"Cabo Wabo" a Cabo San Lucas Travel Page by kcochran111

It was too cold and windy for this part of the world. You had been pushing yourself to the gym through tequila hazes every morning (okay, every third morning). But today, you just have to be alone. Out in nature. Just you and your breath.

Right foot, inhale.
Left foot.
Right foot, exhale.

You take along your camera because your favorite house is on this route, only accessible by taxi or a 30 minute uphill climb. The gardeners you pass break their watering stride to shake their heads at your struggling gate. You're red-faced from exertion and partial self-consciousness--a single blonde woman wearing far too little.

You can see so much more on foot. Well, it's not that you see more--you notice more. Because you have time for your eyes to slowly move from purple stucco to crumbling truck bed through barbed wire and under cool canopy of overgrown vines. Your eyes resist the swift clicking they must endure when riding as a passenger.

The house with the mask over the garage is your favorite. The owners have come to terms with the dirt pile in their driveway because the sweat of a crowned beer is too seductive against the hard angularity of a shovel. You can't blame them.

It's hotter at the top, when you pass through the gates and down toward a menagerie of candy-coated houses where lanky cats lounge next to cages of fighting cocks. You don't see anyone, but you can feel them watching you out dirty windows and over fence posts. The wire keeps the skunky oleander out of cleanly swept yards instead of keeping vagabond pets in. Vagabond. It's a word you roll around your tongue like butterscotch. It's sickenly sweet, especially when your diet has consisted primarily of lo-carb lo-fat no-taste nothing for far too long.