Our travel gang had decided it was time for a cruise.   And to the Mexican Riviera, no less. Looked to be a lot of  fun.

Well, everyone piled onto the boat, and took stock of the surroundings.  The cabins were great, with two of them being sumptuous suites, but not, unfortunately, with hot and cold running girls. 

The first two days at sea were pretty well occupied by nonstop parties, as well as the usual cruise ship activities.  There were a couple of bad comedians working the ship, but they disapeared, to be replaced by others at the first port.  Rumor having it that they were lost overboard.

After two days of this debauchery, everyone was ready to go ashore, with visions of the RIVIERA. (Bejeweled ladies, luxury casinos, world-class restaurants, and a chance to mix with the rich and famous.)

Imagine our surprise when we opened the blinds next morning.  The ship must have taken a wrong turn during the night, because instead of the Riviera, we beheld Puerto Vallarta, a crummy third world fishing village.

So, everybody piled ashore anyway, for tours and shopping. Of course, as at every cruise ship destination, there were the ubiquitous jewelry stores, hawking unknown brand stuff to the crowd from the ship.  I am always at a loss though, to understand why anyone would want to buy diamonds in a third world village.

Pat and I bypassed the frenzied activity in town, opting for a taxi ride down the coast, where we hung out on the beach, drinking two-dollar Coronas.

The next day, in Mazitlan, it was pretty much the same thing all over again, except there was a pretty neat Mexican Mercado, which had a lot of interesting stuff, including Cuban cigars.  Pat and I toured the city in an oversized golf cart, which at least got one close to the people.

The last stop was Cabo San Lucas, a real world-class resort.  Here one could find shops selling really good stuff, along with genuine Mexican handicrafts. And, of course, the numberless cafés pushing overpriced beer.

Then it was back on the ship for two overnights back to Los Angeles. 

All went well until the next morning, when the ship unexplainably broke down.  Some doohickey in the propulsion system apparently failed, cutting the ships speed down considerably. 

While the Captain continually assured us that everything was OK, the ship went slower and slower, till in desperation, the ship’s officers asked for volunteers to man the oars.  Some of our younger guys thought this might be good for bodybuilding, but opted out when it was explained that per Company policy, it was mandatory to tip the guy with the whip.


Anyway, we finally drug into port only eight hours late, and nobody was much the worst for wear. And a good time was had by all, but I kinda made up the part about the guy with the whip.