Here we are checking in to the gorgeous lobby, where they tell us we won't have rooms yet, but spend one night in the ballroom while the hurricane passes offshore. We grab a few overnight items and hand over our luggage.
Apparently this letter came out THAT MORNING, at the same time we were excitedly waiting at the Salt Lake Airport. Lesson learned - next time you hear about a tropical storm, don't trust the airline - call the hotel directly. They would have told us not to get on the plane. 
We took a few minutes peering out windows on our way to the ballroom. Water was already seeping in the windows and running down the hallways from all the rain and wind.
This is the large ballroom where most people were ushered. We were sent to a smaller ballroom of about 60 people.
It was HOT in that room; they kept the doors open as long as they could to let a little breeze in, but eventually we were barricaded in when winds got too high and debris started flying around.
Here's the first bulletin we got about the storm. It was in spanish on one side and English on the other.
A panoramic view of our little ballroom. We read books, watched netflix, played games and visited. We also changed into the coolest articles of clothing we had because sweat was dripping nonstop. The staff wandered in with cold sodas, water bottles, then food and desserts galore.
Family party on our pool-lounge-chair-beds! We kept family updated via text, facebook, and instagram.
People winding down, even with the howling winds and startling crashes outside. The boarded-up windows behind us were pulsing in and out with the wind, so we kept our shoes on and had towels for cover handy in case any of them burst.
While we were in the eye of the storm, the calm part, they let us out to use the bathroom. This is the first moment I really felt the gravity of our situation, seeing all the debris in the inches of water everywhere. I had to push hard to open the bathroom door, six inches pouring out as I waded in, praying the lights wouldn't go out.
Sometime around 3 am, the hurricane itself had passed and they ushered us into utility hallways where there was no flooding water + hanging wires, but it was uncomfortable and the ceilings dripped nonstop - it was hard to find a dry place to sleep.
We spent most of that first whole day - Monday - in these hallways, not sure what was going on, realizing the hotel was in shreds, and sneaking out for exploring missions.
People slept whenever they could, making up for our rough night.
Hotel lobby.
Exterior stucco shredded, clay tiles broken and hurled all over, soaked drywall falling down everywhere you look.
"We are ok! Our hotel is not."
Courtyard littered with tiles.
More lobby and entry walkways.
Hotel hallway of [former] windows.
You can't see in this picture, but there's a stack of martini glasses still intact, 3 high, on that back bar. Crazy how some things (including the mirror) remained untouched.
Such pretty colors, those clay tiles and broken glass.
The guys in our group spent that whole first day on the phone, calling every taxi service and contact they could find to get us out of there. They ended up flagging down a lady on the road who said she had 2 trucks and would take us to the airport. We gathered our stuff and prepared to leave, animated at the prospect, when we saw a picture of the destroyed airport and heard that NO flights were in or out of Cabo. It was an emotional/heated debate - stay here with food and water, or go there to be the first evacuated once the airport was fixed? We decided to stay, unsure about looting and riots and being sitting ducks for who knows how many days at the airport without food and water and 2 pregnancies in our group.
The ballroom before & after - night #1 with everybody there, barricaded in. On day #2 during the group meeting part of the ceiling fell, people panicked, and the ballroom was forever shut off after that and people moved to the loading docks and the exterior parking garage.
Another night in the hallways. People sleeping everywhere.
Did I mention it was hot? Oh. My. Gosh. You guys, sweat dripping everywhere; stale stinky air, dripping ceilings, oppressively humid air.
The poor babies. You'd see them sleeping everywhere, night or day, and often a parent sitting over them, fanning, fanning, fanning them to try to keep them cool and sleeping.
We did a lot of reading. From the first moment I joked to people "Hey! This is still a vacation, I can read whenever I want and no kids need me."
That creepy storage room up top is where we found a working electric outlet for charging phones/cameras. Electrical outlets were a hot commodity, right up there with food & water. Ceilings continued to drip throughout our entire stay, lessening slightly by the last days.
