December 2, 2105

Oh my! What a shock. From a 27 degree icy morning to a an 87 degree afternoon. With 97% humidity! That was yesterday.

This morning I have changed clothes three times and reapplied sunscreen four times and it isn’t even 10:30! I was wondering why the heat has affected us so drastically when I realized that the two seasons, previously, we sailed – both times – down from San Diego. That allowed for a slow entry into the tropics. Not a jolt like this one was. Somewhat like hopping into a Jacuzzi after a dip in a cold pool.

On the positive side, I should lose a few pounds from sheer sweat alone. And the humidity is good for the skin too. Who needs to pay for a sauna when we have one right here – inside and outside the boat!

Cadenza looks great, by the way. Elizabeth and Sergio, of E2 Yacht Services, took good care of her during the summer. Before leaving, Jay outfitted her with a huge humidifier that seems to have done the job. Very little, if any, mildew. The boat showed no signs of dampness either from the many leaks that can arise after a downpour. She was clean inside and protected from the harsh sun outside with several awnings.

Now it just about putting things away, reconnecting the electronics, and rigging the sails. It might take a week or so, but I can’t wait for that first sail across the beautiful Banderas Bay!

The after effects of a run-in with the prop of our dinghy. April, 2015

June 29, 2015

When I tell people we are cruising in Mexico, one of the most frequently asked questions (other than, “Is it safe?”) is, “What about the medical care?” After a ride in an ambulance, one surgery, three days in the hospital and several follow-up appointments, I can tell you that my experience was nothing short of excellent.

San Javier Hospital was immaculate and the nurses attentive and efficient. I had my own room where Jay was welcomed to stay overnight. It was a little disconcerting, though, when I was wheeled in on a gurney and five attending nurses and doctors surrounded me, all speaking rapidly in Spanish. “Would somebody please tell me what’s going on?” I asked, meekly.

Fortunately, the surgeon they called spoke decent English. Certainly much better English than our Spanish. And whatever Doctor Brambilla couldn’t explain, he would bring in someone else to translate. Sometimes, he even pulled out a medical book to show us, in way of pictures, just exactly what was happening to my leg.

He showed us which muscle in my calf was severed 50%. He explained how the propeller shaved two separate bones and damaged a tendon. Despite the severities of my injuries, he felt my prognosis for a full recovery was good.

Doctor Brambilla is an excellent doctor and the surgery went well. He is a warm, gentle soul, who showed compassion for me every step of the way. His kindness was so genuine that as Jay and I said goodbye, we felt like we were losing a friend.

The days that followed the accident were trying. Probably more so for Jay than for me. First of all, imagine what he was feeling. He watched the entire event from Cadenza, unable to help me. He left the boat with a few of my extra clothes and his wallet. Nothing else. Once we arrived at the hospital and he knew I was in good hands – and not realizing I would have to stay in the hospital for several days – Jay left to figure out, what next?

The logistics were complicated. It was now the middle of April and nearing the end of our sailing season. We were scheduled to leave Mexico on the 28th, two weeks away. In the meantime, where would I stay? I was incapbable of getting up on the boat and even if I could, how would I manage day to day living on the boat with my leg? (As I would be in a half/cast for almost a month.)

Fortunately, we had been keeping our boat docked at Paradise Village Marina only a short walking distance from the hospital. Jay headed there first; maybe to get some comfort from friends, maybe out of habit. But once he got to the gate, he realized, he didn’t have his key. He stood there for a few minutes, generally confused (I think he was still in some sort of mild shock.), when finally, someone opened the gate and he headed for our slip. But the slip was empty! He stopped short. “Oh, right,” he thought to himself, “Cadenza is at anchor in La Cruz. Hmm…”

Our friends, Don and Linda, were on their boat in the next slip over and he knocked on the hull of Iron Rose. “Hello?” Linda stuck her head out and with one look at Jay, knew something was wrong.

Thank God for good friends.

Linda and Don invited him in and listened as he told them the story. Then they proceeded to offer their help. Don lent Jay his gate key and gave him his cell phone so that Jay could call Linda’s phone if he needed anything. After a drink and a few hugs to calm his nerves, Jay headed for the hotel next door, Paradise Village Resort and Spa. They had decided the best answer was to stay in the hotel for the next couple of weeks until the flight home.

