February 12, 2016 – Part One of our road trip.
When we started cruising we knew we didn’t want to see only the coastal communities but wanted to explore inland Mexico, as well. Each season we have tried to visit at least one town via road trip. The first year we were down here we went to Todo Santos (with the blues band, you may recall). Last year we went to the Copper Canyon and San Sebastian and this year we went on a two-night, three day excursion to see the Monarch butterflies and some ancient ruins.
I had heard about the butterflies from our friends, Kevin and Debbie on s/v Peppermint Patty. At the time, we had just started cruising and were in Ensenada. The Monarch Butterfly Sanctuary was miles away near Mexico City. As enticing as it sounded, I thought, we will never get there, it’s just too far away, too far inland.
Jump ahead two years later. Now, in Nuevo Vallarta, circumstances were keeping us at the dock longer than expected. I got wind of a small tour headed for El Rosario Monarch Butterfly Sanctuary, just north of Morelia and yes, not far from Mexico City. Only it wasn’t happening until the second week of February. We had hoped to be on our way south by then but after talking it over with Jay, we decided it was worth the wait. We try to keep reminding ourselves that this is what our trip is all about, taking advantage of opportunities as they present themselves.
The first leg of our journey started out at 6:30 in the morning with us and our friends, The McDougals, Aline, Brad, and their son, Jake, standing outside on the street corner in front of the Paradise Village condominiums. Earlier, April had made arrangements to pick us up there because, even though she is a Mexican citizen and a licensed tour guide, the taxi drivers give her a hard time. Evidently, the taxi union is one of the strongest unions in the state and each taxi division has its own territory. Only Paradise Village taxis are allowed to transfer people out of the area. It was still dark and not many people around so when April arrived with her van, we stealthily climbed aboard as quickly as possible and off she went.
Introductions were made. The McDougals had not yet met our other two friends who joined us, Kathy and Jim from Solar Flair (who hitched a ride from La Cruz), nor had they met April. April is a natural woman. She wears her long blond hair in dreadlocks and sans make-up. She is an avid surfer, loves to hike and is passionate about Mexico. April is an intelligent woman, highly educated, and she cares deeply about America, her homeland, and her adopted homeland, Mexico. She is eco-minded and shares her concerns about the environment. She and her husband moved to Bucerias over thirty years ago and raised their two sons here. I asked her how this came about and she said her husband’s parents were cruisers and they brought their son to La Cruz when he was a child. He loved it so much, he always dreamed of going back. Her children now grown, they sold their house and now spend winters renting in La Cruz and summers in southern California (she has dual citizenship) where she and her husband run cross-country motorcycle tours on Route 66. Interesting woman.
We started out on Highway 200. Our destination was east and south but because of the Sierra Madre Mountain range, it was an easier drive to go north to meet the toll roads before heading south. Here we passed through lush, green jungle, while traveling on a two-lane highway that was loaded with curves. As we made our way up and over the mountains, the terrain began to change. It was much more arid. As I looked around I saw many flat-top mountains that were, in fact, volcanoes. Ancient lava lay in the valley below, having once spewed out of the earth with fierce force and heat and then, left for centuries, hardened into huge blocks. I wondered at how and why they formed in such a way.
We passed by the town of Tequila, famous, of course, for its namesake. Surrounding it were fields of Agave, used in the making of tequila. When the agave plant stands alone, you might not think of it as blue. But when it lies in rows and rows across the land, together it has a beautiful blue hue with a hint of ash. It is especially pretty in contrast to the tan dirt, drab cactus, and intermittent splashes of green brush.
The trip to Angangueo, the old mining town in which we were to spend the night, was a ten-hour drive. One of our first stops was alongside the road where a few merchants were selling flat tortillas with either meat or beans. April pulled over and offered us a taste of the local fare.
“Don’t get the meat ones.” April warned. “It’s not just because I’m a vegetarian. One of the guys I brought up here had one of the meat ones and it didn’t settle well.” We took her advice. The bean ones were good. And cheap. We stretched our legs for a bit, had a bathroom break and back into the van.
Eventually we found our way to the toll road, 15. The tolls were outrageously expensive. I think it cost about $150 American dollars to go all the way to Angangueo but the alternative would have taken us countless hours through towns with dozens of topes (speed bumps). It seems every little town in Mexico has a number of topes as you travel through. Not to mention the cobblestone streets. So the cost of the highway is worth it.
We stopped at Subway, of all places, for lunch. I noticed that the only two eateries along the toll road were Subway or Papa Johns, certainly not Mexican food. I asked April about this. She explained that whatever corporation contracts the highway gig gets time to recoup some of their expenses.
“There will be check points.” April said. “Don’t freak out. They just want to know what we are doing and then we move on. I was here two weeks ago and there were a lot more federalies than usual. I think that is because the Pope is expected this week. We timed it just right. He will be here just two days after we leave, so we will get out before having to deal with all the traffic. They are expecting over one million visitors in Mexico City. Can you imagine that?”
