Notes from a Spinning Planet—Mexico Read Free Page A

tomorrow. Right now I just want to get something to eat and then crash.”
    “This is a busy season,” says Francesca as she registers us. “I can call other hotels in San Lucas for you to see if anyone else has a room.”
    “Would you?” asks Sid gratefully.
    “Si.” Francesca nods. “It is no problem.”
    “Muchas gracias, “
I tell her.
    “De nada”
She smiles and hands us our key cards and a map. “Please, feel free to call if you need anything.” Sid asks about the restaurant, and we're informed that they serve dinner until nine.
    “I can call them,” offers Francesca, “to tell them you're coming.”
    “Muchas gracias,” I say again.
    First we hunt down our room, which seems to be at the end of the earth. Sid is disappointed it doesn't have an ocean view, but I'm just relieved to see it has two beds and a bathroom. I was starting to wonder. Then we head off in search of the restaurant, which turns out to be on the other side of the property.
    “At least we're getting some exercise,” I point out.
    “I thought we were getting a vacation,” huffs Sid as we climb the stairs to the restaurant.
    “Oh, look,” I tell her once we're up the stairs. I point to the strip of beach illuminated by the spotlights. “Isn't that pretty down there?”
    She nods as she catches her breath. “Yes. Hopefully it will be even prettier by daylight.”
    “Buenas noches”
says a smiling man.
    “Buenas noches,” echoes Sid.
    “Mesa para dos, por favor,”
I try, hoping I'm asking for a table for two.
    “Si, senoritas. Por aqui, por favor. “
He leads us to a table that looks out over the ocean. A little oil lamp is already lit and flickering warmly. The restaurant has a large roof that looks like it's made from palm branches, and the sides are open to the soft sea breeze. Down by thewater, lamps along a sandy path light up the beach. In this warm climate, the temperature is absolutely perfect. I still cant completely believe I'm here.
    “Gracias,” we tell him as we're seated.
    “jPodemos ver h carta?”
I ask. I think this is how you ask for a menu.
    He smiles and begins to speak in such rapid Spanish that I'm quickly lost, although I think he's telling us the specials of the night. Sid is giving me a look that says she's totally clueless. So I ask him to speak more slowly and admit that my Spanish isn't very good and that my aunt doesn't speak it at all.
“Habla usted ingles?”
I finally ask hopefully.
    “UnpocOy”
he tells me, but then he begins to explain the specials in a combination of English and Spanish, and I manage to translate them for Sid. We both decide to try the fish of the day, which is sea bass.
    “Muy bueno,”
he says with a slight bow.
    “I'm so glad I brought you along,” says Sid. “It's handy having a translator.”
    “My Spanish is pretty rusty.”
    “Hey, it's better than mine.”
    Soon our food arrives, and to our relief it's really good. And the service is excellent. We even splurge and have dessert.
    “Last time I was in Mexico, I put on about ten pounds,” says Sid as she takes a last bite of the chocolate torte we're sharing.
    “When was that?”
    She considers this. “About ten years ago. But that was in Cancun.I've never been in Los Cabos before. I don't think there was much tourism going on down here ten years ago. According to Vicki, this area has been growing like crazy, and it's expected to get even more tourism after what happened in Cancun in 2005.”
    “Was it a hurricane?”
    “Yes. Don't you remember hearing about all the stranded tourists down there? Although the story probably got lost in the coverage of our own Hurricane Katrina, it was pretty bad, and I'm sure lots of Cancun regulars are looking elsewhere for their sunny getaways now.”
    “Maybe that's why this place is so booked,” I suggest.
    Sid frowns. “Maybe. But Vicki told me these dates, and since this is a time-share, you'd think it would be pretty straightforward.”
    “Maybe Francesca