Welcome to the latest excerpt of the Keen travel blog. If this is your first time, I hope you enjoy reading about our adventures abroad. It’s been a while since my last blog due to the strange times we have been in. As always, I am conscious that for some people this is similar to being taken through someone’s holiday photos, so if it’s not for you, let me now, I won’t be offended. If you are really interested, there is a back history of all previous blogs at www.maple3.co.uk/blogs

Mexico Blog – July/August 2021

Part 1

Err...how many persons sir?  That is the question i get from our taxi driver.  As I help him load the 6th bag (he is an old chap - even older than me) it’s a fair question.  "Just 2 of us", I say, apologetically.  We have been saving up our points for a while and decided to spend them moving from the back of the plane to the middle.  Mrs K is making sure she makes full use of the extra baggage allowance. She has been organising her packing for the last few days. At 11.45 I ask her what time the taxi arrives. "Midday".  I send my last email at 11.53 and throw some last items into my bag.  We are away by 12.05.  Holly and Tom will mind the house and our anxious dog, Archie.

The short drive to Heathrow is quiet. I am mainly racking my brains trying to think about what I might have left behind.  The last week has been busy, juggling work with the JEFF KEEN CHARITY CHALLENGE (latest total raised of £5300) and it will be a miracle if I haven't forgotten something.  Fortunately, Mrs K has taken care of the travel documents etc which are onerous.

We are on our way to Mexico.  This is going to be an extended break of a little over 3 weeks, stopping in 3 locations and involving 6 flights. A bit excessive perhaps and ambitious in these times, but you know we love to travel and the holiday allowance has been building up. Use it or lose it!

It must be over 20 years since I had a 3-week break, going back to the days of having 4 kids between the ages of 1 and 8.  I spot a similar sized family at the airport. Two of the kids are fighting, the baby is crying and the little girl is running all over the place. I'd like to think ours were better behaved but that might be a case of selective memory. Either way, it’s nice travelling just the two of us and hopefully I will get to proper chill status at some point in the middle of the holiday.

We get rid of the luggage and make our way through security. It seems not everyone was as well prepared as Mrs K. A woman in front of us has still got her rollers in and there is no Hilda Ogden scarf to cover it up. Younger readers will need to look that up.

There is another bit of stress when Mrs K realises she left her watch behind in security. She rushes back and manages to retrieve it from a deep pile of trays.  I am sure this was a strategy to get a new watch so I am relieved when it is found. But then Mrs K reminds me that she dropped her airpods into a pot of paint recently so we end up making a trip to Dixons after all. Mrs K is feeling a bit guilty about that (only a bit) so she complains about the cover charge and gets £3 back from Gordon Ramsay. Well, we didn't have a table cloth, no bread and no olives.

The next stress is that our boarding cards don't seem to match the app. But then we realise we have been upgraded!  It's a major thrill to be 'turning left' as we get on the plane and the 11-hour flight to Mexico City passes very quickly.  A very nice start to the holiday.

Arriving in Mexico, we have to get used to being on Mexican/Spanish time.  Our bags take an age to come through and our transfer driver who is supposed to be waiting for us isn't anywhere to be found. We have to wait half an hour outside for him. He eventually rolls up blaming the traffic, but it seems quite light as we get to our centrally located hotel in about 30 minutes.

We are staying here for 2 nights but it's really only 1 day, caused by a complex series of cancelled flights which I won't bore you with. The upside is that we will use Thursday to explore the city. Mrs K has recruited a guide to show us round with a bias of course to the cultural aspects which is her thing.  First though, we are wowed by the hotel which is called the Grand and is located on the main square. We are upgraded (again? whats going on?) to a room overlooking the huge square which is bordered by old government buildings and a cathedral.   On the way, the bell boy (who looks about 70 and is dressed in full red uniform with a pillbox hat) takes us for a ride in the original lift. It is operated by winding a handle which I assume charges a battery. We are only on the first floor, so it is a short ride.  The hotel was one of the first buildings in the city to get electricity and has an amazing atrium with a stained glass roof which I took a photo of the next morning. Mrs K tells me she thinks the floor of our room has a slope, but I put it down to tiredness after the long flight - more on that later.

How many men does it take to put up a flag?  About 100 soldiers, accompanied by a full military band.  We watch a bit of the ceremony from our window the next morning at 8am. It's got to be the largest flag I have ever seen.   The Mexicans are obviously proud of their country.  We have our breakfast on the roof terrace.  The view of the square in the early sunlight is spectacular, but unmatched sadly by the quality of the breakfast.  But just as well because we don't have much time.  We have to meet the guide outside at 9am. 

He arrives suitably late.  It's that traffic again but over the course of the day we will appreciate what he is talking about.  Our guide's name is Kevin. Kevin? Doesn't sound very Mexican. I ask him. Apparently in the early 90's there were a lot of kids christened 'Kevin' and 'Brian'.  Kevin's Mum is Mexican and his Dad is from Texas. It turns out Kevin's Mum was a big fan of Kevin Costner from the Bodyguard movie. Ahh, that makes sense, but I have no idea where Brian (or Bryan) comes from. 

We get into a small car (with our driver Oscar) and off we go. A big part of the day will be devoted to learning about 2 of Mexico's most famous artists - Diego Rivera and Frida Kahlo, who were also married for a time.  In preparation for the trip, I was persuaded to watch the movie Frida which is the story of her life. It's quite a story.  She was renowned for her art which channelled her injuries from a horrific accident in her youth and her tempestuous marriage with Diego.  Diego was famous for many things and also known as ‘the frog’ for his less than handsome looks. One of them was for being commissioned by Rockefeller junior to paint a mural in the lobby of the Rockefeller centre in Manhattan. Rivera made Lenin the central figure as a symbol of the struggle of working men against the rich.  Unsurprisingly, Rockefeller wasn't that happy with it, so he sacked Rivera and had it torn down. Rivera eventually repainted it in Mexico City. 

