Despite my general lack of motivation to do much of anything while in Cabo, we made the trip out to the infamous arch at Land’s End, or El Arco as the locals call it. The arch is probably the most recognizable landmark in Cabo San Lucas, and it sits perched upon the southernmost tip of the Baja California Sur Peninsula where the Pacific Ocean and the Sea of Cortez meet. It’s definitely a tourist trap, but only if you let it be.
Strong riptides and rocky coastlines make most of Cabo’s gorgeous beaches unswimmable. Medano Beach is the most popular with tons of resorts and nightlife nearby, but it’s also swarming with tourists and crowded with water sports. We spent about 10 seconds there before hopping onto a $10/person “glass bottom boat” for a ride out to the arch. I use the term glass bottom loosely because a 3ft x 1.5ft window does not make a glass bottom in my book.
We made our way through the gulf and the tourist boats seemed to multiply by the second from every wave that crashed around us. We saw the arch, and I wish I could make this sentence a little more exciting but honestly that’s how it left me feeling. It was cool, but much smaller than I’d thought. It probably would’ve been a lot cooler if the boat would’ve dropped us off on land rather than giving us a quick peak from 100 yards away. I’m just glad we only paid $10 to check it out.
We were dropped off at a small beach nestled between two gigantic rocks not far from the mainland. The place was overrun with sunbathers, snorkelers, and boats, so we ventured on over a small cluster of rocks for a bit more privacy.
Belinda and Sherri set up shop on a secluded stretch of sand just on the other side of tourist hell, relaxing in the shade of towering rocks that resembled the canyons of Wall Street—only prettier. I tackled the deceivingly inviting blue water, and after several losing battles (just to be fair, the waves played nasty with wardrobe malfunctions, face plants, and mouthfuls of saltwater and sand), I needed a break from the bitch that is the Sea of Cortez. Even Belinda, born and raised on the beaches of Australia, got knocked off her feet more than once. I decided it was time for me to moved on over mountains of rocks towards Lover’s Beach.
The smartest thing I did all day was break away from the tourists in search of Lover’s and Divorce Beach. I let go of all my vain concerns about jiggly body bits and set out in nothing but my bikini, sunglasses, and my camera strapped to my wrist. I figured the less shit I had on me while navigating between slippery rocks and angry waves, the less likely I was to break a limb.
I’d guess that it took about 25 minutes of strategic rock hopping to reach the small but serene Lover’s Beach. And best of all there were only two kids surfing and a few canoodling European couples (how fitting). The water was even more lover-ly; it didn’t seem like it wanted to pillage you and hold you hostage at all. I made my way up from the water and onto the tan sand of paradise only to realize it was actually quite rocky on my bare feet. But I had made it this far, I had to tough it out and make it to Divorce Beach.
After about ten steps it became clear that what looked like a quick, easy jaunt was more like walking on hot coals and shards of glass. I don’t know if the rocky sand was cutting or burning my feet more, but it hurt. Seeing that I had the distance of about two city blocks ahead of me, I picked up the pace. And my thought process went a little something like this:
“Shit, should I turn back around? Should I sit down on my butt real quick and rock from cheek to cheek, just until my feet cool off?” I sped up even more, and now my jiggly bits were in fact, jiggling. “What if I trip and fall and burn my face off in this scorching fire glass? Is there any shade ANYWHERE?”
It took a lot of uncontrollable cursing and unwarranted bikini jogging (yes, just like a scene from Baywatch, but minus the hot bikini babe and plus Slimer from the Ghostbusters), but I made it to the Pacific Ocean just in time to save my feet from amputation. Once semi-cooled down, I realized I was the only person on this side of the beach. Suddenly all was right in the world again. So quiet, peaceful, and relaxing. Watching the power of the waves could only be described as one of those “mother nature’s a badass” moments.
I stayed at Divorce Beach for a good hour or so until a few more people found out about my secret. Most of me was enjoying the scenery, but my blistered feet were dreading the sprint back across the fiery pits of hell. Luckily I must’ve burnt off the layer of skin that has any feeling the first time around, so the way back was a cakewalk. Yay for third degree burns!