LOST IN MAZ...AND LOVING IT

Mazatlan is one of those cities I enjoy getting lost in, as long as I’ve plenty of time. Like yesterday.

Sophie has been needing to have her teeth cleaned for months, and I decided Rafael, the vet where we originally bought her nine years ago, was the one to do the job. A veterinary tooth cleaning is no small matter: it’s expensive and the dog has to be anesthesized which is risky when she’s nine years old. But I felt Rafael was equal to the challenge. In addition to his veterinary, La Jungla, he has a grooming shop in the Gold Zone, and is a very active animal advocate. Really, the fact that he has excellent English and is an avid sailor had nothing to do with my favoring him. Honestly.

So this morning Sophie and I made our way to #600 Ejercito (Army) de Mexico street where I left her in his charge. While he checked Sophie's heart and lungs he told me proudly about his new 27-foot sailboat and his excursions to Banderas Bay.

“I’m going to Old Town,” I told Rafael breezily. “I’ll see you at one.” Ignoring a twinge of regret that I hadn't brought a map, I decided it would be even more of an adventure to have to ask for directions.

So I popped into a shop now and then to ask, "Por favor, buscando el mercado?" Please, I'm looking for the Market. I'm finding that I'm able to understand more of their replies.

I had spent some time in Old Town nine years ago, and it’s not so difficult to find, just catch the Sabado Centro bus and it takes you to the cathedral, only a couple of blocks from the Mercado. But this time I was on foot, thinking “how far can it be, anyway?” It was farther than I thought. I must have walked about thirty blocks, partly because I got lost at one point and walked about a mile out of my way. But the Cathedral and the Mercado are always worth the effort.

Unless you look closely at some of the gadgets sold in the little stores on the Mercado’s perimeter, the place looks just the same as it did nine years ago.



I found a little corner shop full of fascinating esoterica: molded acrylic skeletons in colorful flowing robes, transparent and studded with strange symbols. Magic bath powders to aid in business, romance and social conflicts. Talismans to bring money. Good luck charms in the shape of skeletons and frogs. Everything labeled in English, too.

The meat market with its prosperous-looking butchers still displayed its wares uncovered, yet mysteriously there were no flies. Three pigs' heads seemed to doze serenely on a rack, and I tried not to stare at them. Down the aisle, a cow’s head was displayed, all its hide removed, but everything else--jaws, eyes--intact. What do they use that for, I wonder. Vegetarian recipes flashed through my mind.



The vegetable markets were piled high with vivid color--purple onions, rich greens and scarlet tomatoes. I stopped to get a photo at the stand of a particularly jovial vendor, and he halted me while he carefully rearranged his lettuce pyramid for best effect. His vegetables looked so much better than the ones in the supermarket. But we’ve made our plans to leave Thursday (more about that in a minute) and we can’t take fruit or vegetables with us, there are checkpoints on the road where they’d be confiscated.



What I did buy were empanadas de piña (little pineapple turnovers) and a couple of buns for making sandwiches, at a stall specializing in bread and pastries. And though I’ve been warned that oranges this year aren’t sweet (I’ve heard all the best ones are being shipped to the US where the orange crop failed), I bought two just to try them out. I’ve been craving fresh oranges lately, and I’m learning to respond to my cravings. Maybe my subconscious is trying to avoid scurvy.



Finally I wandered out into the midday sun and got lost again, looking for the Cathedral. The Mercando is vast, covering at least a city block, and if you go out the wrong exit it can take a while to orient yourself. But finally I glanced up and saw the familiar golden towers--lost no more!



The Cathedral is one of my favorites in Mexico, with its golden domes at one end and its golden towers at the other, the statuary and tiled alcoves. It faces a big tree-shaded plaza with a central bandstand, as is traditional in Latin countries and teems with humanity, socializing, picnicking and strolling by. I always feel as though I’ve found the heart of a city when I stand in its plaza and look up at its cathedral.



After a leisurely lunch in the elegant Panama restaurant I walked out into the street, a bus came by and I asked if he stops at Ley, the supermarket next door to La Jungla. I've learned that the major landmarks are always the big supermarkets: Ley, Soriana, Mega, Gigante and of course Sam's Club and Walmart. Bingo! He nodded yes, he would pass Ley, and I jumped aboard.