“May I have your ID sir?” The hotel clerk asked Jay. She watched as he fumbled through his wallet and pulled out his driver’s license. Jay’s clothes were still wet. His shirt was stained with blood. His hair was disheveled and his demeanor confused. He had a Massachusetts driver’s license and a credit card with a California address. Around his neck he wore the marina gate key and ID with the name and photo of our friend, Don Anderson. Naturally she was suspicious.

After several minutes of interrogation, Jay was able to convince the clerk that he was, indeed, legitimate, that his wife was currently in the emergency room, (hence the wet clothes stained with blood) and once she was released from the hospital, they both would be in need of a room. He signed the papers, put out his arm for the all-important wristband (everyone who stays at The Paradise Village Resort and Spa must display their wristband at all times), and was served his room key.

Next, it was back to the hospital to see how I was fairing.

It was then that he found out that I would be having surgery and likely to be admitted for at least one night. He called the hotel to cancel the reservation. But no, the all-important wristband had to be cut off by the hotel clerk and only the hotel clerk. So, once again, back to the hotel. Then, back to the hospital to wait for the surgeon and his team.

Dr. Brambilla explained that I couldn’t have surgery for several more hours since I had eaten lunch around 1:00 pm that day. Nor could I have any anesthesia until it was time for surgery. (That made for a very painful moment when the nurse cleaned out my wounds.) Meanwhile, he called in his own surgical team; an anesthesiologist and a sweet, elderly nurse were among them. The nurse came in on a cane and she wobbled up to me and introduced herself. She emitted a tenderness that made me feel at ease and I immediately trusted her. “You take care of me.” I said as they wheeled me into surgery. She nodded and smiled.

Two days and eight thousand dollars later (Our medical insurance has yet to acknowledge the emergency. In fact, three months later we are still fighting for reimbursement.), Jay wheeled me out of San Javier Hospital and into The Paradise Village Resort and Spa where we had a comfortable room on the first floor with two queen-size beds, a sitting area, a kitchenette, a bathroom and a small porch. And most important of all, air conditioning. This would be home for the next two and a half weeks.

Now it was up to Jay to take care of everything. I was in a cast and virtually incapable of doing anything for myself. He helped me to the bathroom, to shower and to dress. He went shopping for our food, cooked meals and cleaned up the dishes. He helped me to the porch each morning so I would have a change of view. He took me for a walk in my wheelchair each evening to get some fresh air. During the day, he went down to the boat to begin the long project of putting her to bed for the summer.

(Cadenza was now safely in her slip in the marina next to the hotel. Jay and our friend, Ed, had retrieved her the day after my surgery. As we had left in a hurry, the hatches were wide open and not one thing was missing. Someone by the name of T-Sarge had retrieved our runaway dinghy and tied it up to the boat. Another good Samaritan/cruiser had turned on our anchor light the night before. We were, and are, greatly indebted to the cruising community of La Cruz in April of 2015; the two men from the sv/Priority who helped Jay and me get to the ambulance and the many eyes that kept a silent watch over Cadenza while we were gone.)

Putting Cadenza to bed included so many things like taking down sails, disabling electronics and removing everything from topsides and storing it below. He had to rig up shade awnings, empty gas cans and gerry jugs, deflate kayaks, disconnect propane and connect fans and dehumidifiers. Then there was cleaning out the food closets, the refrigerator and freezer. There were clothes to pack and important paper documents to be collected and brought home. It is a big job for two, let alone one.

Thank God for good friends.

Ed helped Jay with the sails. Barb emptied our fridge and food cabinets while I sat in my wheelchair on the dock, giving directions. She packed my clothes. She helped cook meals and even did our wash. Linda stopped by the hotel and surprised me with a milkshake. I was informed that milkshakes cure all ailments. Steve and Janny came by and prayed with me for my recovery. Our friend, Jay, a retired surgeon, kept an eye on my progress. And on a couple of nights, we all went out to the palapa outside the hotel – me in my wheelchair – and had a barbecue pot luck dinner. Fresh air, good food and great company did wonders for my state of mind.

After three follow-up appointments with the doctor, I was ready to fly home. (With the knowledge that I would need a skin graft when we arrived in the states.) But I was still in a cast and wheelchair bound. Now the challenge was for Jay to get me and all our luggage through three airports and on and off two planes. And in the Dallas airport, we had miles to traverse to go through customs. Fortunately, the airlines was a big help, and we had assistance all along the way.

