March 5, 2014

It seems everyone wants to go to Puerto Escondido. There is so much buzz among the yatistas about this hidden port, I had to see it for myself. They talk about the beauty and the fact that it is one of, if not the safest harbor on the Baja coast. They talk about the friendliness within the cruising community and the annual Loreto Festival held every May. They talk about Loreto; a quaint Mexican town, rich in history, and only 14 miles north of Puerto Escondido. You can get supplies there and you can get fuel in Escondido. In fact, Escondido is the only place you can get fuel between La Paz and Santa Rosalia. All good reasons to visit.

But then there is the flip side. They talk about the moorings. The moorings are notorious for slipping. Rumor has it nineteen boats lie in the sand beneath these pristine waters. (It is a wonder this place isn’t haunted.) They talk about the politics, too, and who operates what at the moment. Today it is Fonatur that operates the marina. Fonatur is an agency of the Mexican government that once planned to develop marinas all throughout Mexico so that one could sail from port to port in a day. Puerto Escondido is one of these ports. I understand they took it over with high hopes of upgrading the surroundings, charting out new waterways and building more slips and amenities. They did just that. They started, but they never finished.

The marina is gated with a palm tree-lined entrance giving it a grand appearance. Then there is one empty palapa sitting on the beach and a bridge leading to nowhere. The Fonatur offices are in a nice new building, but then there are other new buildings that lie unoccupied. A condo development was started but never completed. Was it the Mexican bureaucracy, or did they just run out of money like so many other projects here in Mexico. Who knows? What I do know is it is not uncommon to see communities like this that have the ruins of half-built dreams cluttering the shoreline.

Maybe that’s why I have so many mixed feelings about Puerto Escondido. Despite it’s beauty, I detect a sadness here. As if they bought her a new dress, but then canceled the party. There is so much potential. If only someone would step in and stay committed to the cause. What a spectacular setting for what could be the king of all ports.

Puerto Escondido truly is a hidden port. Heading north, it is after you pass through the Canderleros Channel, or what some mariner’s call, “the pillars of Hercules.” (Massive rocks, tiny islets and reefs that one has to dodge.) Once there, you will find three anchorages, as well as a few slips in Marina Fonatur. There are also some slips in Marina Puerto Escondido back in the half-finished canals off main bay. All are protected from most every direction, nestled between cactus-filled hills and the magnificent Sierra de la Giganta mountains.

Upon arrival, the first anchorage you will see is The Waiting Room. I was wondering what everyone was waiting for until I read that the vessels with deep drafts used to wait in this cove for the tide to rise so they could pass through the narrow and very shallow channel that leads into the main bay. This is where the boat yard is and where you can get fuel. These days there are many cruisers who grab onto a mooring in The Waiting Room and make it their home. The protection from the north hills, the amazing view of the Sea beneath the mountains to the south, along with the incredible diving, and sea life is quite the draw. On the other hand, we have been told the anchorage is deep and there are old mooring chains and sunken vessels lying beneath the water that can fowl your anchor.

Moving through the very shallow channel, reportedly nine feet at mean low tide, one will pass The Hidden Port Yacht Club. An interesting building made of stone and brick. It, too, has a view of the Sea. Continuing through the channel is The Ellipse off to the left, or south side. Originally intended to be a marina, this is another abandoned dream. Now there are several moorings with more live-aboard yatistas in a half-moon bay surrounded by a cement wall in disrepair. The stairs, leading from the dinghy dock, are not unlike, but a wee bit better, than those at Turtle Bay.

The bay furthest in is called the main bay and it is huge. There are several moorings and plenty of room to anchor. This also has the incredible back-drop of the Sierra de la Giganta mountains and is surrounded by cactus-filled hills with two windows at the north end. This lets in a breeze that can be refreshing, particularly when the bobos appear. Bobos are these little tiny bugs that don’t bite, just annoy. They seem to hang around the mangroves of which this cove has many. There is a fee to stay here, whether anchoring or mooring. I am told there is no fee for anchoring in the Waiting Room. Off to the left, or south side, is where you will find the office of Fonatur. This is where one must check in. The marina offers laundry and showers in exchange for thirty pesos. They also have free internet. Which is a coo as there is very little internet available in the Sea.

