Sunday, May 16, 2010

Cabo Day in Town

We spent the day in Cabo San Lucas.  We wandered the streets, back and forth and forth and back till the shopkeepers knew us by sight.  We took great pleasure in thinking of our girls, their personalities and what would please them. 

Each booth had the "BIG GAME" on T.V. as Mexico was playing Chile for some title or other.  At these times I both appreciate and depreciate Briz's Spanish language.  I am never stuck without  understanding with his company.  All questions can be answered, I don't end up with turtle soup instead of lobster.  But, I chose to fade into the background.  I could get by if forced, I can understand the gist of many sentances, yet I use my crutch and fail to improve my skills or use my personality.  Here, I become a docile shaddow of a wife.  I allow the Mexican "Machismo" to dominate.  I didn't even order at Dairy Queen.  I chide myself, yet over and over I persist.  Until, this evening that is. 

We stopped outside the tourist quarter in a small grass topped cement building, The Pescaro Restraunt, for dinner.  We sat at folding tables covered in brightly colored cheap tablecloths, and sat at folding chairs.  We shared the entire resteraunt with one elderly Mexican couple, who seemed to be enjoying their food so we took a gamble.  While we waited for the one waiter's wife to cook our meal, a jolly guitarist started to play for the elderly couple.  We enjoyed the ambiance this provided and clapped at each song's conclusion.  Suddenly, the voice changed from a loud marriachi sound to a softer wavery voice.  I looked up to see that the husband had requested a song to sing to his aging bride.  He crooned to her, she looked for all the world like he was giving her a diamond ring... but we all know, this is much better.  His eyes spoke of his love for her.  Hers answered. 

When the guitarist made his way to us, we sang a trio of "Under the Boardwalk."  Kinda missed the climax of the earlier moment, but I guess each dinner needs comic relief.  At least the old people clapped for us.

Dinner arrived and I dined on the best sea bass I've had to date (5 times this week).  Cooked in a tin foil packet, stuffed with shrimp, clams, octopus, peppers, onions, bay leaves, tomatoes, and capers, I finished off the juice with my spoon like a soup.  "Help me tell the cook how much I liked the food."  I asked Russ.  "I'll tell her when we leave."  he replied.  "No.  I need to do it myself.  Let's see, after Pardon, Senora, what comes next?" 

I tried my communication before I was fluent in the two simple sentences.  I think I made a mess of it.  But the young woman (much younger than me) smiled so big, it was worth it to appear witless.  Her esposo, our waiter, gave a small cheer under his breath, and I looked over to see a shy smile as he pretended to watch T.V. 

I kept a sharp eye out for human feces as we jogged the entire way back to make the 6:30 shuttle with backpacks bouncing up and down on our backs.  "Is it a race?"  the shop keepers called.  We smiled and waved but kept running... It's good to give our hosts something new and different to look at as well.  I figure we can take one for national good relations.

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