Sophie was still groggy when I picked her up. The bill was $900 pesos, less than $90. We had to walk several blocks to find a pulmonia and she had to struggle to mount each curb. Finally I hoisted her on my shoulder and carried her the rest of the way to the Malecon where the pulmonias congregate.

Meanwhile, back at the boat, the Capt. had installed electric outlets, 110 and 12-volt, in the V-berth. Now we can have lights and a fan in our “master cabin” without having to string extension cords throughout the boat. He has made some small improvement to the boat almost daily, and it keeps getting better and better.

We have decided the weather (25-35 knot northerly winds and 6-10 foot waves) is too unsettled for us to try to take the boat home now, and will leave it here in El Cid Marina until Easter Week. The folks on “Red Pepper” need someone to drive their car, a diesel VW, to San Carlos this week, and we volunteered to do it. Later they’ll sail up to San Carlos and use our mooring there for a couple of weeks. Everything works out, almost always better than expected.

WHY WE LOVE SWAP MEETS

Maztlan marinas don't hold frequent swap meets, unlike Puerto Vallarta where there's one every Saturday in the season. Here in Maz, there hasn't been one since last fall, but we were fortunate enough to be around when they finally got it together. We never miss a swap meet. We don't spend a lot of money, but we usually find some gadget we've been needing/wanting for the boat. And today we hit the jackpot.

It was one of those mornings we overslept, waking only when my watch alarm signalled 8am, time for the VHF Cruisers' Net. So we scrambled into our clothes, jumped into the dinghy and made our way, uncaffeinated, over to Marina Mazatlan. The swap meet was in full swing in front of the new Cafe Calypso, where (Eureka!) we found excellent espresso to sharpen our bargaining wits.

Trading goes on over the Cruiser's Net year-round, of course, with people offering up their "treasures of the bilge" for "coconuts" since we're not supposed to engage in actual money exchange among ourselves in Mexico. But at swap meets we openly buy and sell not only used goods, books and movies but handmade jewelry and bags, Mexican flags (a legal requirement for every gringo boat). Often a local tamale or bread vender will show up--and clean up among the hungry yateros.

The Capt. found a freshwater pump we can install on the counter in the galley, so we don't have a 5-gallon jug of water taking up valuable space on the cabin sole (floor, to my lubber friends). He found a second pump that can be used for washing down the decks or for transferring fresh water from jugs we've brought to the boat in the dinghy. Total outlay: $15/US. He located a new depthfinder for $30/US we can use as backup. Depthfinders are so essential for entering anchorages, and so vulnerable to moisture, it's wise to have an extra unit.

I found a stainless steel unit for hanging docklines ($3/US), which we might just keep for the new boat. No more diving into the cockpit locker and untangling a snarl of lines when we're coming in to a dock.

But the biggest find was the new addition to our dinghy fleet. The Capt. was eyeing for a 5hp Nissan outboard on sale by the owner of Olgalina and Olgalina II (which I suspect are charter fishing boats). He almost didn't ask the price, but when he did, he got a pleasant surprise.

"Three hundred, and I'll throw in the dinghy," replied Olgalina's skipper.

We puttered over to inspect the free dinghy and--another surprise!--it was a Livingston, just like the one we've got but the next size down (2-person)--they're both 7.5 feet long, but the smaller one is 40 inches wide instead of 53".


The Livingston website shows the 7.5 foot, 53" catamaran dinghy


It turns out that the Nissan outboard is perfect for the 3-person Livingston and the little 3.3hp outboard we've been using is ideal for the smaller Livingston.

We favor Livingstons because they're relatively light for hardshells, and built catamaran-style so they're very beamy and stable. For their small size they hold a lot of stuff, too. And they don't leak like the series of sorry inflatables we've had. We've been thinking of customizing with a bimini and cutting storage hatches in the stern seat. The Capt. has been developing his skills in such projects, in preparation for the work on the new Morgan.

I'm happy about the new outboard because I had such a struggle with the old one. It was hard for me to start, and had no idle, so when I did get it started it would lurch forward, feeling very much out of control. The Capt. was used to it, but I refused to drive it. Now I'll be getting lessons using the Nissan. Which, by the way, started almost immediately once the fuel was flowing, though it apparently hadn't been used for a while.