We turned off the highway and went through a few small towns. This was fun, despite the topes, as it gave us a little sampling of the local communities. We passed by the open markets and women sweeping the streets. At one turn, there were workers digging up the street, so we had to make a detour. At another turn, we found it blocked off by a celebration of some sort. Another detour. Children were walking home in their school uniforms, laughing and pushing each other in jest. A young boy dodged the cars as he weaved his bicycle through the streets. As we left town, the road started climbing up higher, little by little, as the sanctuary is found at 10,000 feet above sea level.
All through our road trip, April explained the history, culture and agriculture of the areas we traveled. She told us to be a licensed tour guide in Mexico, one must take many hours of serious study and write a thirty-some page thesis – in Spanish – to boot! She is extremely knowledgeable and because she is fluent in both languages, communicates clearly to us gringos, as well as to the Mexicans. Having lived here so many years, she knows the land, the people, where to go and where not to go.
Almost to our destination, April mentioned a building she had seen off to the side of the road on a hill. It looks like a church but it is surrounded by what looks like ruins. “I don’t know what it is. I couldn’t find anything on the internet. I haven’t been up there but it looks intriguing. Do you guys want to go up there and check it out? Are you up for that?” We all murmured and nodded in agreement. “Why not? We’re here.”
The single lane road curved around and around as we climbed up to the driveway that led to the entrance of the church. As far as we could tell, it was deserted but for the teenage couple trying to find a few minutes alone. We exited the car to two dogs barking and claiming the property as their own. But it wasn’t theirs. They belonged to one of the houses below and soon lost interest and went back to their yards. We walked around and peaked into the holes in the walls. We imagined it to be a fortress from long ago. From the hilltop, we could see the entire neighborhood, houses dotting the landscape.
April looked at her watch. “Time to go!” Ever the taskmaster, we couldn’t help but tease her. But, she had a schedule and by golly, we were going to keep to it. “I want to get you to the hotel and settled. Then we can take a walk through town before dinner and get you acclimated to the altitude.”
See Gallery for more photos.
I remember, now, why I love being on the hook. It’s the way the light changes, slowly, subtly, from harsh sun to a warm dusk. The sun drops down low in the sky. The changing hue reflects across the buildings along the shore. Then night falls, the sky turns black and the stars pop out one by one. The moon, this evening, is lazy and won’t rise for several more hours. It’s not just about the visual, watching the light change, but the sensual, physical, feeling of it – in every cell of my body – as the intensity changes. While this occurs, the boat sways with the waves and the breeze is slightly cooler. Eventually, I find my way to bed and lie there, soothed by the rocking, just like when I was a child.
Then, as morning arrives, I awaken early. Sleepily, I find my way back to the cockpit to watch the sun rise. It is seven but still dark because we are the furthest point west in the Central time zone. I see the moon has risen. It is a but a sliver with the bright glow of Jupiter shining by its side. It is still in the east and I watch as the sun tries to catch the moon. It never does. Slowly, the sun beams shades of pink over the horizon. The air is soft. All is quiet but for the roosters and a few pangas; fisherman on their way to work.
It is in this stillness that I find serenity. All the clutter that clouds my mind drifts away. Now clear, new thoughts arise. Sparks of creativity awaken within my soul, while nature gently encourages me to find my natural rhythm.
For me, being on the hook is meditative. A rejuvenation. A gift that I cherish.
—————
On Tuesday, February 2nd, we left Paradise Village Marina for La Cruz where we stayed for a couple of days. Then, on Friday, February 5th, we took Cadenza for a long, lovely sail to Punta de Mita and stayed on the hook overnight. On the way back to Paradise Village, two Humpback whales came alongside our boat and breached.
January 15, 2016
It was two days before our friend, Gail, was to arrive and I was going over the activities I thought she would like to do. Jay and I were sitting across from one another at the salon table.
“She arrives Wednesday around 5:00 pm. We are going to meet her in the hotel lobby. It’s happy hour so we can have a few drinks and then go back to the boat for dinner. I’m making Chicken Mole. Thursday, I was thinking we could just lie around the beach. Or maybe, we could go to the Botanical Gardens that day.”
“Do you really think she wants to travel on three buses and walk through the Botanical Gardens the day after flying all the way from Boston?” Jay asked me.
“No. You’re right. We’ll just go lie at the beach and relax. Catch up.” I continued with my train of thought, “Okay, so Friday is the Women Who Sail luncheon. Saturday is the first Vallarta Cup race. Sunday I want to take her to Los Arroyos Verdes for a SPA day. That leaves Monday and Tuesday for a trip to the Botanical Gardens and a sail.”
“Stop! Stop planning Terri! Let’s just see how it goes. We’re not supposed to be on a schedule.”
I backed down. We are cruisers, after all. We make plans and then the wind changes direction. However, the week did sort of pan out according to my non-schedule.
Our first day together was spent with us girls at the beach, lying on the chaise lounges provided by the hotel. Books and magazines, water bottles and lots of sunblock adorned the table between us. It was a lazy day which ended with dinner on the boat.
We spent a second day on the beach and then passed on the Women Who Sail Luncheon in favor of dinner with friends at the Marival Resort. There they have a restaurant on the top floor overlooking the bay. We arrived for sunset and were pleased to find they had a special offer. For $299 pesos we could have either two cocktails or three glasses of wine and three tapas plates. With the dollar strong here in Mexico that equates to a mere $17.50 per person. Quite a deal. And delicious too.