Also available is a mini market. It may be small but it has a good selection of foods, namely frozen meats and some fresh vegetables. It even has some wines. Of course it also has beer and many packaged staples. Motor oil and water too.

One of our favorite things about Puerto Escondido is the restaurant, Porto Bello. Or should I say, the owner, manager, waiter, and bartender, Pedro. What a delight this man is! He is welcoming and helpful, whether you desire food, drink, help with the internet, or a ride into town. He is there to serve and provides delicious meals. For years, he worked for a large hotel chain, traveling the world and learning his trade. Now he owns two restaurants and two markets in the area, one of which is the mini-market on the first floor. He is a very successful entrepreneur and I can see why. His charming personality and good food entices people to come back. On top of all this, he has a beautiful voice! One minute he is serving a meal and the next he is playing the guitar and serenading us with song. His joy is to entertain and he does it very well.

One evening, as we were leaving Porto Bello, we ran into Eric and Pamela from Emma Belle. They had just arrived from Agua Verde, and tired of their fish diet, were enjoying hamburgers while visiting with two of their friends. They were on their way to Loreto in the morning and asked us how one gets up the road. They were thinking of hitchhiking; an easy, inexpensive and quite common way to get around Baja. We had just arranged a cab with Pedro, so offered them a ride in with us. They were to meet us in the parking lot the following day at 0900.

We were standing in the parking lot at 0900, just as Pedro suggested. It was a clear, cool morning and we were excited to finally get to visit Loreto. But where is the cab? Suddenly far off in the distance and outside the guarded gate is Nexdor, our cab driver waving us over. Why he wasn’t allowed through the gates and into the parking lot got me thinking. It made no sense. But then there are many things in Mexico I don’t understand. All six of us piled into his van. Good thing he brought the van, I thought, because it was only two of us when we had made the original arrangements.

Loreto is only fourteen miles up the road but it took us about an hour to get there. They were working on the side of the mountain, building a new road. I don’t know what came first, the slide or the road, but I guess it doesn’t matter. It was quite the spectacle, waiting by the side of the mountain as they cleared up the rocks tumbling down the hill. There was a line of vehicles in both directions, including about twenty-five RV’s right behind us. (Whew! So glad they weren’t in front of us.) We all got out, chatted for awhile, enjoyed the view and took photos. Thirty minutes later, we were on our way again. A tad nervous, though, as we peaked through our windows, each silently wondering when the next boulder would fall.

Loreto is a very old town, over 300 years old. It’s historical status lies in the fact that it was the very first city in the Californias as well as the first capital. But after the hurricane in 1829 that destroyed Loreto, the capital was moved to La Paz and interest faded. Years later, it is beginning to regain its notoriety and has become a tourist destination. It charms with its cobblestone streets and colorful merchants and has been given Pueblo Magico status, a supreme compliment. It is home to the first mission, Nuestra Senora de Loreto, founded by Padre Eusebio Bino in 1697. Beside the church is a museum housed with Loreto’s history. There are some beautiful hotels here, like the Hotel Posada de las Flores. The restaurants are great and the malecon stretches over a long strand of beach overlooking the Sea and Isla Carmen. There is plenty to do, whether you want to fish, charter a boat, or just take a stroll through town. Unfortunately, we only spent a day here, but it was a fun day filled with good food, a little souvenir shopping and some provisioning. Jay and I hope to come back here and stay at Hotel Posada de las Flores. Did I mention the ceiling of the lobby is a clear view of the bottom of the pool on the roof? Just a little hint about this hotel’s incredible décor. It is a visual delight.

Too soon, Nexdor picked us up and drove us back to Puerto Escondido and our boat. We had more prep work to do before heading out in the morning to our next port of call. We found our dinghy and puttered over to Cadenza with our provisions and some water.