The Capt. put on his plumber's hat, investigating some leaks we've been wondering about. Aha! Seepage from the faucet in the head has been getting under the sole in the V-berth. Today we'll take the bus to the new Home Depot to get some parts for the repairs.

Home Depot is across the street from Gigante, a big supermarket, where I used to shop when we were here in 1998, which has been impressively refurbished and restocked. It would be hard to find its equal in most US cities. Of course, the prices are also, for the most part, equal to those in the US. Certain produce, beans, rice and tortillas are the few exceptions. If we could adapt our diet to nopales, peppers, onions, tortillas, rice and beans we could live very cheaply indeed. But somehow we always end up with dairy products, meat, favorite produce like eggplant and apples, coffee and, of course, cookies. The Capt. isn't happy without his cookies.

CARNAVAL!

It was the best of times.
The good times did, indeed, roll on Fat Tuesday. It seems we have spent much of our time on this trip fixing things, coping with rough seas, fixing things, coping with colds and injuries, and fixing things. It hasn't felt much like a vacation. But on Tuesday, we broke away and took our cameras to the Malecon to watch and photograph Mazatlan's last Carnaval parade of the year.







Knowing Avenida Del Mar would be blocked to bus traffic, we splurged on a pulmonia, the speedy little open-air VW taxis specially made in Mazatlan which I haven't seen anywhere else. When we got off, we first looked for sustenance since we hadn't taken time for lunch. On the Malecon we found a restaurant with a good view of the floats, though, alas, not of the marchers and dancers, and facing into the afternoon sun. But it was a choice of shooting with better light and starving, or shooting into the light, getting silhouettes sometimes, and getting fed. So we happily noshed on beef burritos while taking photos through the window, and occasionally dashing into the street for those gotta-have-em shots. The Capt. used the DVD camera, so we captured all the music too.







I had my aperture set on fast the entire time because my subjects were in constant motion, dancing to one live band after another: sambas, charangas, mambos, you name it. Carnivale is all about music, fireworks, pretty chicas, handsome young caballeros and mystical themes: everything from ancient Rome to European Renaissance to Chinese...anything but traditional Mexican, in fact. There were dragons and mermaids, pirates and cartoon characters, all bouncing to Latin tunes blasted at top volume while lovely lasses tossed candies to the crowds.

The lasses, by the way, weren't in skimpy costume such as you'd see in Brazil, but tasteful and modest gowns and fanciful headdresses. They compete for the title of Queen and (first runner-up) Queen of the Flower Games, and their entry price of 50,000 pesos is raised by their support teams of porras (cheerleaders) who sponsor fundraising events during Carnaval week. But the Queen is chosen by a panel of judges, and the title is not for sale, according to the local English language mag, "Pacific Pearl."

We missed the significance behind some of the artistic statements on the carros alegoricos (floats), but then there's always been something of the mysterious in Carnaval parades.





The afternoon was one of the high points of our two months of travel and I enjoyed myself so much my face hurt from grinning.



It was the worst of times.
Getting on the bus back to the boat I dug into my bag for change and somehow lost my wallet. I was reeling from shock, horror and profound regret (if only we hadn't gone out today...if only I'd left the wallet behind and brought only some pesos...if only I'd paid closer attention). My credit and debit cards were in the wallet and I spent the rest of the evening fending off thoughts of identity theft and fraud.

It turned out--surprise!--our cell phones don't work in Mazatlan and our Skype doesn't work here either. On this morning's Cruisers' Net I found a couple from Napa who have a cell phone with unlimited minutes (a Cingular program which is no longer available, in case you wondered) who kindly allowed me to make the essential calls to cancel the cards and get new ones sent out. I found a branch of my Mexican bank where the angel of a manager issued me an emergency replacement for my debit card.

So while I'm still feeling somewhat sheepish and humiliated over the loss, I think I'll live. I was grateful to the Capt., who took it all in stride and helped prevent me from spinning out of control in my anxiety. I learned some things about prevention and what to do if it ever happens again. And I'm again reminded how well we've been provided for on this trip, with everything we need coming to us, just when we need it most.

Life is still good.

ALL THIS & IGUANAS TOO!