We arrived in Boston at one a.m. where my daughter, Talia, and her boyfriend, Dan, picked us up and took us to their home for the night as we still had a two-hour drive and a ferry ride to get to Martha’s Vineyard. We would make that journey the following day.

Imagine this. Arriving home to a house that had been closed-up for the winter but for some remodeling construction. All the curtains had been taken down as we had new windows installed. They were unfinished and had to be sanded and sealed with polyurethane. Twenty-two windows and a job that we had originally planned to do together, was now left to Jay, alone. One bedroom had a new ceiling with two holes for skylights that were waiting for the new roof to be installed, as well as another hole in the kitchen for yet one more skylight. Two of our three bathrooms were in various stages of upgrade and unusable. A new floor that was installed had to be reinstalled because there was an error. Sheets and towels had to be washed. Beds had to be made. There was no food in the refrigerator. Dishes had to be taken out of the cupboards and cleaned. With the house in disarray, there was so much to do…. And then there was me – in a wheelchair.

Thank God for family.

Talia and Dan both took several days off and came with us to the vineyard, helping me onto the ferry and into the car; helping Jay open up and clean the house; wash the sheets and towels and make the beds. It was quite the project and we were lucky to have their help.

Now home, we had to see a plastic surgeon. The skin over the wound where my muscle had been cut had died and I would need another surgery for a skin graft. Martha’s Vineyard is an island where it is almost impossible to see a doctor in the same week you make an appointment. Knowing this, I had started the search while still in Mexico and already had an appointment in place.

Dr. Montilla saw my injury and gave his prognosis: I needed a skin graft (this we knew); the donor site would be my lower stomach; it may take, it may not; if my body did accept this new skin it would be darker, uneven and would most likely be concave. For the rest of my life, I would have to slather sunblock over the scars or they would turn even darker. Basically, he was telling me, if I was lucky enough that the skin graft took, it would be ugly. I smiled and said, “I don’t care. I have my leg.”

The surgery was scheduled on the mainland at UMass General, Worchester, a division of Umass General in Boston. This facility was the burn unit that specialized in plastic surgery. This meant another ferry trip and two-hour drive to Framingham where Talia and Dan housed us for another couple of nights. The out-patient surgery went well and we headed back to the vineyard, this time with our friend Gail, from Wakefield.

Again, thank God for good friends. Gail stayed with us for several days, cleaning cupboards, cooking and helping in any way she could. I don’t have a sister, but I imagine if I did, she would be like Gail.

It is now September 2, 2015, almost five months since the accident. I am walking, sailing, riding bikes, even doing yoga. My leg is not yet 100% and there is still some discomfort. I am told it could take six months to a year for a full recovery. That is okay with me. I have my leg and it works. I have my life. I am most grateful.

February 20. 2015

San Blas is a small town that lies three and a half miles NW of Matanchen Bay where one can stay either at the marina or anchor in the estuary.

We wanted to visit San Blas but weren’t too excited about going over the bar – shallow water over the entrance that can build up waves causing it to become dangerous fast. Besides that, the Jejenes, or no-see-ums that are known for being rampant in this area are particularly fierce up in the harbor. Instead, we decided to anchor in Matanchen Bay and we were glad we did.

Once we left the La Tavara tour, it was time to head to San Blas. Kathy, Jim, Jay and I waited for a cab while The Vortex group went walking. After about fifteen minutes standing in the sun with no cabs in sight, we too, started walking up the road alongside the river.

“Look!” Kathy said. “Over there! There’s a crocodile!” It was kind of unreal, walking on the edge of the road with cars whizzing by on the left and crocodiles swimming by on the right.

Not long after we started walking, two taxis pulled up. But they both had people in them. We couldn’t understand why they wanted us to get in when there was no room for us so we told them no thank you. One taxi took off but the other didn’t and he waved down another taxi. That taxi had people in it too.

“There’s no room.” Jim says. Meanwhile the cab driver is moving things aside in the front seat and the people are moving over in the back seat.

“Dos.” He says, pointing to his car. “y Dos!” He says, pointing to the other taxi. Finally, we get it and Jay and I get in one cab and Cathy and Jim get in the other. As we drove down the road, we saw our friends from The Vortex jumping into a cab too. It was just too hot and too long of a walk and dangerous too, with cars passing much too close and not much room on the side of the road to get out of the way.

