Cabo: An Exposé

College spring break: a legend, a stereotype, your mom’s worst nightmare, and everything in between. This concept is idealized as the ultimate getaway and excuse to abandon any semblance of morals. It manifests as an effort to simultaneously peak and hit rock bottom. Coming from a family of relatively strict parents opposed to the idea of binge drinking and roaming a foreign country in a bikini, I never thought this would be an experience I’d have. But there I was, a sophomore in college stumbling around Cabo San Lucas with a neon headband reading “Ass Muncher” tastefully tied around my head and little to no clothing on my body.

Although the days I spent in Cabo may not have included my most respectable moments, I would go back in a second. Day one began with an early awakening and the faciest plane ride you’ve ever seen. Half of Michigan’s Greek life scene rolled up to DTW to board a Miami International Charter flight at a punctual 6:00am. You came on this trip to see everyone and their mother, so why shouldn’t that start immediately, right? I had never witnessed a level of aggression quite like that crowd of Michigan students rushing to board the plane. It was like an angry stampede running through the desert in the Lion King, only to realize only the first few rows had been called. Those poor airport employees.

Fast forward to arriving at Pueblo Bonito, the epitome of an all-inclusive rip-off. Days here were characterized by a back and forth of the Rose and Blanco hotels, drinking until the bar ran out of tequila (still wondering how a bar in Mexico can run out of tequila because that’s literally its one job, but alright Pueblo).

Nothing quite paralleled the day at Omnia with Loud Luxury. Apparently anything is worth it to see the one song you know of theirs (Body) played out of a speaker but by the real deal. I found myself pleasantly surprised after complaining about the 30-minute car ride from the hotel to end up at a boujee pool club with an open bar and frat boys surveying the scene from their tables. Wish I could recount more from this epic day, but sadly the only remaining memories exist in the cactus thorns that are still surfacing from my fingers.

Nights began with crowded hotel-room pregames before walking across the beach (in wedges) to see the night's scheduled performer (half the people wondering, who is Rick Ross?). After the giant mixers came to a close, the herd would migrate to El Squid Roe: four floors of the best (or worst) times of your life. Most enjoyable to those who got Grey Goose streamlined down their throats by Waka Flocka dressed in a cow suit. Don’t ask questions, I guess.

If you made it through this trip without yacking at least once, losing your sunglasses or shoes, making a questionable decision about your love life, having a probably too close interaction with Mexican wildlife (turtles, flamingos, etc.), and JusCollege Fyre Festivaling you in some way, shape or form, I have some questions for you.

To conclude, I guess I’m saying I 10/10 recommend this trip – but do expect to come back a changed person for better or worse.