Our first stop is to visit the vast university campus where Rivera adorned the library with murals on each of the four sides of the building.  Each side of the building has very few windows – to protect the books and provides a perfect canvas on which to design his mural, made out of natural stone. Each wall tells a story of the history of Mexico going back to the Aztecs. Kevin is a student of anthropology, and we get to hear most of that knowledge over the course of the day. That guy Cortez from Spain was thought to be a god by the primitive Aztecs and took full advantage by colonizing Mexico and wiping out huge amounts of Aztec history and culture. You wouldn't have caught the British doing anything like that. 

I say primitive but the Aztecs had been smart enough to create islands in the middle of the lakes that existed in the old volcanic crater that now accommodates the city of 23 million people.  The Spanish came along and drained the lakes to make room for the development of the city but over the years it has been sinking, especially near the centre where our hotel is. Mrs K was right about the slope across our room.

Later we visit one of the very old towns which has been enveloped by the city but has remained an area of canals. It’s called Xochimilco. Some parts can only be accessed by canals but there are 8500 colourful boats (called dragon boats) which are propelled by a man at the back with a very long stick (or punt) to get you places.  Bit like Venice but also very different. This is a place where people come to party. We have a boat to ourselves but many are crammed with what look like large families. Mariachi bands cruise around trying to sell their music and others are trying to sell their merchandise - food, trinkets, all sorts. We are doing well to avoid the canal sellers but then the only other passenger on the boat that I have mistook for the owner pulls out his large black case of silverware.  Kevin is looking a bit sheepish.  It's not really Mrs K's style but the chap takes some convincing that Mrs K is not going to buy anything.

We are back in the car and on our way to lunch and the Frida Kahlo museum. The traffic is terrible. 23 million people and 5 million cars.  At every major junction we see a small army of street sellers running up and down between the cars selling anything you can think of - newspapers, food, car parts, and fashion. These are not down and outs. Some of them are in the uniforms of their businesses.

At the museum, Kevin is well known and we are ushered to the front of the queue with disapproving looks from other tourists. Covid is restricting the flow of people and I have been struck that 95% of people walking around outside are still wearing masks. We have had our temperature taken many times and often when entering a shop or restaurant we are required to step into a tray of desanitiser.. Mexico has had a terrible death toll from the pandemic. The museum is a vast property which was once the home of Frida and Diego. They had communist tendencies but they lived in a huge house in a nice part of town.  Trotsky later stayed with them and had a fling with Frida. There were rumours that Diego ended up having Trotsky murdered with an ice pick but when I was at school I think it was put down as Stalin's work.

Kevin is not allowed to walk us round the house to give us a detailed explanation (for fear of drawing a crowd) but he does tip us off that it is a secret that Frida’s ashes are stored in an urn (an homage to a frog) in the museum.

Next morning, we are woken by yet another protest in the square at 7am. But we have a flight to catch so its fine.

Waiting for our airport transfer.

,

We arrive in Los Cabos to 38C heat. More on all that in part 2.

Part 2

Our sleeping patterns are still not adjusted to Mexico time and the noise outside our room in Los Cabos doesn’t help. It’s the noise of crashing waves. I think we just arrived in paradise.

It’s incredible to experience the change of climate after a flight of less than 2 hours west from Mexico City. We arrive mid-afternoon to 38C temperatures but that is not unusual. On Sunday morning we are up early for a walk along the beach. It’s 7.30am and the temperature is already 28C. This is the Pacific and the waves are crashing on to the sand and rocks.

There are a number of lifeguards along the beach but it is red and black flags everywhere, so there are zero people in the sea. I wonder how long it has been since the lifeguards had to rescue anyone. I note that the red buoyancy aids are not just tied to the lifeguards’ wrists – they are anchored to a winch on the beach – this sea is really dangerous and they are taking no chances. When a really big wave hits the sand, it’s like a clap of thunder. We walk about 1 ½ miles along the beach and turn back. Our hotel is in a haze of early sun and sea spray in the distance.

Our hotel looks a bit like a massive sand castle built into the rock.

We were lucky enough to get upgrade no.3 of this trip but this time we had to work hard for it. We have been trying to upgrade our room for a few weeks without success but on arrival it seems there is plenty of availability, which is confusing. In fact, the hotel seems very quiet. I am guessing much less than 50% occupied but it is vast so it might be deceiving. We are in an apartment which has a kitchen, which will be great for our 2-week stay. We also have a hot tub on a balcony overlooking the beach. Like I said, paradise.

On Saturday night we decide to opt for the ‘Steak night’ in the main hotel. It’s a hike down the hill to the main part of the hotel but it is a good way to get a feel of the hotel, our fellow guests and check out the food. They have a live singer/guitarist. I am going to say he is more of a musician than a singer. His set takes us through a selection of classics from the Beatles, Coldplay etc. Each one he completely murders. I verify by checking on Shazam. Each one – “No result”. We enjoy our steaks anyway.