After a rough overnight passage we've landed in Mazatlan and tucked into a cozy berth at El Cid Marina. I spent the first hour or so after we landed using the hairdryer to dry out the mattress in the V-berth, which was soaked in seawater. The hatch overhead, although closed and latched, wasn't enough to stop three rogue waves that broke over the bow and poured about a gallon of water onto our bed. The mattress is largely foam, so I'm hoping it's not ruined. All the sheets and pillowcases are damp and need laundering.

We've always stayed at Marina Maz when we come here, but a friend informed us that El Cid is about the same price, and much better. I'm actually going to get to swim in my choice of two pools, soak in a hot tub and not have to stand in line to do my laundry (six washers are available here, instead of one that's broken half the time). El Cid isn't surrounded by ongoing condo construction. And then there's the biggest discovery of all: the wildlife likes it here!



Heading up the ramp to check in at the office, we saw a family of four iguanas sunning on the rocks. My first iguana sighting since last summer. They're so ugly, they're beautiful--they blend into the rocks, but when you look close you see so many different colors in them.




Iguana family sunning on the rocks next to the dock at El Cid

There's also a pelican with one wing in residence, and a blue heron that seems to have some injury to one wing. They seem unafraid of people, and content to be surrounded by humans.


One-winged pelican hangs out at the El Cid dock and ambles down the ramp, his only wing outstretched, when he wants a dip

Of course, it's not a safe place for fish: the Aries sportfishing fleet docks here, and when fishermen bring in their marlins and dorados they are hung up for display and photos. I sat waiting for my laundry, and watched a beautiful dorado strung up, changing colors from lavender and blue to gold in the afternoon sun. Next to it was a marlin, sleek and graceful and very dead. A crowd stood around during the photo shoot, oohing and aahing, and then wandered off before the deckhand started cutting them up. After seeing their carcasses reduced to heads and spines, I decided our dinner would be vegetarian.


Hang 'em high...A marlin and a dorado get their 15 minutes of fame, posthumously

We took a slip on D Dock, which is across the channel from the main marina, with no electricity, but a 20% discount. But there's no problem getting to the office, laundry and store: a little Mexican with a blond mustache and excellent manners drives a water taxi back and forth all day, and I just tuck ten pesos into his tip jar.

Today is Fat Tuesday, and the last Carnivale parade will take place in the Gold Zone, not our favorite place because of the rowdy crowds and hotels, but I wanted to get pictures and spend some time off the boat. The Capt. hates crowds but has gallantly agreed to accompany me. Maybe he'll even enjoy himself. Let the good times roll!

A SAN BLAS VALENTINE

Casa Moreles in San Blas has a pet white pelican tethered in their patio. He's not from the local flock, which are all brown. He reportedly wanders down the street and stops traffic if they let him go.

Chacala turned out to be inhospitable this year, thanks to a rolly anchorage that was at times rougher than being underway. I spent Monday wandering the town looking for my friend Andee, but she was not to be found. Located her new place, a second-floor apartment in Dona Lupe’s establishment and left a note.

Then I wandered the main street, watching for her, and also looking for Daniela's shop, for my favorite rayon beach dresses. Last summer I lived in these little shifts, which are so light they feel like you’re wearing nothing, and come in various lengths to suit any level of modesty. I like the ones that end just above the knee.

We gave it up after two sleepless nights and made an early start for San Blas. Within a couple of hours the seas were flattened and glassy, and we had a Cadillac ride up the coast, a rare occurrence when you’re traveling north. We motored the whole way, due to winds too light for our sails, and arrived on Valentine's Day.

San Blas is another one of my favorite stops on the mainland coast. There’s a big anchorage along the Metanchen outside the estuary entrance, but we always enter the estuary and drop anchor just opposite the navy docks, where the water is so flat it’s like being in a parking lot. This was our fourth visit, and out of habit we checked in with the resident cruisers’ pilot, Capt. Norm Goldie, a transplanted New Yorker who has been guiding boats into San Blas for 40 years.

It’s easy to go aground entering the estuary, if you’re not warned to stay within the buoys and bear to the left side. If a sailboat goes aground, it can block the larger fishing boats from entering, and raise the ire of the Port Captain.