Out of all three bays, Jay and I chose to anchor in the main bay. It was a lovely setting with lots of space. By choosing to anchor, we didn’t have to worry about a mooring slipping. We spent a total of six days here. Three on the way up into the Sea and three on the way back. We found Puerto Escondido the perfect place to re-provision, refuel and regroup. We were able to catch up on our laundry and took time to clean the boat, inside and out. It also provided the internet for business purposes and fed the need to connect with our family, albeit brief. We exchanged books in the Hidden Port Yacht Club library. We even took a mile walk up the road to visit Tripui, a beautiful hotel and RV park with a restaurant and pool, surrounded by a flower garden.

In the end, I now understand why Puerto Escondido is a must-do stop. Maybe the next time we come she will be wearing her new dress and the party will have begun.

March 1, 2014

Puerto Ballandra is located on the west side of Isla Carmen just across the Sea from Loreto. We stopped here on the way up to Bahia Concepcion and on the way back and both times we were delighted to see whales. They seem to hang around Isla Carmen. Or maybe they were just passing by and our timing was right.

The cove is almost a complete circle with an opening that faces east. There is a deep canyon that runs through the center that shoals quickly close to shore. This makes it kind of tricky when anchoring. We had to drop the anchor closer into shore than we would have liked for fear of anchoring on the edge of the cliff, which, should a strong wind arise, could cause us to drag.

All went well, except for a little drama the night before heading south to Puerto Escondido. Just as the sun went down, our boat neighbor called the fleet in the bay and asked if anyone knew the weather. Jay got on the VHF and they started a dialogue. He was uncomfortable with the way his anchor was set and he was debating about moving. He thought he might be too close to that ledge and was worried he would drag. Jay turned on our spreader lights and our running lights, stayed on the VHF and talked him through it.

Two hours later, in the pitch black night, and after three tries, he got his anchor set right. Jay and I decided it might be prudent to sleep in the cockpit that night. Fortunately, no one dragged.

Isla Carmen has many other anchorages but even with a month, we just couldn’t see them all. Maybe next time. I have a feeling we will be back here again.

February 26, 2014

Today we climbed a mountain. Shawn and Heather, authors of Sea of Cortez, A Cruiser’s Guidebook, call it a “…hike, a beautiful trail…meandering…to the top of a hill.” Well, yeah, sure. But I call it a mountain. We aren’t hikers, we’re sailors. At least I haven’t done a hike like this in years. The trail was mostly washed out – although there were rock cairns guiding our way. And it was steep and rocky and slippery. Jay called it a treacherous, ankle-breaking accident waiting to happen. But it was beautiful and when we got to the top, the views were absolutely incredible, as promised. Unfortunately, we never saw the petroglyphs, but we did see the reddish brown rocks they call bell rocks. That is because if you throw a rock at them and hit it just right, they sound like bells – due to their high iron content. After we threw several rocks at various larger rocks we heard the bell. Not really a highlight of our day.

Not to mention it was high noon and hot! We always mean well when we start out in the morning. And today was no different. We were aiming to leave early to get our hike in before the heat of the day. But after we listened to the weather at 0745, had breakfast and cleaned up the galley, dropped the dinghy, and went into shore it was already after 0930. By the time we actually got to the bottom of the mountain to start our hike it was ten. That meant we hit the top of the mountain around noon. We reached the road again at 1400, or two pm. Needless to say it was a long, strenuous trek. At times it felt like we were doing a balancing act on the rocks, and at others, we were sliding down the hill on the little pebbles that performed like a sheet of ice. Great fun. In the end, there were no ankles broken although we both took a fall. A couple of bruises, a few scratches, brushed the dirt off and got up again. I guess we are hikers, after all.

So much of cruising is about the natural beauty and being in nature. But it is also about the people we meet along the way. Here in El Burro we have met several interesting personalities.