Saturday was the first race of The Vallarta Cup and so Gail was introduced to the workings of a committee boat. It was slightly overcast which was a welcome respite when you spend the entire day out at sea. Upon returning, there was a party at VYC with dinner and dancing.
Sunday, I took Gail to Los Arroyos Verdes, a hidden gem in the Bucerias valley. I guess you might call it a resort, Mexican style. Several years ago, Lupe, who is the owner, bought the property which consists of several acres. She is both an architect and chef, among other attributes, and is responsible for the design. On site are 40 casitas (some one bedroom, some two bedroom) all with kitchens and a living area. They are for rent by day, week, month or year. The grounds are beautifully groomed with paths that lead through gardens. It sits by a farm and in the mornings you can hear the goats and roosters, a charming addition to the aura of the place, which encourages a peaceful existence and living in concert with the land. There is a pool which has a platform in the middle. That platform provides a perfect center stage for musicians while the audience can either sit alongside the pool or swim around the performers. Every Sunday, Los Arroyos Verdes hosts a band and Lupe invites the cruisers to visit for the afternoon to swim, listen to the live music and enjoy a meal at her pool-side restaurant and bar. Being the smart business woman she is, she also offers free rides both to and from both La Cruz Marina and Paradise Village. All she suggests is we tip the driver generously – a fair trade.
Gail and I arranged for a sixty-minute Aromatherapy massage for the cost of $600 pesos. Again, quite the deal as this translates to a little over $35. It is a small, one-woman, SPA. Nothing fancy. But the massage therapist was excellent and we had no complaints. The rest of the afternoon was spent swimming and enjoying the music. To my surprise and delight, the performers were two members of the group, Luna Rumba; Cheko Ruiz – lead vocals and rhythm guitar, and Alex Gonzales – percussion. After just one song, Gail could see why we love this band.
Monday we went on an epic journey. We took four buses, walked ten miles (Jay had on his Fitbit) and one cab before the day ended. The first bus we chose was the correct bus only we got off at the wrong stop. Having to walk a few blocks to catch the next bus turned out to fun. We got to view some side streets of Puerto Vallarta that we had never seen before. We walked by the sports park where there were lots of people working out, getting their daily exercise. We turned south and headed toward the Romantic Zone. We passed a few taco carts and nearly tripped on a dog. We said hello to an old woman walking on the sidewalk. I commented on her pretty attire. She had on a long white and blue skirt and blouse to match. A shawl draped across her shoulders. She smiled and said something in Spanish and then lifted her shawl to show us her necklace. It was Jesus wrapped up in a leathery package and she wore it over her heart. I smiled and nodded back as if I understood. After she went on her way, Jay explained to me that she had some sort of heart condition and therefore kept Jesus close to her heart to protect her from illness. Just about then we walked past a large open window (no screen) and door to its side. I stopped and backed up.
“Look!” I said, causing Jay and Gail to stop too. “He is making a stained glass window.” It was about six feet by three feet long and lay on a table top.
“How many hours did it take to make this?” Gail asked. He looked confused. “Cuanto horas?” I asked in my limited Spanish. “Veinte dias.” He replied. “Twenty days.” I repeated. “Twenty days? Wow.” Gail murmured, clearly impressed.
We wandered into his shop which was really his home. Inside Gail found a much smaller piece of stained glass. The colors created a moon scene. She purchased this telling me that moons always remind her of her husband, Dave, who passed away several years ago. We never did get to meet him, but I feel as if we know him. She has shared many many stories of their years together, keeping his memory alive. It would have been an honor to meet this man who was a devoted husband and loving father.
Moving on, we found another bus which would take us to the malecon. We were on our way to the Botanical Gardens, but wanted to stop at a little coffee hut by the beach. Jay and I had been there once before and thought it would be nice to stop there and have a mocha. There we asked for directions to take the third and final bus to the Botanical Gardens. The gardens are on the south side of Puerto Vallarta, which would be another thirty-minute ride from the Romantica Zone where we would catch the bus.
“You walk all the way to the end of the malecon. All the way.” The woman said emphatically. She was a customer sitting at a table nearby and overheard that we were looking for directions. “There you will see an Oxxo.”
“Across the street from the Guadalajara Pharmacia.” The owner of the coffee hut interjected.
“That is where you pick up the El Tuito bus.” The first lady continued. We nodded and left to walk the entire length of the malecon in search of the Oxxo and Guadalajara Pharmacia.
Well! Do you know how many Oxxos there are?! And there is not just one Guadalajara Pharmacia, there are many. It, too, is a chain store. We got to the end of the malecon and walked around for several blocks trying to figure out where to catch the bus. After asking three different people in three different areas, we finally found our connection.
We stepped up into the bus and paid our ten pesos and sat down. A young boy jumped on with a pie plate of pizza. He was selling slices. “No, gracious.” We said as he went down the aisle. (This is quite common. Locals get on the bus at one stop and sell food, drinks, or candy. Or some get on with a guitar and sing for money. They collect what they can and then the driver let’s them off at the next stop.)
It was a beautiful drive along Route 200 and the south shore. The two-lane road winds around the cliffs and overlooks the ocean and the coves tucked into the shoreline. As in all buses down here, the radio was blasting with Mexican folk songs. Gail and I just smiled, immersed in the joy of the moment.
