabo is its unique harbor and the main “road” in and out of town. It is crowded day and night with dinghies, yachts and pangas, all churning the water until it resembles a giant washing machine. Think of it as Broadway and 42nd street on water and steroids. If it has a motor and it floats, then it will pass by shortly.
The ginormous 300 foot private yacht
is birthed at the fuel dock. I didn’t know it was possible to make something this massive in plastic! On the other end of the spectrum I putter along in an 8 foot inflatable with a 3 hp air-cooled outboard motor.
This IS New York South in sight and sound.
Everybody is intent of going somewhere, and the most crowded route is between the anchorage and the nearest shore-side bar. Along the quay you can pass a dozen restaurants, all overloading your attention with neon lights, and hawkers and assaulting your senses with tantalizing, if deceptive, promises of the best food.
I’m lucky to be anchored off. I have 180 degrees of shoreline lights in view — broader than the white cement boxes stacked one upon another all along the near shore. Of all the beachfront hotel rooms in Cabo (and there are reputed to be 5,000) I daresay I have the Presidential Suite. Near me the hotels are packed together as if leaning on each other on a single long string.
Further from me the horizon falls away until it finally becomes a single pinpoint of light on the distant horizon. At dusk a profusion of the richest primary-color neon colors blink and strobe, and several competing DJ’s with their over-amplified music blare to gather an audience. One in particular is a master at whipping up his crowd, and I can hear him screaming into his mic: “who wants a free drink?” and wild cheering follows him, far into another endless night of the Cabo scene. It’s time for us to move onto the natural world of the Sea of Cortez.