After we found level ground, Jay wanted to head over to the tienda, about a quarter mile up the road, for some Gatorade. No tienda. Not there, anyway. We did find JC’s, a a palapa that housed a restaurant/bar. We had a bottle of water and a cold beer. Ahh, refreshing. And shade too!

In some areas of Mexico, particularly the remote areas of Baja, life can be rugged. Raw. In El Burro, there is no piped-in water. The residents take big barrels to the river in Mulege to collect water. There are lots of dirt floors and outside bathrooms. When there is toilet paper, it never goes in toilets, and sometimes you flush with a bucket of water. Solar is their form of electricity. Solar and car batteries and generators. They cook, mostly, with propane and as there is no cell tower, they communicate via VHF radio. Dogs and cats wander in and out of restaurants. I found two kitties in the back of a restaurant kitchen, sleeping on the carrots. Cute, but not too clean. There are no screens to keep out the flys. So the flys often find us, as well as the food. But Mexicans take what they have and they make it work. And they make it attractive. And they try to keep things clean.

JC’s is a quaint palapa alongside Highway 1, just across the road from our anchorage. There is a bright, shiny firetruck sitting under a carport next door. The entrance to JC’s is dirt but lined with plants. The dining area has about eight plastic tables covered with brightly colored cloth. There is a take-out window on one side of the kitchen and a bar on the other. The “walls” or rather, sides, are shaded with cloth, protecting us from the sun but still allowing the breeze to get through. The floors are beautiful. Stones set in dirt. In the dining area there is a cactus garden off to the side. Someone takes great care in the landscaping. The open-air room is decorated with an eclectic array of visuals . There are some burgees and flags. There are little stuffed animals hanging here and there. There are fish heads, and turtle shells and even a full skeleton of a dolphin. Quite the display.

When we arrive there is only Manuel, the bartender, and one lone man sitting at a table drinking a beer. His clothes are worn and his fingernails are dirty. He wears an emergency radio on his left belt loop. His skin is weathered by the sun and his teeth are in need of repair. We would find out later that his name is Alex and he is an Englishman who dropped out from the “normal” way of life; pursing a career or working oneself to the bone just to survive. Instead, he moved to Mexico and is living quite simply on very little money. He is very happy he says. He doesn’t want for much. We are told he is an expert on solar and was into electronics in his previous life. This is how he earns a living here in Mexico. He helps people throughout the neighboring area with their solar; sometimes for money and sometimes for trade. And sometimes just as a favor. He also watches houses in summer for the winter residents. He is a volunteer fireman and thus, wears the emergency radio.

Manuel is short and probably in his mid-fifties. He has a quiet demeanor and a warm smile. He is the consummate server as he stands at his command post, behind the bar, anticipating our every need.

Two more men arrive, both Mexicans in jeans and tee-shirts, order a beer and join Alex, at his table. In a matter of minutes another man, not unlike the others, enters and orders a vodka tonic. One of the men lifts his glass in a toast. “Salute!” he says to the room. The five of us lift our glasses up. “Salute!” Mexican folk music plays in the background.

Suddenly, a young man about thirty years of age appears, standing in the kitchen doorway. He too is unkempt. His black curly hair is disheveled and his clothes look like he slept in them. He wears jeans and his shirt is half tucked in and the bottom button is unbuttoned showing off his chubby belly hanging over his belt.

The woman behind him, however, presents a flawless appearance. She is beautiful with long, dark, wavy hair flowing down her back. She wears a tan knit sweater that clings close as do her tight jeans. They flatter her tiny but curvy body. She wears make-up and heels. Low heels, but heels nevertheless. Curiously, she is an exquisite addition to this motley group.

There is yet one more person in the kitchen, behind her. I only catch a glimpse of him. He looks older than the other two. JC maybe? JC is reportedly the cousin of Bertha.

Who are these people and what role do they play in each other’s lives?

The young man about thirty years of age is Bertha’s son. The beautiful woman by his side, his wife. She too, is called Bertha. Mama Bertha owns JC’s and Bertha’s Beach Club & Restaurant in El Burro, and Bertha’s Tiende & Pollo Palapa in El Coyote. Looks like mama has the restaurant monopoly in the area. This Mexican family runs a tight business.