San Blas Plaza is brightly lighted at night

Norm has a tradition of inviting newcomers to meet him in the Plaza the evening of their arrival, and helping them get settled in. He also welcomes visitors to his beautiful garden in the morning and serves coffee and pastries. He’s even made up an information packet with a map, shopping guide and San Blas lore. Some cruisers apparently resent his paternalistic style and shun his hospitality, but I’ve always found him and his wife Janet a treasure of tips and information. And I confess, I get a kick out of their New York accents. So once we had puttered into the estuary, obediently bearing to the left as he emphasized on the radio, had our lunch and a brief nap, we put on our “town clothes” and dingied to shore for our rendezvous with the Goldies.


A bevy of San Blas schoolgirls in immaculate white uniforms (a laundry challenge for Las Madres!)

Last year the dinghy landing was the navy dock itself, and two guards helped us climb out and onto the dock, which is built for ship access. We paid the sailors at the end of our stay with a bag of pastries. This year Edgar, a young civilian, acts as security for a lower concrete dock nearby, in exchange for a daily 10-peso tip. The dock’s not lighted at night and we soon learned to bring a flashlight.

Our first stop at the San Blas Plaza is always our favorite paleteria, where we buy frozen fruit bars, usually coconut. Norm was already sitting in the Plaza, wearing his trademark Hawaiian shirt and various mementos--a gold marlin, curious carvings of bone--draped around his neck. The Capt. asked him about the best source for a new alternator (ours was ruined when a hose carrying salt water broke and sprayed it). I wanted to know if anyone had reported good results from using Vitamin B-12 to build immunity against the dreaded San Blas “no-see-ums.” Nope, Norm says.

There must be a place in Nature’s plan for these evil biting gnats; they're the one feature of San Blas I always dread. Each visit leaves me with dozens of itchy bites, especially around my knees and ankles. The only repellent that seems to work is Autan, a Mexican cream that comes in a tube and leaves the skin somewhat sticky (especially combined with a layer of sunblock). They only attack during the hours of dawn and early evening, and Jan says after 40 years she’s developed some immunity to them, so it’s possible to coexist with them. She recommended spraying the boat with a solution called H-24, which we promptly bought, but when we used it the odor was so foul we decided rely on Off , which we spray on our clothing to avoid absorbing DEET into our blood, and on the special fine-mesh no-see-um screens I made for all our hatches. I soon learned the easiest way to deal with the bites I always get anyway, is to rub a slice of lemon on them.

Jan said although a little spraying has been done by the city of San Blas to combat the no-see-ums and the equally voracious mosquitoes that arrive every summer, there’ll never be an all-out spraying war conducted here, because of the fishing and shrimping industry. Spray would wash into the estuary when it rains and kill the larvae that become shrimp, a vital part of the town’s economy.


The Surfers' Museum

The upside of all this is that there may never be a McDonald’s, a Holiday Inn or a condo row here. San Blas was first settled 3000 years ago, by a tribe of 45 Indians (how they know how many, I can't imagine). The Spaniards used San Blas as a jumping-off point for their explorations, and Fr. Junipero Serra started his mission-building trek with 16 missionaries, from San Blas. There’s a jungle tour that takes you upriver to a lagoon where you can swim (mind the crocs!) and dine at a little restaurant. Huichol Indians from the mountains east of here come to sell their intricate beadwork and observe special ceremonies by the sea. Nahaytls come from Guerrero and Zapatecos from Oaxaca with their beads and wood carvings to sell in the little plaza near the docks. World-famous shrimp up to a quarter-pound are caught here. A big coffee plantation is nearby and tours will take you there and to a very old Mexican village nearby. And the beach, lined with palapas and camping sites and boasting its own Surfing Museum, is one of the cleanest and pleasantest I’ve seen in Mexico!

A few little palapas on stilts are for rent on the San Blas beach

THAR SHE BLOWS!

Picture a typical Mexican beach, with a small sheltered breakwater for the pangas, people cavorting in the surf, a number of palapa restaurants and a couple of little stores on the sand...and behind that imagine a row of hotels and condos, all the same height, color and blocky design, that look from a distance like big-city low-income hi-rise apartments. Or a row of hotels on a Monopoly board. It’s ludicrous, bizarre, ugly. It’s Punta de Mita, the northernmost point of Banderas Bay.

We dropped anchor there last night, decided the surf and crowded conditions at the dinghy landing made a trip to shore inadvisable. So we tucked in for some sleep, which was in short supply thanks to loud Saturday night music and merciless rolling waves.