As you might imagine, The Botanical Gardens is home to a plethora of indigenous plant species. One of their prize collections is the many varieties of Mexican orchids. Once threatened by poachers, the Botanical Gardens has made it their mission to gather together the largest assortment of orchids found anywhere in Mexico. Here they are on display for all to enjoy.
By the time we arrived, our stomachs were growling and we headed straight for the restaurant that we heard was quite good. It was located on the second floor of the main building and was an open-air eatery overlooking the gardens and river that flows through it. The waiter served us a complimentary Hibiscus tea and we ordered fish tacos.
Over the next two hours, we walked the trails that led around the property. Hearing that we were allowed to swim in the river, we had brought our bathing suits. We were used to the warm ocean water so when we dipped our toes in, we were in for quite a shock. It was cold mountain river. No swimming for us.
All tired out, we headed for Highway 200 and caught the bus (this made number four) back to the Romantica Zone in time for happy hour at Daiquiri Dicks. Refreshed, we took the long walk back down the malecon where we took Gail to an authentic Cuban restaurant. Once again, it was sunset, and the food was served as we watched the sun lower down in the sky. When the time came to head home, the inevitable question was raised; bus or taxi? “Taxi.” Jay said. “Definitely a taxi.”
Tuesday was Gail’s last day before flying out to Denver to visit her daughter and go skiing in Vail. Tuesday is normally our laundry and market day. Since we were all exhausted from our long excursion the day before, we decided to stick around the boat. I took Gail over to the Riviera Market.
The Riviera Market is another local market of individual vendors that show up every Tuesday in the parking lot behind the hospital and casino. There are the usual tourist souvenirs but this is also where we get our fresh vegetables, fresh fish, fresh bread and fresh foods like pastas, sauces and home-grown coffee. Gail and I looked over the clothes, but mostly I was there for the food. Later, I sent Gail to the beach while I went to do laundry.
The day ended with Gail taking us out to dinner. We went to one of our favorite restaurants in the area, Porto Bello. Good Italian food overlooking the river. Hmm… seems to be some common themes here, particularly food, drinks and oceans and rivers.
Wednesday arrived and sadly, it was time for Gail to go. We had a great holiday filled with adventure and exploring. We had lots of fun. And now that I look back, I guess that non-schedule I wasn’t planning turned out to be okay, after all.
See gallery for more photos.
There are numerous sayings about those who can and cannot sing the blues. For example, “You can’t sing the blues if you have all your teeth.” Or, “…you were once blind but now can see.” Or, “…you have a retirement plan or trust fund.” So, it is probably safe to say that as a white chick who lives on her boat in the Mexican Riviera in a place called Paradise, I can’t sing the blues either. Nevertheless…
January 4, 2016
“We’re still cruising. We’re just not moving.” Jay said the other day. It struck me funny and I couldn’t help but laugh despite the fact that the little girl inside me wanted to stomp her feet and yell, “But I want to go cruising! I want to sail to Barra de Navidad right now!”
It’s true. Jay is right. There is more to cruising than the journey itself. It is about the destination and exploring new places. It is about education and being prepared. It is about “fixing things in exotic places.” And, it is about patience.
To that end, the boat is finally almost ready. It seems the last thing is the dinghy. The propeller is fixed but there are several leaks. We are working on finding them and patching them, hoping to get another year out of her. We were ready to set sail around the middle of January just after our friend, Gail, departs back to the states. But then I heard about Luna Rumba’s CD Release Party at Los Arroyos Verdes in Bucerias on the 15th. Luna Rumba is very popular down here and we love their music. (Check out their website, www.lunarumba.com) So… “We have to stay for that, Jay!” He agreed.
The next plan was to leave around the third week of January when I inquired if April of Wavehouse had any good tours coming up during the week of Gail’s visit. “No.” She said. “But, I am planning on doing a tour up to the Monarch Butterfly Sanctuary the second week of February.”
“OMG! Jay, we have to do that! This is the perfect opportunity to see the butterflies. April is a wonderful tour guide and she only travels with small groups. Besides, I think Kathy and Jim will want to go too. Come on! It will be fun! And this year is expected to be especially abundant with the butterflies as it is an el Nino year.” He agreed.
Staying put now until the third week of February, we decided to get involved with a few more things. We offered to be the committee boat for The Vallarta Cup held by The Vallarta Yacht Club. This goes over four Saturdays, starting January 9th.
Then there is the Puddle Jump series; seminars held by Dick Markie and the VYC two to three times per week over the next two months. We have no plans to do the Puddle Jump but thought we would take advantage of some of those classes.
Still, I was antsy.
Sensitive to my discontent, Jay woke me up yesterday morning. I didn’t know it at the time, but he had a day full of surprises for me. “Would you like to take a walk on the beach?” I jumped out of bed, pulled on some shorts and a tee-shirt and off we went.
It was just after dawn. The heat had been abating since Christmas and the air was cool and soft. As we walked along the shore, the waves crossed our path from time to time. The water was warm. Jay and I had just finished reading Stephen King’s “Revival” so our discussion was filled with questions regarding faith, death, the afterlife – whatever that may or may not be – and how we see God fitting into that equation. I must admit. It wasn’t just because of the book. The older I get, the more I find myself pondering these topics.