Last night we drove into San Jose del Cabos which (at its centre) has a traditional Mexican feel to it. The central square is large with a flagpole and a pretty church. We hear the singing as we pass on a short stroll around the town before going for dinner at a place recommended by the concierge.  Mrs K spots a boutique jewellery shop and pops in to buy a small trinket.  Mr K gets a T-shirt from the souvenir shop.  Dinner is very nice indeed. One thing we have encountered here is the language barrier.  We speak English and the Mexicans don't. Asking for help with menu often becomes a lucky dip. It’s all fabulous but we end up over ordering. I observe the restaurant is actually just in a gap between two buildings, but the food is excellent and the place is busy, unlike most others we have seen.  We speak to the chef who claims he invented the Sashimi water melon in a soy type sauce with avocado. I would probably not have chosen it, but it was a part of our lucky dip and was delicious.

Next to our resort is what looks a construction site. It’s not an eyesore at all, just a group of portacabins. There is a guy that guards the site that we have passed a few times. He carries some kind of rifle so I am not sure what they are building. My guess is that it’s actually a clubhouse which will go with the golf course which skirts our hotel.  I thought it was not yet in use because the fairways are heavy sanded and we hadn’t seen anybody playing it.  But today the flags are in and we spot a couple of golf karts.  This has now turned into a form of torture for me as I wouldn’t normally go off and play golf by myself. But in any case, I didn’t bring any gear with me and also playing in 38C would likely be difficult. There is an amazing par 3 hole squeezed into the gap between the beach and the large beachfront properties. The residents will be pleased to hear JK is not going to be spraying their gardens and pools with golf balls.

Today (Monday) we are off on our first activity of the adventurous kind – horse riding.  That might not sound all that adventurous to most of you but neither of us have ever sat on a horse.  I think I remember riding a donkey on Woolacombe beach when I was about 8 but that is the extent of my experience.  Mrs K tells me I need reassure everyone (especially Corinne) that the horses are well looked after.

Before the horses we are introduced to some macaws. Mrs K is not feeling like she wants to get friendly with them but is persuaded to hold one.

We are introduced to Ramone who will take Mrs K and I around the place which is a location out in the middle of the desert. They have a range of activities here including bungy jumping, zip lines, ATVs but getting on a horse is excitement enough for Mrs K. As this is our first time, we get an intensive safety briefing which lasts about 20 seconds. Stop , go , left and right. That’s all there is to it apart from remembering not to walk around the back of the horse. We jump on and off we go, following Ramone. Our horses don’t seem to need much steering – they just follow the horse in front. Mrs K and I just concentrate on hanging on. Ramone takes us on a trail through the desert which at times seems to get very close to the edge of the canyon. But don’t worry, we have been equipped with helmets. I am hoping the horses are extremely well trained, though a passing cyclist spooks both our horses and they break into a gallop (well, a trot maybe). All I can hear from Mrs K is “Jeeeeefffff!!”. Ramone looks up from his phone and says “All OK Senora?” Through clenched teeth, Mrs K says she is fine, but maybe it’s time to go back now. Before we did this Mrs K told me she has always wanted to ride horse. In 36 years of marriage, I don’t remember her ever telling me that before. Here is a photo of us both proving that we did it. But I don’t expect to see another photo of Mrs K on a horse anytime soon.

Our hotel still seems very quiet, but we heard some kids crying in the apartment next door – I think they saw me get out of the hot tub.

Part 3

Tuesday is happy pill day.  It's day 5 in Los Cabos and I think I have shown incredible restraint up to now.  It’s time to have my first margarita, mexican style.  It comes in a tall tumbler and the waiter says, "Careful Senor Ken, it's strong!".  You can say that again.  It’s either ‘Mr Jeff’ or ‘Senor Ken’ - they can’t say ‘Keen’ for some reason and my requests for them just to call me Jeff are ignored. The margarita goes down very nicely so when I am offered another I say yes. Then two more arrive. It’s either happy hour or it’s that language barrier again. Mrs K doesn't drink so it's left to me to tidy up. It would be rude not to, I reckon?  My memory of the afternoon is that I reached that chill moment. Mrs K and I were the only ones left in the infinity pool looking down the beach and later that evening we finish off the day with an incredible meal in the restaurant a short elevator ride up the cliff from our room.  There is a platform where you can sit and watch the sunset but we miss it by a few minutes because we didn't factor in the mountain range in the distance.  No more margaritas for me but a few glasses of red wine to wash down the steak.

My penance for all that is that Mrs K books us into the gym the next morning at 8.30am.  We are the only ones in there.  My first time in a gym for a very long time and a few too many mirrors for my liking.

We have learnt a bit about the hotel and the surroundings. The hotel is indeed only 30% occupied due to Covid restrictions. We were very lucky to get a room at all. We are told it was very close to closing a few weeks ago.  Apparently the authorities (the army) just turn up and start evacuating properties.  This is a bit worrying. It gives Mrs K an incentive to accelerate her spending.

The golf course next door is strictly private and definitely not open to tourists. Seems a bit selfish.  And the houses along the beach start at around $15m.  It's sad that so many of them are boarded up for the Summer.  Most are owned by wealthy Americans who head south in the winter.  We are also told that 30% of the traffic into Los Cabos airport is by private jet.  All that explains the prices in the hotel restaurant, though it's not too difficult to find more reasonably priced food in town.

There are two staff members that we are first name terms with - Dulce the concierge who helped us with our room upgrade and Raoul the manager of the pool at our side of the hotel.  Raoul is a giant. About 6ft 6in in height and not much less wide I might say but he is a gentle giant and caters for our every need. He is dressed in a huge white t-shirt and brown shorts which finish about half-way down his calves.  He manages about 3 staff and looks after a maximum of 8 pool side guests at any one time.  It's a hard job but someone has to do it.  Like all the hotel staff they have to wear masks inside and outside at all times - not great in the heat.