OK, enough whining. We got an early-morning start and motor-zigzagged our way north to Chacala. We zigzag when going north because we’re going against wind and current. To head straight into them would only slow us down and beat us up; in fact, we’d be going all but backwards.

Thrill of the day: Jim hollers “Whales!” and I come running. I never get my fill of whale sightings, and this one was the best yet. Two handsome grays appeared on our starboard side, only about 75 feet from the boat, running alongside us. It was the closest I’ve been to a whale, and while I was staring openmouthed at them, the resourceful Capt. got some video footage. I watched them as they veered off into the distance behind us and it seemed to me they were circling each other, splashing and flirtatiously flipping their tails.

I had just read that whales are mating in Banderas Bay up until March, and wondered if we’d intercepted a courting couple. Or maybe I'm just in a Valentine's Day frame of mine.

Click here to watch them go by!

A couple of pods of dolphin showed up earlier, but they kept their distance. I keep hoping they'll come ride our bow wave, but they have a lot of boats to choose from, this time of year.

Arriving in Chacala, we dropped anchor and I peered at the hillside looking for my friend Andee's new digs. Pinkish two-story building next to the new white hotel (mercifully NOT an eight story monster), with blue tarp on the balcony. And there she was!

And surprise! the Capt. found WiFi in this little cove. Progress can be a good thing.

WHEN THE DREAM BECOMES A NIGHTMARE

Another way to go to sea, for the risk-adverse: Cruise ship at the Puerto Vallarta docks

On a Morgan owners' users' net a few days ago the Capt. found an item about a couple on their maiden voyage in Florida on a Morgan 46 they called the "Flying Pig." They had sold and given away everything they owned that wouldn't fit on the boat. Gave away their car the day they sailed. Here's what happened:

At midnight, 2 people were safely lifted from their 46' sailboat after going aground off Content Keys. Name of the boat: Flying Pig. Transiting from Ft. Myers thru Keys. 62 year old captain and mate are OK. Coast Guard and FWC monitoring the vessel.

This was the third incident I'd read about in as many days. January's Latitude 38, the very popular sailing monthly, published stories ("Hard Lessons") of similar accidents involving two other boats: "Christabella" went aground on the Pacific coast of Baja, "Starlet" in the Caribbean. Crews of each boat were composed of a married couple and two single crewmembers, one of which was disabled by seasickness. All souls survived, but the boats were lost.

"Christabella," an Islander 41, was on its maiden voyage when she ran aground on an uncharted reef off Punta Colnett after a nightmare series of mishaps, from knotted jibsheets to engine failure to loss of the mainsail. The crew was rescued by Mexicans from a fishing camp who sheltered, clothed and fed them until they were able to travel home.

"Starlet" had already made two trips from San Diego to Acapulco before visiting the Caribbean. The article didn't make it clear what finally motivated them to call the Coast Guard--they were in dangerous reefs in the midst of a violent storm with a seasick crewman. They were evacuated by a cargo ship and taken to Puerto Limon, Costa Rica. They left the boat anchored, hoping to return, but when they were able to get back to "Starlet" a week later, she was lying on a beach in Honduras, and scavengers had removed everything of value.

In the same publication, an acquaintance of ours on 'Tortue' in Mazatlan wrote a Letter to the Editor asking if it wasn't true that more such incidents are occurring, and speculating whether crews are less prepared and more accident prone than in the past. The Editor suggested it's just that there are more boats out there, communication is making more incidents known, and that if anything their crews are better prepared, certainly more sober!

We meet boaters who fully insure their boats, but the insurance restricts where they can go. Not below, for instance, a certain latitude, or not during hurricane season. A certain amount of liability insurance is required in order to stay in most marinas, but a boat replacement policy means severe limits to the scope of the dream. So most of us take our chances to one degree or another.

Every marina in Mexico has its share of more or less permanent residents. They're retired or in some cases have businesses, a house and ties to the community, or they're snowbirds who spend part of the year in the States, leaving their boats locked up, and gathering considerable moss on the bottoms. Their lives are fairly safe and predictable, and many spend their time socializing at the local yacht club, making the endless series of repairs all boats require, contributing to the local orphanages and charities. They're valuable information resources to newcomers, since they know the vicinity well.

