As I mentioned in a post a few weeks ago, I recently took a vacation with four close friends to Cabo San Lucas, Mexico. We stayed at the RIU Palace, which lives up to its name, at least in looks. Our first night there, however, was less than spectacular. Seems they overbooked by about sixty people, and since our plane arrived later than others, we were in that group of sixty. They managed to scrounge us up a room, which was located in California. Or so it seemed. It was pretty obvious they did not use this room much, for it was stocked with absolutely nothing. We had to hike back to the front desk and ask them to send us some towels, ice, a rollaway bed, and a machete to kill the rooster that started crowing at 2:00 a.m. and did not stop until 7:00 a.m. At that point, he apparently took a coffee break, I finally drifted off to sleep, and then he returned from his break and started back up at 7:20 a.m. We never did get the ice. The maid bringing it is probably lost.
It appears the reason they do not use these rooms a lot is the proximity to what they refer to as “the farm.” The farm is the home of the damned rooster, many dogs and cats, and God knows what else.
The next morning, we threatened death and destruction upon the RIU if they did not move us. They complied, apparently afraid that we were all going to spontaneously combust if the situation was not remedied, and the rest of the time went fairly smoothly. The food was good, the hotel truly is lovely, and the weather was divine.
Anytime we could, we feasted on chicken, and told ourselves we were eating our nemesis, the damned crowing rooster. We kept calling him a chicken, much to my friend Tracee’s chagrin. She assured us it was not a chicken, but instead was a damned cock.
We met some great folks from Nebraska (Here’s a shout out to Tom and Lori and friends!) and partied with them a bit, especially when we went to Cabo Wabo, Sammy Hagar’s place. Rumors were rampant Hagar was there and was going to play a set that night. The cabbie we talked to said the rumors were ALWAYS rampant. Well, this time, they proved true. We missed him by about 30 minutes, as we were busy at El Squid Roe, posing for pictures with Luigi the Clown and fending off cute college boys who were either terribly drunk or terribly desperate. Or both.
Our new friends, who caught his act, said he appeared to be sampling quite a bit of the Tequila. Who can blame him? It is, after all, Cabo.
Our hotel that night (for we had to leave the very popular RIU, much to our chagrin. They would NOT put us up for the last night, even to make up for the damned cock.) was a sty from hell. Our rooms there were in Nevada, and they expected three of us to sleep in one king-sized bed. It took two hours of wrangling and about 42 miles of trekking to get a room with a rollaway bed, and the fumes from the bathroom were so bad it would have been dangerous to light a match there. This place just changed its name to the Tesoro, which here in America is a gas station. It WAS much like staying in a gas station. There was a nice view of the marina from our balcony, but it would have been better to have slept on the hammock there, then in the room. The desk clerk was rude and uncaring, and seemed to think we were there for spring break, and would be too drunk to realize they expected three grown women to sleep in one bed.
This is NOT one of my fantasies. Sorry to disappoint.
All in all, despite the hotel disappointments, a great trip.