We took a restaurant recommendation from a much younger concierge for Wednesday evening and find ourselves in San Lucas de Cabo in a lively taco restaurant. It’s our furthest journey from the hotel so far and into the largest nearby tourist town, a 25-minute drive. Parking seems to be an issue, but we realise that there is a valet service. Just drive up to the restaurant and let a complete stranger drive off in your car. “Thank you amigo!” . It’s lively as I said with a stag night and what might be a hen night going on at the same time. There is a live band performing on the roof, looking down into the courtyard of the restaurant. We raise the average age by quite a bit. The tacos are amazing. OK, I haven’t had all that many before. But if you come to San Lucas make sure you visit La Lupita. And amazingly our car is waiting for us outside after we pay the bill.

Watching the Olympics has been difficult because BBC videos are not viewable here. We watch a bit of the Mexican coverage but it’s not extensive. Mexico are 57^th in the medal table with 2 bronze medals. They get to the semi-final of the Archery against the Germans and are thrashed but apparently they do win the play-off for the bronze medal against Turkey. That is one of their 2 medals. Actually for a country of 128m its not great but of course there are lots of factors here. They also feature in the 10m synchronised diving final alongside Tom Daley and Matty Lee. They come 4^th and one of the Mexicans is named Kevin!

On Thursday we take a boat ride to do some snorkelling in a bay along the coast. We are joined by a party of 10 Americans from another hotel but they are a nice group, seems like an extended family. We board the boat in San Lucas and are asked to keep our masks on just while we pass the harbourmaster’s observation point. There is an open bar and the Americans get stuck in to the margaritas. It is 9am. Mrs K and I apologise for letting the Brits down in the drinking contest. In Santa Maria bay, the large tropical fish are multi coloured and swim alongside us. On the way there, Mrs K spots a few dolphins. We are in a small flotilla of boats which all spot them and zero in on the location, by which time, of course, they are long gone. But I managed to catch them on my camera in the distance.

One of the American kids looks like he has had a dose of chemotherapy but it doesn’t stop him jumping into the sea from the roof of the boat. He gets a big cheer from his family. Nice moment.

On Friday, we take a drive a short way down the coast to a beach called Chileno. It’s a popular beach for snorkelling and popular for both the tourist boats and private yachts. We are looking to rent an umbrella but the guy who rents them has run out. There is just one other merchant on the beach, hiring out snorkel equipment. Mrs K asks him if he has any umbrellas for rent. Almost every single person on the beach is under shade. It’s the midday sun and about 38C. Just standing there I can feel the sun burning me already. The guy has a rummage in his shack and comes out with a sorry looking excuse for an umbrella. “That’s very kind, thanks”. “5 Dollars Senor”, he says. “Ah OK, deal.”. Without shade I am going to fry in this sun. We find a spot, put up our sorry rented umbrella and huddle for shade. Normally Mrs K is a sun worshipper and scoffs at shade. She doesn’t go red, straight to brown, thanks to her Mediterranean genes. But even she is looking for protection from the midday sun. After a couple of hours, we decide to leave. We are missing Raoul.

Part 4 – Hotel California, Drama on the Beach and the Haircut

“Oh hello, good morning, would you be kind enough to bring our car up please”. It’s our morning call to the front desk and sounds really decadent, I know. But our room is at the top of the hill and the car park is at the bottom. What else can we do? We obviously discounted the idea of walking the last 200m up the hill.

On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair
Warm smell of colitas, rising up through the air
Up ahead in the distance, I saw a shimmering light
My head grew heavy and my sight grew dim
I had to stop for the night

…..

…..

Last thing I remember, I was
Running for the door
I had to find the passage back
To the place I was before
"Relax, " said the night man,
"We are programmed to receive.
You can check-out any time you like,
But you can never leave! "

We are on the road, again up the Pacific coast to a magical town called Todos Santos. It has been given magical status by the Government and is probably deserved.  It is alleged to have been discovered once by The Eagles, stopping at Hotel California.  We have a drink there after a 90-minute drive from Los Cabos. For the first time I get to understand the lyrics. “You can never leave” because I can’t get Mrs K out of the gift shops which have sprung up around the hotel. Mrs K gets a nice silver necklace. Mr K gets another T-shirt. Such a lovely place.

We stroll around the small town and find a delightful cafe for a light lunch. Well, it was light until I was offered the hotcakes with mango. I am fearing another early morning trip to the gym.

We head back down the coast to find a beach that we passed on the way up. It’s called Cerritos Beach. We turn down a dusty road off the highway and find a small car park with just a few cars there. This time we find a girl renting umbrellas – result! She doesn’t speak a word of English and it’s very cheap, which is nice, but she comes after us later saying we only paid for 1 hour’s worth. We are on a vast beach with no more than 50 others. The Cerritos hotel is way down the beach at the busy end. Mrs K and I enjoy the rough waves and attempt some body surfing. There is a very strong under-current but we can’t see any red flags.

We settle down for a snooze. I get a nudge from Mrs K. I assume it’s my snoring but there is a commotion on the beach. I think I hear a woman screaming and there are a number of people running into the sea. A family have just arrived next to us and the young lad (I guess about 18) literally drops everything and runs into the sea to help. There are five people swimming out through breaking waves and only then do I see the black silhouette of someone a long way out. It later turns out to be a young boy. I retrieve the iPhone which the lad dropped as he ran into the sea to help and give it to his Dad. He and his wife are screaming for their son to come back but I doubt they can be heard above the noise of the surf. Every single person on the beach is on their feet straining to see what is going on.