They're affectionately called 'dock queens' by some hardcore sailers, the "rolling stones," so to speak, who are happiest on blue water cruises to Central and South America, the Marquesas, Hawaii and beyond. What sets these people apart from their more cautious counterparts is a driving urge for adventure and a philosophy that allows them to put fears behind them and keep going. The ultimate goal is a circumnavigation. It's not for everyone. Some of us won't come back. But we each have to decide for ourselves, whether a life is for saving, or for spending. All of us start out with a list of "what ifs." What if we hit a submerged container? A whale? A reef? What if the mast goes down? what if one of us gets mortally injured or sick, leaving the other to singlehand the boat? On an ongoing basis we have to decide if the adventure is worth the prospect of such risks.

On the plus side, we're not likely to die in a traffic accident or drive-by shooting. Many of the addictions/distractions of our previous lifestyle that we'd be better off without, particularly television and compulsive Internet surfing, fall by the wayside. And if a marriage is fundamentally sound and the commitment mutual, a sailing life can strengthen it.

The good news from the crew of "Flying Pig":

Flying Pig is floating and under tow, approaching Keys Boat Works in Marathon where repairs will be done. We don't know the full extent of damage yet, but the pumps are keeping up with the leaks.

To this I want to add that many members of the Morgan users' group offered material assistance to the owners of "Flying Pig," from legal help to housing to a rehabilitation fund. Whether it's because it's fellow boaters, or fellow Morgan-owners, it's reassuring to know that a strong and caring community can help them recover and start over.

And the good news on the owners of "Christabella":
They ended up here in Nuevo Vallarta, where they bought another boat called "Lucky Jack" and are now looking for fishing gear.


Parasailing off the Puerto Vallarta beach looks not only risky, but a little lonely, to me

Old mariners' myth: Whistling, cutting nails and shaving beards at sea will cause storms.

GARRISON ON HILLARY

Garrison Keillor (Prairie Home Companion) is one of my favorite humor writers for the same reason I admired Molly Ivins. Here's what he says about Hillary Clinton:

She's had so much experience in the limelight that she's no longer enchanted by it. All of the articles about Whether America Is Ready to Elect a Woman have been written, and now we can move on and look at real issues. We need to figure out how to accommodate the millions of good folks who are here illegally and have become a part of our social fabric. Medicare should be extended to cover everybody. Our infrastructure and industrial base need rebuilding.

One of Hillary Clinton's visible assets is the army of enemies she has accumulated, the carpet-chewers of AM radio and the right-wing trolls who go berserk in their webby caverns whenever Madam comes trotting over the bridge. One could not hope for better enemies. It is like playing softball against drunks. They illustrate everything about Republican dominion that the country has come to loathe, the blithering arrogance, the cynicism and corruption, and this wretched war that drags on and on.

Does Hillary have a chance? Barak Obama is looking awfully good too, even while the "right-wing trolls" have been brazenly trying to link him with Al Queda. This could be an interesting Democratic Convention. A black man, a white woman? What's the world coming to?

We did our provisioning for the return trip to San Carlos today. I wandered around Sam's Club and Walmart trying to be faithful to my list, blood sugar down around my ankles. I found golden mangoes, the kind you can't even find in the US, and had to buy some, figuring since they're all about the same ripeness I'd better give at least a couple away, and have a mango pigout with the rest. Customers in both stores were overwhelmingly gringo, with a few prosperous-looking Puerto Vallartans sprinkled in. Prices were definitely U.S. level or higher. Outside taxi drivers were doing a brisk business whisking the exhausted, hungry gringos home to their boats and villas and hotels. When we brought home our loot, one of the guards at the dock carried most of the bags down to the boat and wouldn't accept a tip. What a prince! Then the Capt. made giant hamburgers for lunch, using torta buns (far superior to hamburger buns), ground sirloin mixed with TVP, avocados and baked potatoes on the side. Occasionally we both get a yen for a burger, and we have finally agreed that the ones we make ourselves are far superior to anything we could buy.

Tomorrow we buy diesel fuel in La Cruz, with the help of the local facilitator, Jesus, and then Friday we secure everything, clean up the boat, fill up with water. Knowing how I am the first day out on the water, I'm making a big potato salad so I won't have to cook.

Saturday we'll have a short hop to Punta Mita, the northernmost anchorage in Banderas Bay, and then Sunday we'll sail to Chacala, where my friend and fellow blogger Andee lives. I'll get to visit with her on Monday, then Tuesday we're on our way north again, to San Blas. There are a couple of Internet cafes there, where I can upload another blog.