On our way back, Jay offered up another idea. “Why don’t we go back to the boat, get your shoes, and go out for breakfast.” I smiled. “Okay.”
Just as we were finishing a delicious meal at a restaurant called Moon Star Cafe, Jay came up with yet another surprise. “I tell you what. Why don’t we skip chores today (Really? I thought to myself. No chores? Not a one?) and take the bus to Bucerias.” My face lit up again. This sounded like a great idea to me. Paradise Village is lovely, but it is a bit of a “tourist bubble” as our friend likes to call it.
Paradise Village is a small community in Neuvo Vallarta, just north of Puerto Vallarta. It is a resort and spa that has both a hotel and time-share units. There is our marina, a yacht club, three pools and a beautiful stretch of beach. Behind the bus stop sits a mall with art galleries, tourist shops, a supermarket and several American fast food chains like Subway, McDonalds, Dominos, and Starbucks. It is basically a self-contained neighborhood as it also has a laundromat, two beauty salons, two banks, two churches, a hospital and even a casino, not to mention several restaurants. While Mexican tourists frequent the resort, it is inundated with Canadians and Americans. English is spoken as often as Spanish. Jay often jokes, “We can almost see Mexico from here.”
Bucerias, on the other hand (while it too is a place where many Canadians and Americans take residence) feels like the real thing; an authentic Mexican town. It lies on Banderas Bay approximately halfway between Nuevo Vallarta and La Cruz. It takes two buses and about an hour to get there.
As we waited at the bus stop, I couldn’t help but notice the beauty all around us. The streets of Paradise Village are clean and the landscape manicured. Both tall and short palm trees line the center walkway/bike path that separates the roads flowing north and south. Bright purple Bougainvillea, mixed with pink Hibiscus flowers rise up to the sun in a cloudless sky. Tightly trimmed bushes with what looks like Blue Star Jasmine decorate the sidewalks.
“Directo! Walmart! Puerto Vallarta!” The woman yelled out. She was short and round and carried a cork board and pen. Evidently, it is her job to sit at the bus stop all day, documenting the timing of the buses and announcing their arrival. Sometimes she sells sandwiches or ice cream to supplement her income. We stepped up onto the bus, handed the bus driver thirty pesos and sat down for the first leg of our journey.
I watched the terrain change from an orchestrated horizon to the wild. Pieces of trash now blew across the grass and caught up in fences, leaving traces of a careless humanity. The buildings were no longer brand new and cleanly painted. These buildings showed signs of aging with cracked facades. Yet in the distance, and all around us, we were surrounded with fields of lush green foliage and radiant flowers, and mountains filled with jungles that dropped dramatically alongside white coastlines and sparkling blue water. The contrast between new and old, groomed and not was striking. Of course we enjoy the pristine and luxury of Paradise Village but we crossed cultures to be exposed to how others live, not how we take up residence in their society.
The bus reached highway 200 where it turned south to head to Puerto Vallarta. We wanted to go north so exited at the Notoria Publica and walked along a stone pathway overgrown with weeds. More trash speckled the ground. We now had one of two choices. We could run across the six-lane highway, dodging cars and trucks traveling at 80 km or, we could climb the stairway and cross over on the footbridge. We chose the footbridge. (Standing under the overpass, waiting for the ATM bus that would take us to Bucerias, I couldn’t help but remember my teenage years when I hitchhiked across country with a knapsack, a guitar, and a few dollars to my name. I remember thinking I finally understood the meaning of Janice Joplin’s song lyrics, “…freedom means nothing left to lose.” But then that’s a whole other story.) Not five minutes later, the bus arrived. We paid our 14 pesos and we were on our way again.
Our final stop let us off in a river bed which held, to our surprise, the local Sunday market. I am sure in the rainy season, this river runs full and fast, but today it is packed with dry dirt in the heat of the sun and filled with street vendors, where you can find almost anything you could want for a good price; a cross between a flea market, farmers’ market and a blocks-long garage sale.
“Should we check it out?” Jay asked me. “Why not?” I said as we wandered through a maze of activity.
There was something for everyone. Some people were selling used clothing. Others new skin products. There were plenty of toy options for the children. Used tools were laid out on a blanket on the ground and old women sold their handmade crafts. There was lots of food too. We passed a couple of fresh vegetable stands, as well as fresh fruit carts where they made frozen drinks per request. Chicken and beef were sizzling over an open fire and the smoke wafted through the air, enticing our taste buds. Too bad we were full from breakfast.
Having seen enough, we turned around and followed the river bed toward the sea. Chickens ran in front and behind us, squawking. Not doubt protesting their friends back there on the fire. We found a path that led to a walking bridge over the river. This led us into another maze of street vendors. Only these shops are set out for the tourists and sell the usual stuff; anywhere from cheap trinkets, to hats and tee-shirts to beautiful handmade pottery painted in bright colors. The Mexicans love their color and I find it makes me happy.
They use color liberally. Even some of their buildings are painted with oranges, reds, and lime green. Many have murals covering their exterior walls. Some buildings are in fine repair. Others are unfinished with steel pipes sticking out of their roofs. Laundry hangs from lines tied to these pipes. Like many towns in Mexico, the streets in Bucerias are cobblestone and, I am told, laid down by hand. The uneven rocks make for awkward walking, so we search for sidewalks when possible. Most sidewalks are narrow causing us to travel in single file.
