Recharging in Cabo: The Trip That Reminded Me What Matters

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The Umbrellas We Never Used

(A Cabo Trip, a Birthday Bash, and a Reminder About What Really Matters)

Sometimes you don’t realize how much you need a break until you take one.

For years, I’d talked about going to Cabo San Lucas — not for beaches or golf, but for one specific thing: Sammy Hagar’s birthday bash.

The tickets are like gold dust — a hundred thousand people chasing three thousand seats. You have to win a lottery just to buy one, but somehow, this year, we got lucky.

We looked at each other and said, “The timing isn’t great… but let’s go anyway.”

There was a lot going on. My official retirement was days away, there were birthdays galore that week — my mom’s, my father-in-law’s, my dad’s. Everything felt urgent, everything was a priority.

But we decided to set it all aside. After all, Sammy wasn’t getting any younger — and neither was I.

Life wasn’t going to stop spinning just because we stayed home.

So, we booked our flights, grabbed a hotel on the marina, packed our bags, and headed to Cabo.

The First Steps

We did what any seasoned travelers do: watched a few YouTube videos first. Getting from the airport to the hotel looked expensive, but the city bus seemed easy — $8 per person instead of $40–$100.

City bus it was!

Finding the stop was easy enough, once we pushed through the gauntlet of timeshare salespeople who pounce the second you clear customs.

Finding the right bus — easy.

Paying and getting a seat — easy.

Understanding the route — complete mystery.

There seemed to be bus stops, but you could also just wave and it would pull over.

No announcements,

no signs,

no clue.

So of course, we missed our stop.

A beautiful 96° day. Ninety percent humidity. Three kilometers of walking.

Did I mention the sun? The heat? The humidity?

Oh — and packing luggage through rush hour traffic.

The joys of travel.

By the time we finally reached the hotel, sweaty and half-delirious, we were greeted by air conditioning, the smell of salt, and that view: the marina glittering under the afternoon sun.

We fell into Cabo’s rhythm almost instantly.

The Rhythm we fell into

Every morning we’d walk the waterfront — sea lions barking, waves crashing, the breeze off the Sea of Cortez and the mighty Pacific.

Then coffee on the veranda — those long, quiet breakfasts you never get at home.

We’d wander with no plan, just curiosity.

Sure, we did the tourist things: a boat ride to El Arco, a dinner cruise, strolling through art gardens and market streets.

But most days we just explored side roads and back alleys, found a shady spot for a drink, and talked with people from all over the world.

It wasn’t about sightseeing or souvenirs. It was about breathing again.

Slow, deep breaths that rinse the stress away and refill the soul.

The Birthday Bash

The reason for the trip finally arrived — the show.

It was everything I’d hoped for: good music, a calm crowd, the songs that carried us through our youth.

The audience was older, a little slower, but still alive. No drama, no chaos — just smiles, laughter, and that electric moment when a band you grew up with reminds you who you used to be.

For one night, the years folded in on themselves, and we were young again.

Happy birthday, Sammy.

The Rain That Stopped the World, or slowed down Cabo anyway

Then came the rain.

Not much by our standards, but for Cabo — it was big news. Locals were talking, shops boarding up, people rushing to finish errands before the storm.

Back home, this would’ve been a summer drizzle.

In Cabo, it was an event.

The city gets 300 days of sunshine. Most locals don’t even own umbrellas — because why would they?

When it rains, they stay home, eat, laugh, enjoy the break from the sun.

Shops close. Streets empty. Families just wait it out together.

We, on the other hand, went into full mission mode.

Find umbrellas we must!

Walmart? No.

Costco? No.

Not a single store carried them. The only umbrellas in town were for the beach.

Finally, tucked in a dusty corner of a mall, we found a tiny shop selling a few forgotten umbrellas for $14 each — practically collector’s items.

I grumbled, bought two, and walked back to the hotel feeling victorious.

Later, while sitting drinking my victory cerveza, the waiter looked curiously at the umbrellas sitting on the table,

I told our waiter the story, the saga it was, the miles walked, how many people we talked to in an effort to track them down.

He laughed and said he’d owned only one umbrella — years ago, when he’d studied abroad in Nebraska.

We talked about how strange Nebraska had been to him — green, flat, wet. How much he’d loved it, and the people. Then he smiled and said,

“When I came home, I left the umbrella there. I knew I wouldn’t need it again.”

That line stuck with me.

For him, the rain wasn’t something to fight, not just an annoyance to deal with — it was a reason to step back and breath, stay home with family, a part of life that meant something different here. And in that, there was a kind of peace we forget exists.

Contrast and Gratitude

We also took time and wandered beyond the postcard Cabo — we made our way out beyond the tourist zone — out where the shiny hotels fade, beyond the gated residences of the Hollywood elite, sports figures, and other wealthy part time residents, out to working class neighborhoods where the real Cabo begins.

People hustled, worked hard, smiled big. Kids played in the streets, and in dusty parks. Houses were small, modest, some unfinished, sometimes patched together — but the laughter was full, the spirit was bright everywhere we went.

Out here we saw tiny places to grab food, or drinks. Sometimes nothing more than a couple tables on the sidewalk in front of what appeared to be someone's home, but still the smiles were there, big genuine, welcoming.

We prayed for those families, for safety, for opportunity. But more than anything, we felt gratitude — the kind we too often misplace in our busy lives.

We talked about the disparity that exists in a place like this, a place full of haves and have nots.

These weren’t people chasing more; they were living with what they had. And it looked a lot like contentment.

It humbled us.

Made me think "maybe they should be praying for us"

— to remember what really matters.

The Umbrellas We Never Used

By the last day, our umbrellas sat untouched on the hotel dresser.

It rained lightly that morning. We sat beneath a canopy, sipping cinnamon coffee, listening to drops roll off the edges, holding hands while sea lions barked somewhere out in the mist.

And I thought — how much noise we fill our lives with. How many moments of together we trade for motion or money.

How much of what is truly irreplaceable we so easily trade for what we think is valuable at the moment.

We’d walked miles for something we thought we needed, only to discover what we really needed was to stop walking.

To just be.

Coming Home

We came home recharged, grateful, and quiet. Not the quiet of fatigue — the quiet of realization.

Life doesn’t pause for anyone. But if you’re lucky enough to step away — to listen to the rain, to wonder what sea lions talk about, to hold hands and watch the world slow down — you come back seeing your own world a little clearer.

The umbrellas? Still in the bag.

A reminder not of what we thought we needed to endure the rain in our life.

But of what we truly need: peace, presence, and gratitude for a little rain that makes you stop and listen to the rhythm of life.

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