I won't be sad to leave Puerto Vallarta this time. I've privately started calling this boat The Infirmary in the past week, as the Capt. and I struggle through various ailments. He had a cold, gave it to me, now he's getting it again. My ribs still hurt from my fall during our wild ride from La Paz, and every sneeze and cough is painful. I haven't even been out on the kayak. The Skipper banged a toe during the same wild ride, leaving tracks of blood all over the boat, and it still hasn't healed, after two weeks. Finally he's taking better care of it, nursing it a lot and elevating it per Bugeye John's advice. So our time here hasn't looked much like vacation time. No regrets, we still have the trip back, and maybe even Mardi Gras in Mazatlan! Could going home be the best part of the trip? Tune in for further developments...

WHERE THERE IS NO 911

Banderas Bay, where we're staying for the next week. What the map doesn't show is La Cruz, which is just a jot to the left of Bucerias

"Keep fighting for freedom and justice, beloveds, but don't forget to have fun doin' it. Lord, let your laughter ring forth. Be outrageous, ridicule the fraidy-cats, rejoice in all the oddities that freedom can produce."
Molly Ivins

A sad note: My favorite columnist, Molly Ivins, died of breast cancer Wednesday night. I'll miss her satyrical take on the doin's of "Dubya" and the Texas legislature, all of which rang true to this former Texan. Here's what she said about our home state: "I dearly love the state of Texas, but I consider that a harmless perversion on my part, and discuss it only with consenting adults."

Yesterday I got my certificate for a 24-hour Emergency Care at Sea course here in Nuevo Vallarta, and the little grey cells have absorbed oodles of vital info. Our instructor and old friend Bugeye John has a rapid-fire delivery style, liberally spiced with gory anecdotes and vital details, everything from jellyfish stings to amputations to burial at sea. Now if I can just read my notes...

At sea, there is no 911. I put in the three days' class time in hopes that if/when I'm faced with a medical emergency far from civilization I have a clue what to do, and don't freeze with feelings of fear and helplessness. In some ways, the class opened even more questions begging for answers, but at least now I know how to help get somebody breathing, assess injuries, determine vital signs, stop bleeding, immobilize an injured limb, respond to incidents like snakebite, burns and drowning.

Most of the others in the group are 'puddle jumpers' getting ready to cross to the Marquesas and beyond. Brave souls. Someday we may be making that jump, but not in this boat.

Half our vacation time is over and there isn't time to go further south, even as far as Barra de Navidad. Our publishing schedule requires us to be home by March 1. The Skipper has begun a series of improvement projects that are easier to accomplish here at the dock with electricity for his power tools. Best of all so far, he replaced a heavy, awkward storage bin cover that threatened to mash fingers with a snazzy light new one. I'll probably haul out the sewing machine and start making cushion covers and such. After a week of very spotty WiFi we signed up with another service (from a boat only yards away) and now we can probably make phone calls on Skype.

Tomorrow there's a swap meet at the dock, and our friends Terry and Jonesy from 'Niki Wiki' will be there. She's a very accomplished knitter who's had photos of her work published in books, the type who can look at a knitted article and figure out the stitch. She lent me some of her knitting books so I could choose a stitch for a shawl I wanted to make. I was looking forward to reconnecting with her in Barra, learning fancy stitches and enjoying some female companionship. But as often happens, we are two ships passing in the night. They're headed, eventually, to Central America, then across to the Eastern Seaboard. I do plan to keep up with Terry on her blog, http://sailingknitter.blogspot.com (now included in my favorite blogs & links, so you can too).

She says the anchorage at La Cruz (where we last dallied for a week) has deteriorated radically in just the past few days. Since the landing beach was taken over by construction crews working on the new marina, there's only the option of the docks, which have no ladders and are built so that it's almost impossible to get onto them from a dinghy except at high tide.

Mexican-style advertising: In most small towns you'll see a beat-up truck with a loudspeaker drive by, blasting the neighborhood with praises of certain salsas, camarones and cervezas. Here in Nuevo Vallarta, it's a small plane flying overhead, alerting party hearties about the big do at Sr. Froggie's Saturday night. Progress of a sort, I guess.