Group meeting. We had one morning and evening, to get updates and plans. The guy in charge was very controlling but he kept order and peace, for which we were grateful.
Rumors flew, information was conflicting, it was hard to know what to believe. This notice said "Stay away from the airport" and 12 hours later we got "Tourists should be making their way to the airport." In the intermittent times we had internet & phone service, that information was no better. I called the emergency # in our passports and they were no help, even sort of chuckled when I asked if help was coming. Someone said the Navy was offshore with American planes waiting. Someone else said the U.S. government was ready and waiting at the border to fly in if only Mexico would give permission. etc. etc. (Neither of those ended up being true.)
Day 3: Over the shock, people got to work cleaning up, both themselves and the hotel. I helped lay all those carpets in the slippery wet hallways, we gathered up all the wet moldy towels we could find and hauled them to the basement laundry, gathered garbage and food and found extra buckets, pots, pans for ceiling drips.
Beach cleanup duty. We told head honcho guy we'd love to help, so I was honored when he came back a few hours later and said "If you're serious, I've got a job for you." They shoveled debris and buried hundreds of dead fish, eels, starfish etc, so we could safely visit the beach.
View of our shredded hotel from the beach.
BUT... no playing in the water. (I'm serious that head honcho ruled with an iron fist.) Too worried about debris/glass under water.
We dug some pools to find water of our own.
We couldn't stomach the utility hallways for another night, so we moved to the parking garage hoping for a breeze. People starting bringing out the alcohol; to that point every notice said "Please refrain from alcoholic beverages in this emergency."
...and then one hour after falling into a good sleep, we were woken up in a hurry and told to move. Chlorine gas was filling the garage, burning our eyes and throats. We hauled our own stuff out and some of us went back to help others. It was so nice to have 18 of us to help each other, not everyone was so lucky so we tried to help others too.
Sleeping outside was THE BEST. Nice and cool. No rain.
Sleeping beauties. I love the fallen palm trees behind us, NBD.
On the second day they shut off the toilets to conserve their fresh water storage. We used buckets of rain water, dump in a bucketful and it forces the toilet to flush. There was a staff member present almost all the time, keeping things clean and stocked and it made ALL THE DIFFERENCE. I was more afraid of a terrible bathroom situation than not having food.
Sometimes I feel a little silly about the attention paid to our experience; we got to escape Cabo for safety at home. The staff, who live there, were AMAZING at taking care of us, working nonstop for days in a row, sometimes unsure of the status of their own homes or families. I am humbled and amazed at their cheerfulness and friendliness throughout this entire ordeal. [This guy totally wanted his picture taken, so funny.]
Another bulletin. Re-reading this now, I am struck at how helpless this one is. Nobody really knew anything.
Days 3 & 4 were more calm. We hung out, used phones/wifi whenever we could, read books. Visited and laughed, found shade and a breeze whenever possible.
Seeing 5 military helicopters was way exciting, the first signs of life in the outside world. I know that sounds crazy, but contact like this with the real world was so spirit-lifting.
Hallway hang-out. Coolest spot in the hotel during the afternoon.
A food truck made its way there late on day 3, which was also spirit lifting. We all relaxed a little about the food. They had fed us 3 hot meals a day, even if they were a little creative on ingredients. Water bottles continued to flow in abundance, and sodas were plentiful - even if a little warm at times.
When I started to consolidate luggage, I was a little embarassed to see how much I'd hoarded. I was worried about Katie (20 weeks pregnant), and keeping things on hand so we'd be ok if provisions ran out. (I left a whole suitcase with a bunch of possessions behind so I could move more easily/quickly for evacuation, so I ditched most of these extras).
Katie snuck this picture of me, relaxing a little as things settled down mid-week.
Parking garage refugee camp with paradise outside.
We made friends everywhere, here's one great couple and the lighting was so perfect here I made them pose for the closest anyone would get to a real beach photo.
