An American happily counts his blessings
http://www.detnews.com/2004/metro/0411/16/A02-5922.htm
By Neal Rubin
The Detroit News
November 16, 2004
Because we were four swinging gringos on vacation, we went to Tijuana last week. Because we are older swinging gringos than we used to be, we played
golf.
Then we vamoosed back across the border. It's not that we can't run with the big dogs anymore, we told ourselves. But our golf clubs were involved,
and what if someone broke into the minivan?
Before we left the course, I absorbed a few tips about golf and a nice reminder about life from a caddy named Manuel.
My friend Bill, also known as the Flying Bambino, absorbed a reddish-brown sausage garnished with chopped onions, diced tomatoes and peppers.
It was reassuring to realize we aren't too aged and wise to be marooons, particularly since it wasn't my digestive tract that was forced to prove the
point. As for Bambino, he was walking upright again in only a day.
The four of us have been friends since we were teenagers. Bambino grew up to be retail sales director for a chocolate company in Denver, Mike is
operations manager of a mammoth warehouse in Indianapolis and Von practices law in Chicago, where he's known Oprah since she still needed to use her
last name.
They met at a pre-launch party for her talk show. Another guest kept staring at her, Von says, and finally the woman blurted, "I know you! You're Nell
Carter!"
"No, really," Oprah said sweetly, "I'm not."
That doesn't have anything to do with our mini-reunion in California, but people seem to like it when I mention Oprah, so I thought I'd throw it in.
Von is the visionary who bought timeshares at the Four Seasons Resort Aviara in Carlsbad. For those planning a vacation to, say, about 30 miles north
of downtown San Diego, I'd give the Four Seasons the maximum number of stars.
I'd also recommend going with Bambino, since he makes breakfast every morning he isn't doubled over.
But even without him, it's a stellar destination with the prettiest golf course I've ever played and a very nice esthetician named Jen who gave me a
Detoxifying Sedona Mud Wrap.
The detoxifying process involves getting slathered with warm mud and bundled like a burrito in something called an Ayata Cloth while smooth jazz plays
softly in the background. I'm not sure how my toxins felt about it, but by the time I was through, I was even starting to feel good about the pan
flute.
I could have also signed up for Water Shiatsu or a Clary Sage Body Gommage, but I opted to play more golf, which brings us back to the Country Club of
Tijuana.
To reach the country club, simply cross the border, miss your turn, drive around aimlessly for awhile, ask the fellow in the next lane for directions
and have the gentleman one lane beyond him make turning motions with his hand.
Just like that, you'll be at the only golf course in a city of 1.2 million or so people. For $33, you'll play an improbable 18 holes amid glass office
towers, pastel high-rise apartments, a used car lot, stacks of industrial pipes and mansions ringed with razor wire.
The slums and hectic downtown streets make for stunning, multicolored backdrops on the hillsides above the course. If you get lucky and Manuel carries
your bag, he'll give you a few pointers on things like how to position your left foot, and you'll start hitting the ball better immediately.
Manuel is in his early 30s and stands 5-foot-4. His daddy was a caddy, too, and Manuel has been toting golf bags for 20 years. In a good week, he
says, he'll pick up maybe five assignments, meaning he lives on $100 plus tips.
I'm not sure how many relatives he supports, but when we walked past one large green house, he marveled that only three people live there.
On the 10th tee, when we were waiting for Bambino to show up with the Hot Dog of Doom, we asked Manuel to whack a drive in his place.
On his second swing ... without warming up, and after lugging a bag for two hours ... he crushed one of my Maxflis 260 yards down the middle of the
fairway. It turns out he's an 8 handicap, meaning he's 20 strokes better than me, but here he was on a warm afternoon carrying my clubs.
I gave him $50 at the end of the round because I can. A few days, later I flew back to Detroit, feeling even more fortunate than usual.
I'm lucky, I thought, to be getting mud wraps when other people live on mud streets. Lucky to have my family waiting in a nice house with no razor
wire. Lucky to have beloved friends who laugh when we're lost in a Mexican border town. Lucky that I didn't try a hot dog. And lucky, most of all, to
realize that only random chance kept me from being a caddy's son in Tijuana, smiling gamely while another incompetent tourist enjoyed his vacation.
--
Neal Rubin appears Sunday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday. Reach him at (313) 222-1874, nrubin@detnews.com, or 615 W. Lafayette, Detroit, MI 48226.
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