Thirty pesos later we were in San Blas Plaza wondering in which direction to go.

Since we were all starving, we were in search of a restaurant and Jim spotted the san Blas Social Club where we had hamburgers and a beer. There were lots of Mexican eateries, but somehow we ended up here with the Americans. Sometimes all we want is American food.

San Blas was once a busy port but nowis but a sleepy town. It has much history and is said to be the place where Father Juniper Serra began his missionary work that led him to California. It is also the home of the Templo de la Virgin del Rosario church whose bells were removed in 1872 and is said to be the inspiration for Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s poem, The Bells of San Blas.

February 20, 2015

Today a third party joined us; Rae & Don and their two children, Ameena and Henry from s/v The Vortex. That made us a group of eight with Jay and me and Kathy and Jim. We dropped off our dinghies at Gloria’s again and headed up the road to La Tavara Tours.

Here we were offered two different options. For 120 pesos per person they will take you sight-seeing up the river and at the end is a fresh water spring and restaurant. We stop here for an hour and then return.

The second option, for 150 pesos per person, includes the Cocodrilario where we went yesterday. (That means we actually ended up spending more money by going with David! But if we hadn’t gone with David, we wouldn’t have had that adventure, so … no sour grapes.) Obviously, we chose option one.

We had heard the jungle tour was worth it, and it was. Immediately upon leaving we were in dense foliage on both sides of the river and even reaching overhead, creating a canopy of tree limbs. Much quieter than David, our guide, Jordan, was constantly on the lookout and spotted various species of birds. Amongst them we saw a Blue Heron, an Egret, an Eagle and a Duck-Billed Heron – who even made a sound like a duck. We were told there are over 300 different species of birds in this area.

We also saw a couple of baby crocodiles and one very large one.

We caught a glimpse of a few turtles sunning themselves, but they were quite shy and when they heard our voices, slipped into the water and disappeared.

We also passed an iguana sleeping on a tree limb.

And out there, in the middle of the jungle, were three structures made of wood rising out of the water. They reminded me of tree houses without trees. Jordan told us they were built for a Mexican movie location.

About thirty minutes later, we stopped at Tavara Springs, where the swimming hole was protected from crocodiles with a wire fence. The water was fresh and cool and a delightful relief from the humidity and heat.

After swimming a bit, we sat at the “restaurant.” (more like a snack bar) and watched as the children and some adults used the rope swing/trapeze to jump into the water.

As promised, one hour later, we loaded up the boat and headed back to Matanchen.

It was an amazing -maybe even once in lifetime – experience. A must-do tour when visiting the area.

April 3, 2015

I am writing this entry out of the timeline sequence because no matter where one takes up residence in life, no matter how we choose to live our lives, nature prevails, and the circle of life continues.

Yesterday, we lost my dear, sweet mother. She was 84 years old.

Some of you may have read an earlier blog, “The Long Walk Home.” This story was just one chapter in the digression of an illness that attacked my mother’s brain, slowly and consistently, taking her from us one piece at a time.

It started about 15 years ago when I received a call from Mom. She was crying. When I finally got her to say what was wrong, she admitted that she could no longer make sense of her checkbook. What might look like simple confusion on the surface was, to us, a huge red flag. (Although neither one of us spoke the words out loud.) And Mom was scared. In fact, we both were.

Some families have histories of breast cancer, others might have heart disease. Our family has a history of Dementia. And this first sign, was the beginning of a very long journey. One that has been heartbreaking and yet, at times, full of tenderness and joy. Like in the early stages, when Mom still had an appetite, my brother, Jack, would come over and barbeque. While standing over the grill, he would tell stories of my father, reminding Mom of her life with her husband and our Dad. Or like the times I would massage her neck and she would sigh with such relief. Or when my brother, Jim, would make her laugh. Or Jay would get her to sing along with him while he played the Ukelele. Or when my brother-in-law, Michael, would wash, cut and style her hair. All these small acts of kindness made her days just a little bit better. And up to the last month or so, I could call Mom and say hello. She couldn’t really put words together to make a coherent sentence, but would giggle and say, “Oh!” And I knew she knew who I was. These memories mean so much to me. I will carry them with me always.

It has been challenging too. On so many levels; emotionally, physically, and financially. And with it has arisen some very troublesome questions.