It looks like they have reached the stranded boy, but there is no sign of any of them getting back to the beach. The currents are really strong. The situation is looking really serious and the father is getting really worried about his son.

At that point, a guy turns up with a huge surfboard and heads into the surf on a rescue mission. A couple of other surfers follow. After a few tense minutes we think we can see that the surfer has reached the boy but one of the rescuers appears to have drifted even further out to sea. It’s really hard to see, even through my zoom lens, but eventually, they all get back to the beach. The mother of the boy was one of the 5 rescuers. She has her son (probably about 8 or 9) and looks like she is never going to let him go. The lad who ran into the sea to help is also safe and just collapses onto the sand next to us. I talk to the father. “I told him”, he said. “go and drown yourself if you like, but not in front of your sister!” He is really mad with the son, but I suspect also a bit proud too. The surfer is the hero of the day but is really cool about it. He isn’t a lifeguard but looks like he works on the beach – probably seen it a hundred times before.

Mrs K and I go for another dip but not as far out as before.

It’s in that middle part of our trip when we start to lose track of what day it is. My reading has progressed from Barack Obama to Michael Lewis to John Grisham. I could only take so much reading about the financial crisis. Mrs K says I am now reading the same author as all the other middle-aged men at the pool. We also all have the same patchy tans with white patches under our hats and sunglasses. Our main activity has become deciding where we are going to eat in the evening. This is a bit more of a challenge that you might imagine because Mrs K doesn’t like Mexican food. Well, to be precise, she doesn’t like coriander (or cilantro as they call it here) and it is found in most Mexican dishes. At the hotel, Mrs K is now known as “Senorita Carolina (no cilantro)”. Before each meal in each new location, we have to go through the same ritual. “Do you have any allergies?”. “No, but I don’t like cilantro”. “You don’t like or you are allergic to?” “I don’t like”. I wish I had bought one of my T-shirts with “No Cilantro for her” on it.

This is me at a very fancy restaurant on our way back from Todos Santos. We are straight from the beach and feel VERY under-dressed and with unruly hair. Mrs K’s photo was censored. But it is early evening and fairly quiet and I don’t think anyone really minded. Our waiter there couldn’t have been much more attentive if he had sat down with us. The other little lesson we have learnt is that when the waiter tells you that the sauce ‘is a little bit spicy’, don’t touch it.

Before we left the UK, I had intended on getting my hair cut but didn’t get round to it.  On day 12 of our trip, I am in need of a tidy up.  There appear to be a few barbers in town, but I have been reading that Los Cabos has one of the highest murder rates in THE WORLD.  Our holiday research didn't unearth that small fact!  So going into town to find a shop where they keep sharp implements suddenly seems less appealing.  Don’t get me wrong, we have never felt unsafe here, except perhaps when we parked in an underground car park in San Lucas and weren’t sure if we were in the right place.  The murders seem to be mostly various gangs killing each other and the problem has only arisen in the last few years. So back to my haircut, Mrs K suggests that we ask one of Raoul's mates at the pool.  "Don’t worry Mrs Ken, I will call my brother-in-law, he is an excellent barber".  This fills me with even more dread. Fortunately, we find out that the hotel can give me a haircut in the hotel spa. I have had mixed results from holiday haircuts (see Egypt blog from 2009) but we have another 11 days here and I was always told that the difference between a good and bad haircut is about 2 weeks. What do I have to lose?

When I arrive at the hotel spa, I am smarting at the price that Westin are charging me for the haircut - I have to pay in advance.  I think I paid more once before but that time I got a G&T included (great service at Fortnum & Masons).  I am ushered into a small room next to the reception. It has a glass partition and I notice both receptionists are staring intently in my direction. My hairdresser is dressed like a masseuse and tells me to relax and starts with a shoulder massage. At this point I am wondering about that language barrier, but I assume that this is just a preliminary extra service. It’s certainly the most sensual start to a haircut I have ever had. The girl doesn't speak a word of English but the receptionist acts as translator and we agree a strategy. I have no idea if a no. 3 is the same in Mexico as it is in the UK, but again, how bad can it be?  I come out unscathed, Mrs K approves, so job done.

Another little snippet about our hotel is that it was ravaged by Hurricane Odile in 2014 – the worst ever hurricane on this coast. Renovations took 3 years. We really didn’t know what a dangerous place this is.

Mexico’s sporting achievements just took another knock when they are beaten in the CONCACAF Gold Cup which is the international tournament between North and Central American countries. Mexico are the holders but lose to a USA goal just 2 minutes from the end of extra time. Tough. Mexico just notched up another bronze medal, making 3 in total – they rank 71^st in the medal table.

We are nearing the end of our stay in Los Cabos which has been stunning. We have one more trip planned to La Paz – that’s the 6^th most murderous city in the world so statistically a lot safer than here.

Part 5 – La Paz, lying Democrats and changing travel plans

On Tuesday, day 14, we hear 2 nasty words. Rainy season.

It’s a bit like God just flipped a switch. The skies now tend to be cloudy and it’s now a chilly 28C. We first see some spots of rain on the pool and the waiter says there is a rainstorm coming. We gather our stuff and leg it back to the room but despite the fact we can see the rain clouds up the coast, seemingly coming in our direction, the rain never arrives.

