Right next to Cabo Wabo was Baja Tattoo, which happened to be next
on my list. Baja is owned by Nitro and his lovely wife, and is arguably
one of the best tattoo shops in that area. They are fully licensed and
in good standing regarding Mexican health codes as a facility for
tattooing, something that is still pretty rare in this part of the world.
I was amazed to learn that many tattoo shops in Mexico are not up
to par with licensing and health and safety regulations. Nitro and his
artists at Baja produce quality work with international artists frequently
visiting and guest-spotting.
Super Bowl 50 was one of my last days in Cabo. As a football lover
and the Denver Broncos as my team, I was stoked to be watching the
Super Bowl in paradise. The Mango Deck was hosting a Super Bowl
extravaganza with the game on a jumbotron right in front of the water.
We made our reservations and were told that due to high capacity,
we would be sharing the table with two other people. The more the
merrier. As we were waiting for the game to start, we wandered to
a place next to the Mango Deck, where the micheladas were made
30
InkSpiredMagazine.com
right and the queso con chorizo was divine. As the game was starting,
we made our way to our reserved table. Nothing beats watching your
favorite football team win the Super Bowl next to the sea with a bucket
of Pacificos and shots of tequila. Bucket list, check. I overheard an
older American lady who obviously had a little too much liquid courage
in her system talking smack (albeit attempting to joke) to the Mexican
couple they were sharing a table with. “If you don’t start rooting for the
Broncos, I’ll cut you!” she would slur. When she realized I was also a
Broncos fan, she stumbled over to me, cheering. She proceeds to yell,
“these people next to me, no hablo español!” I stared blankly at her
and said, “first of all, you’re saying it wrong, and secondly, you know
you’re in Mexico, right?” I diverted my attention back to my beer and
the game. We were Super Bowl champions and nothing could get me
down, not even this obnoxious lady. I remembered Zach telling me
stories of a portly man dressed as a conquistadora accompanied by
a lady with a whistle in a soccer uniform that would come pour booze
down your throat. Sure enough, I heard the whistle blowing. Uh oh.
We were soon approached by this festive duo. She pointed at me and