"Authenticity" is tricky

...and maybe intrinsically misguided.

Kailee (my sister) and the sunset by our hotel in Cabo San Lucas

I already suck at this blog thing. It's been what, two weeks since my last post? And considering my immediate circumstances, I can already tell I won't be able to write this entire post in one sitting. At least not the post I want to write. I'm in a salon/internet cafe in Mazatlan (accent over the last "a". Get used to missing accents- I don't know how to apply them with my keypad and cut&pasted accents are just not gonna happen) and they charge for wi-fi access.

The week in Cabo San Lucas was actually very nice. Though most of the town was under construction to create a more tourist-friendly infrastructure, everything in the center was accessible. Despite the occasional moments of tension, irritability, stress, and borderline physical confrontation that comes with family travel (right?) the trip was relaxing, and a nice transition into Mexico for me.

In order to get discounts on various activities (snorkeling, swimming with dolphins, etc) my parents suffered through a two-hour timeshare presentation that came with a free breakfast. As we sat for breakfast, one of the presenters came to our table with her bienvenidos spiel, adding that we were having authentic Mexican food as if it was such an atypical experience for hotel guests. Usually weirded out by all the superficialities of pristine resorts and the lifestyle they promote (and sell), I went into self-indulgent judgemental mode. Wtf was she talking about? Is authentic Mexican food hard to come by in Mexico? Up to that point I'd heard quite a bit of praise in finding whatever constitutes being authentic or local. In my previous post I indirectly lumped myself in the "authenticity-hungry backpacker" camp. Clearly I'd already decided what that authenticity looked like and what it meant. It looked like this:
and not so much this:
In assuming for myself what authentic Mexico was, I'd also decided what it couldn't be. I am such an asshole. Cabo San Lucas, with its fancy resorts, Gringo Gazettes and all, is as Mexican as the graffiti adorned barrios and roadside taquerias on the outskirts are. It's all Mexico. The whole enchilada.

I have a feeling this isn't the first time I'm going to realize I'm not as open-minded as I thought.

Oh and I also went to La Paz, which is calmer and less tourism-ridden than Los Cabos two hours south. In my opinion, the beaches are nicer as well. Crystal clear water, a couple local fishermen, a young Swedish family, myself and my Couchsurfing host (semi-retired American pilot Brian), and some intrepidly curious schools of stripped fishies were all that stirred in Belandro (sp?) Bay one afternoon. Even the pelicans resting in shade of the rocky overhang stood still as if in a synchronized trance. The only way to get to these beaches is to drive or boat as they are not within walking distance of the city center like in Cabo San Lucas.

Pics from La Paz, Baja California Sur. August 19-20:

Packing List modifications:

Additions:
-snorkel gear (mask and snorkel)
-laxatives
-travel sewing kit (taken from hotel room in Cabos)
-sunscreen SPF 100
-canvas shoulder bag

Subtractions:
-sleeping pad