I don’t believe in the death penalty. I don’t believe we have the right to take another human life. And, therefore, I have never quite accepted the idea of assisted suicide. And yet… Watching someone I love suffer when I know there is no hope of recovery has made me see, with a clearer understanding, how one might consider this final act, an act of love.

This is very difficult for me to admit. But it is true. Uncomfortable, but true. I am struggling with this because I don’t believe it would be okay for me to make that decision. Even if the person agreed to it when they were coherent. It is against everything I thought I believed.

And yet…

Trying to reconcile these emotions with my moral principles has caused me many a sleepless night.

Seeking counsel, I wrote to a dear friend of mine who is a priest and I asked him, “I know I should be praying, but what is the prayer?” He wrote back with some quotes from the bible and prayers that we could recite, but that didn’t really answer my question because I didn’t ask the real question I wanted to know.

“Is it wrong to pray for someone to die?”

So my prayer became to ask for God to take Mom home. Soon. Her suffering had increased. So my prayer was to ask for her not to suffer. Then she moved into the last stages and no one in our family was physically (not to mention emotionally) capable of taking care of Mom any longer. So another prayer was added – for God to take Mom home before we had to put her into a “care” center. Because none of us wanted that. No one ever does. When it became clear that there was no other choice than to put Mom into a home, my prayer changed again and became for her not to have to linger weeks, months, years in this place.

And if I am honest, the prayer was not only for Mom, but for the family, for the caretakers; especially Jim and Michael, but for Jay and me, too. It would have put an emotional and financial strain on all of us that would have been devastating.

Then there is the guilt one feels when getting to this point.

I dare say this journey will take months, if not years, (if ever) to fully understand the scope of how her illness, her life – and the process of her death – has touched and changed my soul.

I don’t know why some prayers get answered and others don’t. I know we are not alone in having to make these decisions. I know the difficulty in accepting that there comes a time when no one in the family is capable of caring for their loved ones. It just becomes physically impossible. I know that many people are dealing with this and other horrendous diseases where they have to make impossible choices. And my heart goes out to each and every one.

Fortunately, for our family, our prayers were answered and Mom was able to live with Jim and Michael all but the last nine days. And those nine days, the hospice took good care of her and made her comfortable. Living only two blocks away, Jim and Michael made sure of that.

So, there is much to be grateful for. Namely, for this lovely lady in my life who I was fortunate enough to call Mom. I would like to share with you a little bit about my mother.

First, check out the photos of Mom in the gallery. Wasn’t she absolutely beautiful? I especially like the one of her and I when I was probably nineteen and Mom was in her forties. I have no memory of the moment, but I just love the expression on her face. I am thinking she is thinking I am some sort of rascal. And I probably was. You can also see she had a good sense of humor and didn’t shy away from being silly.

Mom was a quiet and private person. She was an introvert. A shy person in social situations. Which is interesting because one of her favorite tales to tell was that she won the lead role in her high school senior play, “Our Town.” Later, she went off to Rutger’s College, but met my father and married with only one year of college completed. I often wondered if she wished she had finished college or went on to be an actor, or both. Maybe she had some fleeting thoughts, but I think she was where she wanted to be and that was to be a wife and mother. Through the years, she had various jobs, but her primary responsibility was to her family. And for that we all benefited.

She was smart, too. A straight-A student in all her years of school. Her specialty was accounting. She enjoyed working with numbers. And she was always home to help me with my homework. It is because of her that I take such care in my choice of words as she was constantly correcting my grammar.

“If you are going to do something, Terri, do it right.”

It was Dad who taught me to love jazz, but it was Mom who taught me to love classical music. In fact, she and my Aunt Dorothy instilled a passion for all music. In Mom’s earlier years, she played piano and she always loved to sing. She was an alto and loved harmonizing. In her later years, she joined the choir in her church.

She loved children and volunteered in pre-schools and elementary schools. She also worked with one of the hospitals in Tucson to help to care for babies that were born to drug-addicted mothers. They needed to be held and fed and she got immense joy from soothing the hearts of those little ones.

