BY MICHAEL MONDINI
I still cannot believe I left Cabo after 19 years of joyous bachelorhood. My precious son and I arrived there 20 years ago, just as he was going off to war for the next 15 years in his deadly Apache helicopter killing machine, in which he logged almost 300 hours of combat flying.
I assuaged my worries about him by adopting a debauched lifestyle, and thankfully, Cabo was built on catering to the desires of men like me. John Wayne and Frank Sinatra would go to Cabo in the early days as Cabo couldn't care less who they were, and they were free to do anything they liked without recourse.
We drove 2,000 miles clear across the USA in the middle of what had to be one of the worst snowstorms in history, only to arrive at the southern part of California to dry roads and sunshine. We only had to go another 1,000 miles straight down the legendary Baja to the fabled Cabo San Lucas where we checked into the luxurious Sheraton Hotel.
My son could not wait to get some surfing done, and I could not wait to get settled. As my son disappeared into his precious surf … from that day forward, at the age of 56, the beautiful senoritas obliged me for the next 18 years. I almost got married a fifth time, and for a year, I was as happy as a guy like me could be. Cabo, like my last home in St. Petersburg, Russia was very good to me in that department … gloriously so, as when I got to Russia (still the USSR) in the late '80s, Americans were still popular on the world stage.
Over the years, I have met several Cabeños who packed it in and said “Enough.” I never understood it. Why would one, especially a single heterosexual male, want to leave a singles paradise? At the end of the day, I finally understood. Enough fun is enough, and at 75, I was done, unless I wanted to start taking the testones, pills and daddy’s little helpers. I did for a while and gave myself a mild heart attack … so that was that. I never came close to Wilt Chamberlain or Chuck Berry numbers, but I gave it my best. From what I have read in the history books, I was not alone in my endeavors. Cabo was and still is a bachelor’s paradise.
I have always had exceptional good luck. As it turned out, Cabo was the perfect place to get old, and I had some of the best years of my extraordinary lucky life there. My first piece of good luck was when my son challenged me to live at the surf camp about 40 miles north of Cabo. The camp was owned by an accomplished surfer named Jamie, and he turned out to become a true friend for life. Jamie arrived in Cabo in the ’80s, in the middle of a storm as his boat broke up on the rocks surrounded by hungry sharks. Miraculously, he was plucked from the Sea of Cortez by the local natives. He raised two boys by himself, and today, they are both very successful people. Jamie went from picking strawberries to owning a huge chunk of the Baja. There is only ONE Jamie and I am lucky to be his pal.
In my mid-70s, I had a heart attack towards the end of my last romantic encounter … which turned out to be great and a perfect way to end my career as a habitual admirer of beautiful young women.
At 75, you start to fall apart. Other than some minor curable things, I was in pretty good shape other than I let myself go, got fat and food and drink became a big part of the end game. So that was the gong. Time to find a new place to live, which I am doing now as of this writing.
“Yo, Dad. I will be at the Cabo airport at three tomorrow. Pack your shit and we will drive the Mercedes out.” And so it went. Paintings, rugs, furniture, and a lifetime of keepsakes, sold or left behind to my loyal live-in butler, Homer.
Driving up the Baja is a 1,000-mile two-day grueling nightmare, through deserts and mountain ranges, and not for sissies. Temperatures can vary by 40 degrees. If the blind turns with serial potholed mountain roads don’t kill you, the drive up or down the Baja is serious.
My pal Charlie, who charges thousands of dollars to take a car out or in, says that it relaxes him, but then you have to factor in Charlie used to jump out of giant airplanes a few miles up over the Gulf of Tonkin in full scuba gear with bombs attached to his body, swim underwater for miles, attach the bombs to things the Viet Cong used to kill us, blow them up and then swim miles to catch a speeding pontoon boat to get home … oh, and if he missed the pickup, he was left behind ... but to the average Joe, as of this writing, the Baja drive is a real nightmare, especially at night.
Now if you are not a Navy Seal and just an ordinary person, take your time and only drive during the day and you will be fine.
Pothole hell starts about halfway through the adventure. As of this writing, the Mexican Government has appropriated millions to fix the massive problem. Now let’s see how much of that money makes it to buy asphalt without taking a detour to a villa or two.
I love Mexican policemen. Just remember they can get paranoid and testy if you assume they are corrupt. So here is the secret to not compounding your problem. Just say, “Would it be OK if you pay the fine for me?’ So you are no longer trying to bribe, but just asking for a favor! OH, and if the policeman asks you what you do for a living, play it down. Charity work is the best answer.
Everything bad that could happen on the way out happened. My Mercedes was 30 years old and not in the kind of shape a thousand-mile potholed hairpin turn highway with giant overloaded Kenworth’s coming at you at 90 miles an hour called for.
We miraculously found a tire shop open on a Sunday afternoon that had the tires we needed … tires that neither Costco nor the downtown tire store in Cabo had. Incredible luck! If we did not have those tires, we would still be in the pothole desert. It got up to over 100°f in the desert when the radiator blew up. Incredibly, my son, better known as MacGyver, fixed that too with the help of some well-equipped friendly natives!
Today, Cabo is a much different place than when I got there, but still a great place to live, especially if money is not a problem. I had nothing but great times and was on the winning team at the Bisbee, which won 2.4 million dollars. Incredible, huh? Real estate is still a very safe bet, and over the years, I watched it double and triple in value. Cabo is the Monte Carlo of Mexico, full of great people, especially the local Mexicans. Today, I am living in Portugal, building a company that relocates people here in this undiscovered, inexpensive culturally rich paradise … and a new beginning. I will always remember Cabo fondly.