On Wednesday we decide to make the 2-hour journey to La Paz. There are a couple of idyllic beaches to see and an island off the coast with colonies of sea lions and dolphins. We ask the concierge about Balandra Beach. He tells us there are restricted numbers allowed and the queueing starts at 5am, so we should leave at 3am. We pass on that option and decide to take our chances. It’s an amazing drive across the peninsula – the ocean on one side and the desert on the other. It’s a dual carriageway with not much else to look at apart from pylons and the occasional watering hole which we don’t sample but the road is good. Plenty of land for sale out here. At one point we have to steer around a herd of goats in the inside lane and there are lots of huge trucks with multiple trailers thundering down the highway to get past. We arrive in La Paz and make our way to the centre of town. The town is a scruffy and quite a run-down urban sprawl of commercial activity. We are very disappointed. The cultural centre which has a couple of museums is dead and the ‘Malecon’ which is a 2-3 mile strip of seafront, palm trees, a few marinas and lots of restaurants is dull. Maybe it’s the cloudy weather that puts a different light on things. The bay looks out to the port where either large cargo ships or cruise ships are passing. We stop for brunch and walk along the promenade – that’s what they call it in places like Cleethorpes.

From there we head up the coast to Balandra beach. Sure enough, we reach a police checkpoint where we are told the beach is full – it was full at 6am. We head along the beach a bit further to Tecolote beach. By now we are completely away from wifi and mobile signal. Here, the sea is eerily calm and very shallow. The beach is lined with a few shacks selling food and drink, a few boats offering trips to Balandra and dozens of pelicans. We take a spot on the quiet beach and are hypnotised by the sight of the pelicans diving into the sea to catch fish, just metres from swimmers. We decide we need to go see this amazing beach and get on a boat which will take us round the headland. Our captain is another big guy – could be Raoul’s brother. The boat sways violently as he steps up to the bow to lift the anchor, almost throwing the 8 passengers into the sea. But we set off with a powerful 300cc engine which gets us there pretty quickly – Mrs K (who doesn’t like thrill rides) manages to stifle some screams. There are in fact 6 beaches in the lagoon that is being protected. The water is crystal clear and about 4 feet deep over a huge area. On one side there are some really odd rock formations in the shape of a mushroom cloud, presumably just from erosion. We spend about 45 minutes there swimming amongst huge fish and eels. Our captain speaks mainly Spanish but Erica is there to translate for us. She is from San Diego with her husband Chris. Chris takes a photo of us in front of the mushroom rock but due to zero mobile signal we struggle to get the photo from one phone to the other and we never get to see it.

Back on the beach we find a bar and relax in front of the surf. We are sat next to a family and the wife asks me where I got my beer. They are also from San Diego but are originally Mexican. She asks us where we’re from and we get on to the subject of COVID in the UK. It turns out this woman believes the whole thing is some kind of hoax, that the US government is lying to everyone and she has no intention of having a vaccine until maybe 2023 by which time we expects to ‘have more information’. “Why do you think the government is lying to you?”, I ask. “Because they’re Democrats”, she says. She is very chatty and is really getting into her stride. When she tells us she has parents in their 80’s I point out that she might be taking a very big risk for herself and them by not taking the vaccine. She goes a bit quiet after that. But then we are saved by a band that wanders on to the beach. They are angling for business. Mrs “Covid-is-a-hoax” calls them over and they start their routine. It’s a slightly weird feeling sitting on this beach, miles from anywhere, cut off from civilisation, sipping beer, listening to a Mexican band and watching the pelicans swoop down into the sea. I guess that is what a holiday is all about. The band keep going for some time and I wonder how much Mrs Hoax has promised them. We offer a few pesos as much as an encouragement to round things off as anything else.

We leave the beach and start the long drive back. As soon as we get close to civilization again, our phones start going beserk. Mexico has gone red!

Well, we did say at the beginning of this trip that it was probably ambitious, but we hadn’t heard any chat about Mexico and since we have been here we have been amazed at how strict the protocols are – much much stricter than the UK. So what to do? The first thing we do is to stop for a meal at an amazing hotel on the way back home for a meal. Mrs K spotted it in a Vogue article and we book a table. As we arrive, a Mexican dressed all in white rushes out to meet us – they don’t get much passing traffic out here – it was 3km from the main road down a dusty and pot-holed road. We repeat the exercise of turning up to a very exclusive hotel and fancy restaurant straight from the beach but this time we are more prepared and hope that our transformation in the bathroom goes down well with the beautiful clientele. The waiter is very anxious to let us know that the pool and beach are for the exclusive use of the £500/night hotel guests and not passing riffraff like us. That’s fine, we are just here for the food. It’s the San Cristobal hotel near Todos Santos. Their website is very understated, in my opinion, and I think they could do with some Mrs K vogue shots to spruce it up a bit. We had a lovely meal there. Tip to get rid of flies – burn rosemary leaves.

The rest of the evening is taken up with the drive back and hanging on the phone trying to rearrange various hotels and flights and desperately trying to figure out what the rules are regarding return to the UK. Mrs K is an expert at all this stuff but we are up until 2am. The next day we have a tense 20 minutes or so waiting in a supermarket coffee shop for the results of a Covid test. Having invested a lot of time (and money) rearranging our trip there is a lot riding on the result. But we are both negative. It’s a big relief but we are brought back down to earth when our hire car won’t start and then when we eventually make it back to the hotel, we can’t get into our room for some reason.

Thanks everyone for your messages of concern. We don’t really expect to get much sympathy given where we are. But as you can see, we are doing just fine.

The next excerpt will come from Orlando, Florida, assuming President Biden lets us in.