Shredded parking garage windows.
Note the dress? Most of the girls wore dresses night and day, they were the coolest things we had in this sticky heat.
The last night was a jovial one - gorgeous sunset, kids playing, enjoying the cool breeze and knowledge that the rescue was finally coming (or at least we were pretty sure, but reserving a healthy amount of skepticism.)
The kids had a delightful time entertaining themselves outside in the evenings. A few didn't want to go home.
Here's our group on the last night.
And then the morning evacuation came. We stood in the sun for a couple of hours, taking turns in the sparse shade, and passed around the sunscreen, waiting waiting waiting for those busses. A few people fainted and/or started throwing up in the heat. They gave prioty #1 cards to pregnant, children, ill, elderly, and tried to keep groups together so we had a "1" card with Katie, Brad's sister.
A collective cheer went up when the first bus showed, people started grabbing their box lunches and liter-sized water bottle, and the massive press to get on the bus started. 3 busses could hold 128 people and not all of the #1 cards made it. We happily fell to the back of the group to let others on, though Katie cried for a long time after leaving us.
People were nuts about getting on those busses. We waited a few hours for the next set of busses to come get the rest of the 300-some people waiting. It was easier to sit there calmly in the shade and eat our lunch in peace than push in with all those people. So we found ourselves the last 8 at the hotel, and on an evacuation bus all to ourselves!
Our "final 8" photo was bombed by ecstatic staff. We were jubilant, and so were they (probably happy to be rid of us finally!)
But then. Inner panic started to set in as we arrived at the airport, where thousands and thousands of people stood in barely-moving lines under the blazing 2pm sun. No wonder the hotel packed lunches and forced water bottles into everyone's hands. Pictures cannot do justice to the length of the line and the thousands of people waiting in desperation.
We covered up as best we could, re-suncreened, kept sipping water, and moved 10 feet every 90 seconds. Maddening. I started to get dizzy and had to abandon the line to throw up off to the side. I sat down in the pitiful shade of a 6-inch wide cement pillar and fought back panic about the fact my body was giving up on me and there was nothing I could do about it, and nobody to rescue me. Locals brought umbrellas and sheets pulled off their own beds to hand out in an effort to help. A kind lady brought me a dramamine tab and insisted I take it. I have never prayed harder in my life, but slowly I regained control of the shaking and nausea, at least enough to move to the shade some of the ladies had found while husbands stayed in line.
Recuperating in the shade of a blown-out rental car building with the women and children.
I rejoined the men in line around 6:00, when the sun wasn't so powerful. The US embassy people came out and said "There are no more commercial relief flights tonight. They might resume in the morning. The Mexican military may clear you out tonight, so if you have somewhere else to go, we recommend that." (What?!!!) "But we do have charter flights to Dallas available, they will be running all night long, for $600 apiece." We were flabbergasted, but prepared to pay since there seemed no other option.
Suddenly, a guy from our group runs back from his exploration mission, saying "Get your bags! We can get on a plane to Tijuana!" We gather, run, military guys are urging us on as they say "Tijuana? Tijuana!!" and we load into the back of a truck, packed so tightly we couldn't move enough to even turn around, are driven to the steps of the destroyed terminal, shepherded to a bus that drives us out to the aircraft. Mexican nationals waiting in line for other cities are cheering us on as we drive past.
The back of the truck [top right], the bus to the aircraft [bottom right], boarding the airplane [left]. Exhilarating.
There were dozens of planes lined up. Not sure why more weren't being used; it appeared flights were leaving only every 30 min or so. The air conditioning in that plane was the most heavenly treat, and fogged up the steamy air. We landed in Tijuana, were bussed to the border with an armed military truck in front and in back of us (making sure we didn't become kidnapped refugees, too!), we walked through the border and took a U.S. bus to the San Diego airport on the other side.
After a day of rest and "vacation" in San Diego, we were treated to first class flights on our way home. Love this little "Hurricane Family" of mine, what an adventure!
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