But her special joy was loving and caring for her grandchildren. Watching them grow. She was quite proud of both Alex and Talia as she shared in their achievements along the way. Although Mom lived in Arizona while we lived in California, she still flew in for all the special occasions; holidays, graduations, Talia’s dance performances and Alex’s concerts. And in the summer, the kids would fly to Arizona and stay with her for a month or two at a time. She would take them to the zoo, the local pool and to the movies. Summers in Arizona bring monsoons and together they would sit on her porch and watch the lightening over the mountains. Later in the evenings, Mom would allow Alex to stay up late and watch TV and she and Talia would go to bed and giggle themselves to sleep. These simple but sweet memories are a gift we all cherish.

Oh, we had our ups and downs, like all families. I was a rebellious teenager and caused my mother great concern. But once I became a mother, we instantly bonded on a deeper level and we became the best of friends.

While I shared all things water with my father (my mother never learned to swim), Mom and I would go to the theater, concerts and museums together. She liked to walk so we would take long walks in her neighborhood and sometimes in the mountains and canyons surrounding Tucson. Or at the beach in Santa Monica where I lived.

There is only so much one can say about a person’s life than can be put into a few paragraphs, but there you have a glimpse.

I will miss her every day of my life but I have enough faith to believe she is in a better place. For this, too, I am grateful.

After hearing of my mother’s death, I took a walk. I passed two men on the dock and overheard their conversation. One was congratulating the other on the birth of his child.

“Yep! A beautiful little girl. Mama and daughter are doing just fine.” He said with a huge grin.

I smiled at his joy and couldn’t help but think I was meant to hear his words.

One life passes and another one is born. Nature prevails. The circle of life continues.

Irene Janice (Jan) Ziegler Potts – Born, July 26, 1930 – Died, April 2, 2015. RIP

PS: Thank you all who sent prayers her way during these difficult years. xxoo

February 18, 2015

After thirty-nine days in Mazatlan it was time to leave. Mazatlan was full of visual and auditory stimulation and we were looking forward to getting back on the water.

Our first planned stop was to be Isla Isabella, a national reserve park located 90 miles SE of Mazatlan. It is home to Frigate birds and the illusive Blue-footed Boobies. All last season, I was on a search for one of these unique birds with their aqua legs and feet, but never did I see one. On Isla Isabella, I was sure to see my first Boobie.

We left Mazatlan at 1130 but not before a few harrowing moments. Our first chore was to get fuel. Unfortunately, there was a six-knot current with a ten-knot breeze keeping us from the dock. After two approaches, Jay decided to pull in on the opposite side, which was actually a slip. Despite one small boat in the slip, there was enough room for us, as well as friends to help us in and out.

Next, we had to brave the exit. We passed the dredge and were running with the tide when we bumped into a five-foot shoal. As quickly as we went THUMP, we rose above it and continued on our way out of the harbor.

Just one more obstacle to surpass. A speedboat towing a para-sailor was passing directly in front of us and the line just barely missed our mast! OMG!

We began our sail with 15 knots of breeze and two to three feet of swell. The air was warm and the sun was shining through a sky littered with white puffy clouds. There were a few wispy clouds too – foretelling more wind. We did get more wind, but no more than twenty knots and it was a lovely afternoon sail.

We were in no hurry as we wanted to arrive at Isla Isabella in the daylight. There are rocks and quite a good bit of fishing – which means the probability that we could stumble into nets and/or lines in the water. Neither of us wanted to get tangled up in those.

Not long after we set sail, we saw a whale jump clear out of the water and do a back flip. He was only about 50 yards off our port bow. We kept watch for the next 15 minutes and saw a few more breaches. Just can’t get enough of those whale sightings.

The night passage was long but relatively uneventful (except it was a bit lumpy). I did see the Southern Cross for the very first time. That was exciting. At 0700 we were approaching Isla Isabella, only to hear on the radio that there was virtually, “no room at the inn.”

Isabella has a small anchorage and it was full with two boats waiting to get in. The anchoring is precarious at best (known to swallow anchors because of the rocks) and with the predicted winds and seas from the south, it just didn’t seem prudent to visit this day.

Oh well. Such as it is with cruising. Maybe another time. Maybe not.

It is 1000 and I am at the helm. The seas are flat and there is little wind at the moment. We are motoring. Jay saw another whale while I was making breakfast and I just saw a few dolphins off our bow. It is quite the perfect day.

“Jay! What is that?” I call out. I just saw twenty little black somethings. They turn out to be Manta Rays. They were swimming and jumping out of the water.

Today we have rerouted to Matanchen Bay where we will visit San Blas and take a jungle tour. And finally, be back on the hook.