Part 6

"Excuse me, but are you from the UK?"  

"Yes."  

"Living in UK?"  

"Yes."

"How did you get in?"

"It's a long story" says Mrs K.

And indeed it is.

On Saturday morning we were getting our paces in early.  At 5.45am, we are walking across the vast Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport.  The previous night we did a mini version of Tom Hanks 'The Terminal' and we slept at the airport airside.  Delta provided us with a small washbag to freshen up in the public loos. The details of our unscheduled overnight stay in Atlanta (another US city ticked off?) are almost too painful to relate but the short version is that we had a 2-hour connection en-route from Los Cabos to Orlando.  First there was a delay getting off the plane and then when we arrive in the immigration hall we realise almost immediately that we won't make our flight.  We are in the 'special' line for connecting flights but so are (I guesstimate) about 1500 others.  Our line goes up and down the huge hall 12 times, 50m each way.  But then we realise we are just in the holding area - this line is the queue to get into the immigration hall where we duly join another line.  Mrs K pleads our case with an official and we are put into a different line.  This seems to be the “whiny non-resident” queue which is shorter but moves at a glacial pace.  We can see about 8 immigration officials working.  Not only do we miss our flight but we are literally the last people to leave the immigration hall.

We get our cases which are thankfully sat lonely on the floor in the vast baggage area and we set off for a Delta desk.  Then it gets really painful.  Again, in short, there are no seats available on any flight for about 24 hours. We are just a 6-hour drive from Orlando, so my idea is that we just rent a car and drive.  Seems reasonable but we eventually work out that there is no way that we can leave the airport with our luggage. It is tagged for Orlando and it cannot leave the airport any other way, even though we are physically holding it.  It is exasperating and no one seems to care a jot.  One guy tells us we might be able to go to baggage services and try to retrieve our bags (which have by now gone down the belt into the Delta baggage system).  It's in another terminal and he's not sure if the office will be open.   By this time the airport is thinning out and it is tricky to find staff. After a train ride and long walk we give up trying to find the office and eventually find our way back to a Delta office - where we join another long queue.

So that was the short version, believe me. We spent the night in a small box provided by "Minute Suites".  I quickly realise that minute refers to size not the time.  There is no shower as advertised but we are so tired we just hunker down on the pull-out sofa and try to get some sleep.  The good news is that we are booked on the 7.25am flight to Orlando where we very much hope to be reunited with our luggage. I guess we just ticked off a few stereotypes.  European travellers that get overly stressed about the US airline system. Others seem to be taking it in their stride and at the gate the screen tells me that there are 5 seats left and 15 people on standby. Luckily Mrs K was first at the desk in the morning. When we arrive in Orlando, by some miracle our cases are there waiting for us having travelled the previous evening without us.

Then we arrive at the car rental desk.

“Excuse me sir, it appears that your driving licence has expired?”

“No, that can’t be right, driving licences don’t expire until you are 70”

I look at my card. There is a date of 27^th June 2021. The key on the back in tiny print says that is the expiry date. Mrs K and I look at each other.

But the girl says “OK, if you are sure I will take your word for it”

I have now applied for a new licence which means I am legal. Mrs K’s expires soon too but neither of us received the reminder as we are supposed to, 2 months before expiry.

We are now 'home' in a place we have stayed at about 4 or 5 times before, on International Drive in the centre of Orlando. The weather here is slightly cooler than Los Cabos but more humid – hot and sticky. But it cools down a lot in the evening which is nice. I gather it has been raining a lot in the UK. It rains a lot here too but in short violent bursts

I know that being on International Drive means that Mrs K will insist on a shopping trip at the outlets. The only good news is that it is tax free week - no 6.5% sales tax.  It’s actually ‘back to school’ week but we will take full advantage. I suggest we go on Sunday afternoon thinking it will be quiet and get all our shopping done in an afternoon. Wrong on both counts.  We are at Vineland Premium Outlets if you been here before. It has a massive car park but we drive around for 10 minutes before we give up and opt for valet - even there we have to queue.  Some of the shops have queues outside but Mr K refuses to queue. We both get waterproof jackets which get an early outing when the heavens open.  Actually, it is advisable to stay out of the rain to avoid being struck by lightning.  While I am waiting outside under cover, while Mrs K is in a shop, I sit next to a fellow sufferer and, looking at his haul, I realise I might be relatively well off. Mrs K has shopping bag envy when she sees him.

Mrs K tells me she doesn’t want to buy a handbag, which comes as a great relief to me, until she says “I want to buy two, with matching purses”. Mr K gets another t-shirt.

Now we are in the US, most diners that you go to have multiple TVs around the place showing all the sports channels. We watch a bit of the Olympic closing ceremony. But the channel that is most interesting is the one showing the American Cornholing League. This is basically throwing beanbags into a hole on a board 27ft away. We watch some kind of final with a noisy crowd watching and a huge trophy awarded to the winner. This game looks good for the competitive Keen family – all ages can play and it’s easy to set up in the garden, weather permitting. Check it out at Cornhole Rules | Official Cornhole Rules and Gameplay (playcornhole.org)

Now we are intent on relaxing over our last few days away from home. This afternoon we visited the ‘Eye’ on International Drive from which you can just about see at least 2 Disney parks and look down on the Orlando Convention Centre. Another thunderstorm is coming so we head off to play golf (in the foreground of this photo). It’s OK because it is under cover – TopGolf can be found in the UK too. It’s the first time Mrs K has properly swung a golf club and she gets right into it. Unconventional dress but effective swing.

