From our hotel room at the Playa Grande we would hear raucous male chants every afternoon around 2:30. There was “GO! GO! GO! GO!” followed by animalistic grunts of the Tim Allen variety. I decided to get to the bottom of this, so I ventured forth in fearful anticipation of some giant iguana surrounded by young men armed with spears. But no, it was only Tequila Volleyball, a daily event sponsored by the Playa Grande in which two teams of men were fed with free tequila and launched into a pool with a net across the middle. A cute señorita sporting a referee shirt and whistle threw out a volleyball, and the gladiatorial combat would begin.
What did I expect? Cabo is a party town, and here I was, a dour Puritan who was only trying to read a biography of Alan Turing, progenitor of the computer, assailed by misguided darts of raw testosterone. Naturally, I retreated to the cover of my room until order was restored.