My Spanish is good. Growing up in Southern California with parents that both speak Spanish fluently was a good start, as was getting beaten up by the cholos during recess!

In Cabo, no one would speak Spanish to me! All the waiters and bartenders are transplants from exotic locations like Ventura, Riverside and San Diego! They all headed to Cabo to service the gringo tourista, none of whom speak any Spanish other than CERVEZA!!!

By the time I got up to Todos Santos, I was confident that I would win the battle. Finally, at the Hotel California, I battled it out with the waiter and bartender. It was a heated battle that ended with 'Yes, I want a limon you SOB!!'. The guy was testing whether or not I wanted a lemon or a Limon, a local mexican version of a lime.

After I insulted him in the local dialect, he finally submitted to my language supremacy and told me my Spanish is very good. I walked out of the bar and threw my hands up in a victory dance! I WIN!

I spent the next few days falling over my Spanish and making people laugh with stupid jokes. A week or so in Mexico and it starts to come back fast!

That being said, on my last day in Mexico, I got taken at the Gas Station by the old switcheroo. I handed the guy two 2 hundred peso bills on a 296 peso tank of gas. He asked for a 100 peso bill, I turned to grab it, and he handed me back a 20 peso bill, basically taking me for about $15 bucks.

Little did he know he was dealing with the lord of the Battle for Spanish Supremacy!