Final Part

There is a guy running down the beach with an electric drill with a 2-foot long drill bit attachment.  Thankfully, it’s not something out of a horror movie. He uses it to drill holes in the sand for umbrellas.  Americans have a tool or gadget for everything. Others on the beach arrive with trolleys to carry all their essential beach equipment – umbrellas, chairs, massive cool boxes, gazebos and hammocks.

We are in a place called Anna Maria island on the Gulf Coast just a few miles south of St Petersburg and Clearwater. 

It was a 2-hour trip from Orlando which for Americans is just a short drive to the beach.  We stopped en route for a light breakfast. This was the ‘old timer’s’ breakfast with ‘all the fixings’. That includes grits and gravy.

There isn’t much here except a very long strip of land and a very long beach of white sand and gentle waves. It seems to be a relatively affluent area given some of the houses we have seen and by the size of yachts in the marina.  We are just content to sit on the beach and swim in the warm water of the gulf.  The sun is out and the white sand makes it blindingly bright. An umbrella and sunglasses are an absolute must.  

I marvel at the beach infrastructure.  There is a proper 3 storey lifeguard station just next to us and slightly smaller ones every 200m down the beach, with patrols going up and down the beach in small buggies. What are we being protected from? The sea seems pretty benign. Seems overkill for the numbers here.  Social distancing is very easy. 

It starts to turn a bit darker around 2pm and there is a siren and tannoy announcement that we need to evacuate the beach because an electrical storm is on the way.  So dramatic.

But we comply and after a tour of the island we find the Beach House Cafe to eat.

Back in Orlando, Mrs K has been nagging me to play golf again (OK slight exaggeration) so we find a minigolf course (crazy golf in UK).  I make the mistake of offering Mrs K a shot a hole and she almost beats me scratch.  She suggests I need to work on my putting and maybe I need to buy a new putter. I am an obedient husband so we visit a store the next day. The guy serving me says he is a professional golfer and knows what he is talking about. I wonder why he is selling golf clubs. He is shocked that we are from the UK.

“That’s good”, he says.

“Haven’t seen anyone from those parts in here for a long time.”

“Mr Biden wouldn’t let us come.” Says Mrs K

“We don’t mention that name here”, he says.

Do not mention the B word

I try out a few putters with mixed results on the practice carpet. He gives me a 5 minute lecture on what kind of putter would suit me. I am sceptical but when he hands me the perfect putter, I hole every single putt. Maybe he does know what he is talking about.

There has been some more shopping, sitting by the pool and obviously some very enjoyable dining experiences. We return to Disney Springs and go to the Boathouse. It is billed as the best dining experience at Disney. Probably not a high bar but it was a very popular spot and we had a very nice seafood meal.  We are now back on track with our ordering here - shared courses is more than sufficient.

We have also worked out how to use google maps. When Mrs K says turn left, I just turn right and vice versa. It seems to work perfectly.

As we approach our journey home next week, we are more mindful of the spike in COVID-19 cases here in Florida – about 150k cases over the last week. In a sign of the political divisions over the virus in the US, the Florida governor passed a law which gives parents the freedom to decide whether kids wear masks in school or not. But he went further in trying to penalise schools which wanted to make masks compulsory. Covid is a politically charged issue here.

On Saturday, we make our last excursion, this time to Daytona Beach on the Atlantic side of Florida. This is a shorter trip, just over an hour. We read reviews that the beach is overcrowded and this being a Saturday we are not sure what to expect. But it becomes clear that Americans have no idea what a crowded beach is like. The beach goes on for miles but we pick a spot in the centre next to the pier. The surf is looking exciting but there is a lifeguard on duty who blows her incredibly loud whistle at anyone that tries to venture out too far. A Dad with his 2 kids asks me “How far you going out?” “As far as she will let me”, I say. I am half deaf and blind without my glasses so I am oblivious to the whistle and people waving their arms at me for a few minutes. Between waves the water is just above your knees but then some waves crash over your head. The undercurrents are really strong, enough to knock you off your feet. “She’s enjoying her whistle today”, he says as I sheepishly make my way back to the sand.

We retire to the Ocean Deck bar next to the beach. We are on one of the outside veranda tables overlooking the beach but also in touch with the lively karaoke bar inside.  I am trying to convince Mrs K that she should get in there and show them how it is done.  Even the poor singers are getting applause from the inebriated audience.  Many of you know that Mrs K could bring the house down but she refuses.  I needed you here to help me persuade her.  Our waitress (she likes me) is trying to help me but it’s no good.  Mrs K has no alcohol whereas I am 2 cocktails and a Guinness in.  Daytona is the, shall we say, less sophisticated side of Florida but much more fun.

A guy parades his new sun hat along the deck. He is really proud of it. No one has the heart to tell him that it still has the sales tag on it. This is a strictly no-alcohol beach which is probably just as well given the strong waves.

That is about it from us. We fly back on Tuesday evening to make sure there is no argument about the 10 days in the US. I’m pleased to say we just tested negative on our pre-flight PCR test.

That means I will work a couple of days here. Mrs K will be left to her own devices, which is a bit scary for her and me. Scary for me because she will ultimately be left unsupervised at the shops with our credit card. Scary for her because she will have to drive herself there and back.

It has been a fantastic trip with lots of great weather, much needed relaxation, with a few bits of excitement along the way. We feel really lucky to have scraped under the wire again. First in Malta last year, in Portugal earlier this year and then in Mexico.

Looking forward to the next trip. Thanks for reading.

Jeff