I’ve been to San Jose a few times: twice on my own and once for my nephew’s wedding. It’s a super cute little town, and it has unsurprisingly developed quite a bit in the last decade. While it still has an artsy vibe, it’s considerably more upscale now. We knew almost immediately that one week just wasn’t gonna cut it. 

Day two we broke out the folding bikes to tour the town and scope out the local pickleball spot (shout out to Club Huerta!). Rode my bike there — a few intermittently hairy miles away — every other day-ish … and when my tires weren’t flattened by the sketchy road conditions. True confession: I am totally addicted to pickleball. I’ll admit that I’m an enabler, too. There, I’ve said it. Not apologizing, just sayin’. It’s just so. much. fun. I play for hours at a time and love every minute, win or lose. I of course prefer to win, but any good game works. And it’s always entertaining to see that while the names and hometowns change, the characters are pretty much the same: you’ve got your bangers, droppers and spinners; those who take the game entirely too seriously and those who pretend they don’t; the (usually male chauvinist) ball hoggers; the drivers who refuse to play close to the kitchen; the flagrant cheaters and the ones who almost always call a close ball out; the swearers and apologizers; young and old; all sizes, shapes, colors, and backgrounds. It’s truly a great equalizing sport, and the fact that you can go solo and get your fun, cardio, and socialization on for as long and hard as you want … chef’s kiss. Since T will play with me only under duress, and only enjoys playing with particular people, he’s always thrilled when he doesn’t have to sacrifice his time, jeopardize his body and ego (he has experienced some totally-not-funny-but-so-ridiculous-you-can’t-help-but-be-a-terrible-wife-and-chuckle court misfortunes), and inflame his plantar fasciitis just to indulge me. 

OK, moving on … Mexican food has not historically been my jam. But T got me into fish tacos a while ago and I’ve been hooked ever since. I’m happy to report that San Jose del Cabo did not disappoint in the taco department. The best we had were at La Lupita Taco y Mezcal downtown: not cheap, but both the tacos and mezcal were worth every peso and did the joint’s name justice. We did a repeater visit at their other location on Valentine’s Day and the sequel was just as good as the original. We also went on the perennial Thursday Art Walk (enriching and entertaining; a lot of incredible galleries here), biked to the local beach and christened our chairs and umbrella (the latter will require some future finessing), watched the Eagles destroy the Chiefs in the Super Bowl (sooooo satisfying), saw a movie (Absolution/Implacable. didn’t realize it was all in Spanish — with no subtitles — so didn’t get everything but was 100% clear that it was totally depressing and the absolute opposite mood we were going for at the time of viewing), did some puzzling, gave my nails and toes some much needed attention, visited the beautiful Gypsy Soul House (a decadent pampering indulgence that kicked off with the “nordic spa experience”: champagne, nuts and cranberries, followed by body exfoliation, outdoor shower, barrel sauna, cold plunge, sauna, shower, more champagne … all before a delicious 90-minute deep tissue massage. YUM). Groceries are about the same price as in the U.S. (how do the Mexicans afford it?), but spa treatments are bizarrely inexpensive. T got a haircut (long overdue), and also took a side trip to LA to visit friends and replace our busted water heater and poop tank. So our bucket squatting and cold water dishwashing days are numbered … hallelujah! 

One of the coolest things about cruising is the ability to alter your itinerary whenever and however you like. We ended up spending three weeks in San Jose vs. the originally planned one, and enjoyed our stay immensely. Next stop: Los Frailes, en route to La Cruz de Huanacaxtle — La Cruz for short — on the Riveria Nayarit.