We navigated the streets until we found the center square. Bucerias is known for its many good restaurants and we found one in a bright orange building that sat on the beach. By this time it was lunch so we plopped down under a palapa for drinks and a bite to eat. It was a hot, clear day and our view was of the entire Banderas Bay with its majestic mountains off in the distance.
My tummy full again, I took off my beach wrap and ran into the ocean for a swim. The temperature was perfect and the waves were fun. Jay sat under the shade and watched the children as they played on the beach. This is where the local Mexicans come to swim and it was Sunday, the day they spend with their families.
I left the water with a huge grin on my face and sat down next to Jay, looking out over the horizon. He ordered us a drink and took my hand. I realized how lucky I was to have that moment, all these moments, and to share it with the man I love.
So no… this white chick who lives on a boat in the Mexican Riviera in a place called Paradise has no right to sing the blues.
December 29, 2015
No matter how many years (and there have been many) I have spent in warm climates during Christmas, it just doesn’t feel the same. Maybe because my early years, up until I was nine, were spent, mostly, in Bucks County, Pennsylvania. Christmas is supposed to be cold and snowy, like the Bing Crosby song, “White Christmas.” Ours was not a white Christmas. But it was beautiful.
We had heard from our friend, Dick, who is the Rear Commodore of the Vallarta Yacht Club, that on Christmas day several boats were headed out to Los Animas Cove for lunch and an afternoon at the beach. Jay and I decided this sounded like a good way to spend Christmas so we promptly agreed to go and invited, Dick and his wife Carol, and another friend, Ayn, to join us, as well.
On a picture perfect morning we got underway around 1000 and headed for the south shore of Banderas Bay and Los Animas Cove. It is very deep on the south shore so anchoring is rarely an option and the moorings they have are few. Jay and I had not been to the south shore yet so it was good to go with someone who had local knowledge.
We arrived around noon and fortunately, the cove was still rather empty. We scored a mooring. Oh my! They weren’t kidding when they said the moorings were close to shore. And it was quite rolly. A panga came out to greet us and guided us to the mooring and helped us tie up and then waited, somewhat patiently, for us to bridle the mooring rig. We jumped in his panga and he took us over to the dock.
Lunch was at El Coral, sitting under a palapa on the sand. I ordered fish tacos. (This has become my new official holiday meal. Forget turkey. Forget roast beef and Yorkshire pudding. Bring on the tacos!) Carol ordered coconut shrimp on a stick with tamarind sauce. That was a big hit. Dick, Jay and Ayn were more adventurous and ordered a whole fish, filleted and barbecued. It took an hour, but it was delicious! (Yes, they let me have a bite or two.)
Some people swam, I walked the beach, others played Bocce Ball. It was a lovely, calm afternoon. At 1500, we gathered our crew and headed back to Nuevo Vallarta where the cruisers were having a dock party.
It was a good day, a different kind of Christmas. The only thing (and this is a big thing) missing was our family. We missed our children and grandchildren very much.
See photos in gallery.
December 29. 2015
It must be the year for visitors. On Wednesday, December 23rd two more friends from Channel Islands stopped by to see us. Only Cathy and Don Hummer came via cruise ship having just left Mazatlan and on their way to Manzanillo. Early in December, Cathy wrote me and said they would be in Puerto Vallarta for one day and could we get together. We met them for lunch at Daiquiri Dick’s, a lovely restaurant right on the beach in the Romantica Zone. It was a delightful afternoon catching up with old friends.
December 28, 2015
We had only been in Mexico for two weeks, but it seemed like forever until we took Cadenza out of the slip. We knew we had to have her ready for our friends’ visit. Last spring, Cindy and Dann from Channel Islands decided to join us here in Nuevo Vallarta for a week during the Christmas season. They put the word out that they were coming to visit us and four other couples signed up for the trip. We were anxious to share this beautiful bay and worked hard to put the boat back together in time for their visit.
So many things to fix. The head, well, you know that story. Then we were having trouble with the batteries holding power. Ultimately, Jay discovered that, over the summer, one of the workers had changed the battery switch to the Number 2 setting instead of Both, as he had left it. Unbeknownst to us at the time, this meant that we were only drawing from two batteries, instead of four. We were concerned that we would have to get new batteries which would not only be a hassle to take out and replace, but would be particularly costly here in Mexico. Once Jay switched it back to the Both setting, the batteries charged up and held a 12.6 voltage. All good there.
Then, there was an issue with the Ray Marine electronics. They weren’t picking up a GPS signal. Jay diagnosed the problem as a faulty cable. Moisture and corrosion had destroyed it and with the help of a local electrician they finally got that fixed, but not before we took her out the first time. For GPS on that excursion, we used our trusty old Garmin. We do love our Garmin.
