Thanksgiving Week in Cabo: Why Texans Get a Whole Week Off

Texas schools give us the whole Mon-Fri off for Thanksgiving, no manches. Here's how we use it: Cabo, Cousin Chuy's panga, and tacos in San José.

By Jess Moore·

Okay, fun fact for the rest of the country that maybe doesn't know this: Texas public schools close down for the entire week of Thanksgiving. Monday through Friday. Five whole days. It is not a half-day Wednesday situation. It is not "Thursday and Friday off." It is the Full Texas Thanksgiving Week, and once you've had it, you cannot go back. Híjole, what a gift.

So every November we do the same thing: we fly to Cabo San Lucas and we let my primo Chuy run our lives for a week. Chuy is my mom's nephew, runs sport-fishing charters out of the Cabo marina, has lived there since he was nineteen. He picks us up at the airport in his beat-up Hilux, hands Brian a Pacífico before we're even on the highway, and that's the start of the trip. Mira, this is the rhythm. I cannot recommend it enough.

The TX Thanksgiving Math

Here's the structure that makes the whole thing work. Texas gives you Monday through Friday off school. We frame it: travel day Saturday, full week in Cabo Sunday through Friday, travel home Saturday. That's six full beach days. SIX. With kids. Without missing any school. The flight from Austin to Cabo is three and a half hours. By 1 PM Saturday we're in the pool with a margarita and Sophie is asking why the ocean is so loud.

For Texas families this is the math you should be doing. Thanksgiving in Cabo is cheaper than Christmas in Cabo by a wide margin. The weather is perfect — high seventies, low eighties, water still warm from summer, no hurricanes left. Crowds are nothing compared to spring break or the holidays. It is the sweet spot. Ándale, book it.

Cousin Chuy and the Boys' Day

The non-negotiable of every Cabo trip is Brian and Matty going out on the panga with Chuy. They leave at 5:30 AM. They come back at noon sunburned, smelling like fish, with photos of Matty holding something that is bigger than he is. Last year it was a dorado. The year before, a small marlin that they tagged and released. Matty is seven and has caught more fish than I have in my entire life, which is a sentence I never expected to say.

Chuy charges family rate, which means I think Brian Venmos him whatever feels right and they fight about it later over mezcal. The Black Magic II, that's his boat. If you're going to Cabo and you want a non-resort fishing experience with someone who will treat your kid like a real fisherman and not a tourist, DM me and I'll connect you. He's the real deal.

Sophie and Me at the Kids' Pool

While the boys are out catching dinner, Sophie and I are at the resort kids' pool by 8 AM with a stack of snacks and a book I will not finish. She's four. She wants to do the same six things on a loop: jump in, get out, get a churro, jump in, get out, ask for the wifi password (joking, mostly). It is GLORIOUS to do nothing with her. Just nothing. For five hours. With the ocean making noise in the background and a server bringing me agua fresca every forty minutes.

This is the trip where I realized that splitting the day in half is the only sane way to vacation with two kids of different ages. Brian gets adventure with Matty. I get poolside with Sophie. We meet for lunch. Everyone is happy. Nobody is dragging a four-year-old onto a fishing boat at sunrise, qué horror.

The San José del Cabo Tacos

Look. The resorts in Cabo are fine. The food at the resorts is, charitably, fine. The actual food is twenty minutes north in San José del Cabo, in the old town, on the side streets off the plaza. There's a hole-in-the-wall taquería called Tacos Don Carlos that has been there forever, plastic chairs, no English menu, and the al pastor trompo is going from open to close. We took the kids one evening last year, sat on the curb, ate four tacos each, and Sophie declared it "the best dinner of her life," which — fair.

  • Tacos al pastor — the move. Get them with extra piña.
  • Tacos de cabeza for Brian. He won't admit he's into it but he is.
  • Agua de jamaica for the kids. Matty drinks three.
  • Mercado Municipal in San José in the morning — chilaquiles for breakfast, walk it off through the artisan stalls.

The Travel-Day Rhythm

I want to flag this for any TX parents reading: with the full week, you have the luxury of two travel days framed by family days. We always do Thanksgiving Day itself in Cabo with Chuy's whole crew — his wife Lupita does a turkey with mole sauce that has ruined regular turkey for me forever. The kids run with their second cousins. Brian attempts to translate and Chuy laughs at him. It's perfect.

Friday night we eat one last meal at the marina, Saturday morning we fly home. Sunday we rest. Monday they're back at school slightly browner and a little sandier, with a Spanish vocabulary refresh and a fish story.

So that's the Texas Thanksgiving move. If your school gives you the full week, do not waste it on a road trip to your in-laws in Dallas, perdón abuelos. Get on a plane. Go south. Let your kid catch a fish with their tío segundo. Eat tacos on a curb. Come home a little sun-drunk. Brian, by the way, still pronounces it "Hal-LIS-co" instead of Jalisco when he's tired, and Chuy mocks him every single trip. It's tradition. Nos vemos en Cabo.