For Thursday, April 16, 1998 Drummer Column, Gibbs, 705 words

MexiGO back again

Go. In a nutshell, that's my advice about visiting Cabo San Lucas, a jumping Mexican resort town at the tip of Baja. Go. Sun, sand, sauza, smiles, sea and si all blend together to make it a blissful paradise.

Si, the Gibbses and the Wests vacationed together again. Three teachers and a principal loose in Mexico. Ay, yi, yi.

Normally, I spend my spring break on a backpacking trip with my students, but this year, after 12 years, I decided, with my wife's help, to spend spring break with her.

Never been to Mexico. My world travels included Canada and the US -- north, south, east, west. Traveling south of the border was a big thrill and a mystery. Luckily, we got good advice from our daughter, Kristi, and Chad. They honeymooned in Cabo last fall and convinced us to go.

"Beware the timeshare" was the kids' primary advice. Heed it well. All is wonderful about Cabo, but it is fueled by timeshare dollars and everybody in town is on commission -- cabbies, waiters, store clerks, car rental agents, information booth attendants, bartenders. People are nice in Cabo, but if someone is too doggoned nice, he's probably pushing timeshares.

Immediately beyond the airport customs gate, a gauntlet of 40 salesmen yelled urgently for our attention, waving hotel signs, implying they had critical information, beckoning wildly for us to approach. In fact, many did represent our hotel because it's one of the timeshare hotels. We played deaf (an easy trick for me) and walked straight to our pre-arranged ride into town.

At our grand resort, which we liked tremendously, the Villa Del Palmar, we were greeted gingerly and invited to an early morning complimentary breakfast and hospitality tour. Read "timeshare pitch." We attended and digested a dollop of egg, pinch of potato, some fruit wedges, and 75-minutes of timeshare benefits.

I personally had no interest in buying 30 years of vacation that day, but as a journalist figured I owed it to my readers to investigate the internal workings of the timeshare specter. Also, we got free coupons.

The sales people were kind, professional, persistent. The process was an assembly line. The desk greeter introduced us to the contact girl who took us to the staging area where a sales manager introduced our tour guide who meandered us up to the closing room to meet the main pitchman who was later joined by the closing manager. We said, "Thanks, but no thanks," took our coupons and continued on our vacation.

Though, I must say, if you ARE interested in timeshare -- at, say, $20 grand for 30 weeks -- you definitely want to consider Cabo. It's growing in leaps, with cranes aplenty, and it's a happening town.

Cabo has parasailing, snorkeling, fishing, cruises, horseback riding, ATV and jetski rentals, you name it. We chose the lounging-by-the-pool option. We spent our mornings in bed, our afternoons by the pool or sea eating fruit and shrimp, and our evenings in town. In town we ate and danced our nights away.

Downtown Cabo is compact and keystoned with night clubs and happy hours. Two-story Squid Roe at the heart is more of an arena than a night club -- the open central court has basketball hoops and balconies. The Giggling Marlin hangs patrons upside-down and shoots tequila at them. Kokomo's open walls let its loud music blow across town, causing people to dance in the streets.

It turns out that Ron West is quite the dancer, on the floor and off. Jane, of course, drank the only five Diet Cokes in town. She was our designated pointer: "The hotel is that way." Susan chronicled the trip on film, with one hand, and I walked around remembering stuff. Sometimes I stopped to bother people, offering them timeshares; the other three would then pull me along.

On our last day, we shopped for souvenirs. I bought a hat because I liked the smell of it. It smells like Mexico. In Ron's car on the ride home, while crossing the Bay Bridge, I stuck my face in my hat, closed my eyes, took a big whiff, and for a few moments slipped back to Cabo San Lucas for one last happy grin.