And then there was the propeller on our outboard. Some people foul the prop with the painter. I fouled our prop with my leg. When we got back to Mexico and put the dinghy in the water, we found that, due to my accident, the hub had slipped. (The good news – the fact that this propeller had a rubber insert hub instead of a shear pin, probably saved my leg. When the prop hit my leg, it spun on its rubber hub instead of continuing to chop through my leg.) To get that fixed we asked a dozen people, tried about a half dozen stores, took two buses and walked three miles before we found Greg, at Opequimar Boat Yard. He was able and willing to send it to Mazatlan to get it fixed. But not before we took Cadenza out for the first time. We didn’t need the dinghy for our sail anyway, so that didn’t stop us.
So on Tuesday, December 15th, with some things working and other’s not, we took Cadenza out for her maiden voyage of the season. On board were our CI friends; Cindy, Dann, Donna, Mike, Stephanie and Mark, as well as two new friends from Arizona; Jo and Kelly. (Mike & Cherri hitched a ride on a race boat that day. Always the racers. Gotta love them.) It was a bright, sunny day. We could have had a little more wind, but there was enough to sail. And, as usual on Banderas Bay, the seas were calm. We coasted along at an easy five knots.
“Do you realize that we have never sailed on Cadenza before?” Cindy asked as we headed out of the harbor.
“Actually, none of you have. I can’t believe you all had to fly down to Puerto Vallarta just to take a sail with us!” I said as we laughed at the irony of it. I guess that is just the way it is when we all have our own boats – we take them out together, but don’t often sail on each other’s boats.
We had a great time while they were here. Jay and I went over to their hotel for a day of swimming, then headed to La Cruz for a cruiser’s party. Both Stephanie and Mark and Mike and Cherri met up with some people they knew from the Ventura area. The sailing community is really quite a small and tight community. It is hard to go anywhere on a boat and not meet someone you know or someone who knows someone you know. We finished off the night at the famous Philo’s Bar. A must-do when in La Cruz.
During the week they were here, everyone separated to do their own thing and then came back together again. After the day sail and race we all ended up at The Vallarta Yacht Club for some dinner and dancing. (Including some more of our Channel Island friends, Mary and Curt, who had just arrived to Banderas Bay on their sailing vessel, Magic.) And then finally, we all went together to see The Rhythms of the Night. We took a tour boat out to a cove on the south shore and saw an amazing dance performance in the jungle, complete with a candle-lit dinner. A wonderful evening.
All that was fun, but I must say, I think Third season, Episode one; The Maiden Voyage was the highlight for us. We loved sharing Cadenza, Banderas Bay, and this incredibly special lifestyle. Maybe more of our friends from Channel Islands will bring their boats down here in the future, yes? Bobbi and Don on Sea Dancer are here. (Currently in Mazatlan) Mary and Curt on Magic are here. (Currently in La Cruz) Jay and I are here. (Currently in Nuevo Vallarta) Who’s next?
December 13, 2015
“Agh! Jay! The toilet’s spitting back at me!” I was yelling from the bathroom.
“What? It was working fine. What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know. It just seems to be harder to pump.” But it was late and we were tired so we just went to bed.
This went on for about 24 hours. Our new head sort of worked. And it sort of didn’t. It would flush but it seemed more difficult than it should have been. I got up in the middle of the night and heard a hissing sound coming from the closet when I flushed the head. Like a short burst of air and water. Not good, I thought to myself. But again, it was late and I was tired so I went back to bed while making a note to myself to check it out in the morning.
I forgot. Jay didn’t. He figured it was time to call Sergio back as he was the man who installed it.
“What happened?” He asked as he climbed up onto the boat. His helper followed.
“I don’t know, Sergio. It was working beautifully then it started acting up. I’m thinking it might be the y-valve is plugged.”
After some investigation, it turned out that our new head has a much stronger pump and loosened up the accumulated scale, proceeding to clog it up, forcing one of the y-valves into a half-open, half-closed position, which then diverted all the liquid into two different sections; one overboard and one into the holding tank. The head spitting at me was telling me the holding tank was full. Before we could replace the y-valve, we had to get the holding tank pumped out.
Naturally, the marina was going through a Navy inspection and we couldn’t get pumped out for three days. Yea! I got to get up in the middle of the night and run to the hotel bathroom in the pouring rain! (By now you probably understand why I was thrilled – albeit short-lived – with having a new head.)
“Should we replace the hoses that connect to the y-valves, Sergio?”
“I recommend you replace all the hoses.” So Jay headed back to the chandlery for more hoses in addition to the two new y-valves he had just purchased for $92 (American dollars) a piece.
All put back together and ready to work, right? Wrong. It still had a leak. This time it was the macerator. Our wonderful new head has so much pressure it blew out a seal on the macerator and it had to be replaced also.
Back to the chandlery. Drop another $360.
And now, we not only have a wonderful new head, we also have new hoses, new y-valves and a new macerator. And no stink! I think this might do us for awhile. Let’s hope so.
P.S. In answer to your question, Bill, it is a Jabsco.
We have a new head! You can’t possibly imagine how happy this makes me. Or maybe, you can. After all, if you’re a boat owner, you have probably battled with your head on more than one occasion. And aren’t these the stories we just love to tell?
Like the time Jay dissembled the plumbing to find a tampon blocking the passage. “Do you know how big those things get?” He asked, incredulously. “Really?” I replied. “A tampon?”
From the very first day of puberty, our mothers drum into our brains, “Never throw a tampon down the toilet.” Unfortunately, it seems, that many of us girls need to be reminded as most public restrooms have signs stating, DO NOT THROW TAMPONS DOWN THE TOILET!
Our personal favorite boat mantra is the phrase, “If you haven’t eaten it, it doesn’t go down the head.” And still, Jay finds a tampon.
Then there was the guy who dropped a load, a BIG load, and couldn’t flush it down. Seeing the bowl start to overflow, he surrendered. He popped up through the companionway and into the cockpit. “Uh, Jay…? Could you come down here, please.”
I wasn’t there for that one but Jay describes it as an unpleasant experience. A sour head combined with the heat and fumes of the engine. Mix in six foot seas and the result will challenge even the hardiest of stomachs.
In all fairness to the guy, it isn’t easy to push what equates to an unripened avocado through a pathway the size of a quarter. Not to mention – because it is a boat and space is limited – our head is plumbed with a twelve foot hose that goes up (a vented loop, I think its called) before it goes down and then twists and turns several more times before heading to the holding tank or out to sea.
Jay likes to fix things. He doesn’t throw things away. He fixes things. Not only do I admire this trait, but it is an absolute necessity on a boat. It is almost a guarantee, if it is going to break, it will break when we are out to sea. We can’t call a plumber. Nor can we close the door and walk away. Or, in our case, use a different head. We have one. And it has to work. We can’t tell our body, “Okay body, you have to wait. The head is broken.” No. This is when nature teaches us who is boss and it is not us.
Jay fixes things, yes. But I have assisted on occasion. I have even taken Holly Scott’s “Troubleshooting the Head” class. But let’s get real. Holly’s joker valves are clean. It’s not quite like being on the receiving end when a hose slips out of Jay’s hand and crap, literally, spews out. But I must admit… I mean, really, can you blame me if I disappear when I hear swear words bellowing out from the bowels of the boat?
So, after discovering that the repair kit costs more than a new toilet, Jay finally succumbed and our 36 year-old head has been replaced. It is clean and white, not yellowed and corroded from years of age. And it doesn’t smell! For now, it is fresh-water plumbed, which means no little critters have been sucked in from the sea only to die and rot in the corners of the tubes. And the best part…it was installed while we were out of the country! I am truly a happy boater.
December 3, 2015
“Why don’t you take your computer and go up to the Hospitality Lounge and cool off.” Jay said to me as I sat at the salon table with sweat dripping down my face.
“Could I have a paper towel, please.” He handed me one and I patted myself dry.
“Go on. Go. I will meet you up there later.” And so I went.
The Hospitality room is part of the Paradise Village Resort, one of the many benefits we get by being a marina resident. It is a lounge area, complete with showers and is mostly used by hotel guests who have to check out of their room early but don’t have to catch a plane until later. This way, they can utilize the day and then have a place to freshen up before traveling. For cruisers, like us, it is not only a first rate shower and dressing room, but a place to cool off and use the internet.
I sat down and turned on the computer. While I was waiting for it to charge up and connect to the WIFI, I noticed the other inhabitants with whom I shared the room.
There was a family of four, repacking and moving out, presumably, to catch their flight. One man was left standing while his wife finished getting ready in the dressing room. He had the TV on. It was facing the other direction so I couldn’t see it. The volume was turned down low so I could only hear a word or phrase now and then.
His wife came out, hair still wet, and retrieved something from her bag. “We have twenty-five minutes.” he said as he looked down at his phone and then proceeded to say something about a mass shooting in California.
Not again, I think.
My computer connected to the internet and I went to AOL to check for mail and to let our family know we had arrived safely. The first news story that popped up was about the shooting in San Bernardino, California but there was little information except that it was a fluid and on-going situation. The woman came out and she and the man left together. The television played softly in the background. “Three shooters armed with long guns.”
I finished checking my email and moved on to type blog entries. They were about how hot I am and how fortunate I am to be living this lifestyle.
“Fourteen dead. Fourteen wounded.”
The maid came in and turned off the television. I had meant to get up and see what was happening, but instead continued to write about how wonderful everything is.
But it’s not, is it?
I am trying to make sense of this world. I am trying to understand why I am so blessed and fourteen innocent people lost their lives today. It’s hard enough losing one person but imagine losing several colleagues at once. These people are mothers, daughters, sons and wives, husbands, fathers and brothers, friends to many. The repercussions of this event trickles out over the airwaves and through the universe, adversely affecting millions.
I got up and turned the television back on. I am obsessed now, glued to the television, searching for a reason. Why? Who? Why would someone do this? There was a lot of conjecture being tossed about by the reporters but no real motive is given because how could they know? The authorities hadn’t even found the suspects yet.
Jay entered the room. He said I should turn off the television. “That’s one reason we came here. To not be inundated with the news.”
“But we can’t bury our heads in the sand, Jay. This is our world. And it is happening everywhere.” I am beginning to think the Pope is right. Maybe this is the beginning of the Third World War.
We left the room an hour later after the suspects were shot with no real answers. We walked outside and sat at the bar on the beach and watched an incredibly beautiful sunset as it faded over the water. We smiled and laughed and chatted with a woman who came by in a wheelchair. From there, everything looked wonderful.
But it’s not, is it?