We finish our beer and ask for the check. Before we leave, Alex tells us we should come back for the fish tacos. “JC’s has the best I’ve ever tasted.” he says. We make note of that and leave for Bertha’s Beach Club & Restaurant, as we had planned earlier, to have a bite to eat.

Bertha’s has a completely different vibe. When Jay and I were sitting in JC’s with Mexican folk music in the background and our new friends making a toast, I looked at him and said, “Now I really feel like I am in Mexico.” It was a palapa, a bar, a hang. Bertha’s feels more like an official restaurant. It is a real building made of stone and wood and has Isinglass windows with bright blue framing. There is a lovely view of the bay. It probably can hold eighty or more people with seating both inside and outside. It is colorful like JC’s. They have a huge Mexican flag hanging across the ceiling over the bar. A Canadian flag hangs over the tables. Two weeks later, Valentine’s Day decorations are still hanging from the ceiling. Hearts of various sizes and a few cupids. There is a bookshelf in the corner that is used as a lending library. But the most telling difference is that, by the end of the night, Bertha’s will feel more like a gringo hangout than the Mexican JC’s we just left.

It is around 3pm when we arrive and there are no other customers yet. This time the bartender’s name is Amelia. She is a heavy-set woman with a pretty face made up with make-up. She wears her straight hair short. In the corner sit two other women. Young girls maybe in their twenties. One is the cook and one is Coco, the daughter of the manager. They are friends.

Amelia speaks English fairly well and rattles off the menu. There is no written menu. We can’t seem to remember all the items so we ask her again and again to repeat them. Each time the menu changes and there are fewer and fewer items. We finally give up and order the last thing she said, Carne Asada. With that we add a beer and a vodka tonic.

A truck pulls up with a woman and a dog riding on her lap. The dog quickly jumps out of the truck and comes running inside. This dog has been here before. The woman makes a rather obvious entrance as she trips over a rock and swears. She quickly apologizes for swearing. This is Karen. She is an American and, if I were to guess, mid-western. She is partners with the manager, Celia, who will enter shortly. She says a quick hello and mentions we should come back later. There will be music.

Celia arrives. She is another pretty Mexican woman who dresses well and is extremely vivacious. Her personality lends itself well to managing a restaurant.

Before long, all five of them are sitting around the table in the corner; Amelia, Coco, Celia, Karen and the cook. They are eating a meal before the dinner crowd arrives. They are gabbing and laughing and suddenly break out in song. This is not unusual in Mexican restaurants and by now, Jay and I are used to it. We go over to ask if we can film them.

Three hours later we are still at Bertha’s. We have learned that Celia leased Bertha’s for five years and her lease is up this summer. She was born in Mexico, spent twelve years in Canada raising her two girls, Coco and the one who is still in Canada, and moved to Mulege with Coco about six years ago. She is happy to be back in her homeland. When Coco was fifteen her grandfather gave her a restaurant as a gift for her quinsenera. Now that she is twenty-one she can legally own and operate it. It is in El Coyote, next to Bertha’s Tiende and Pollo Palapa. Now that their lease will be up at Bertha’s, Celia and Coco intend to open up this new restaurant in El Coyote. Look out Bertha, competition is coming to town!

It turns out Karen is not mid-western but from Virginia. In her previous life, she was a conductor in both Illinois and Nashville. She is a flautist. A rather good one as we heard her play at Bertha’s. She left America when things fell apart in her business and she found it difficult to find work. She sold her house and practically everything she owned and picked up and moved to Mulege five years ago. She picked this place because of how inexpensive it is to live here.

The DJ arrives and so do more customers. There is a table of eight and a table of one. All are gringos. Celia flutters about, smiling and making everyone feel at home. Amelia is busy working, as is the cook. Coco is back in the kitchen helping.

Karen goes up and talks with the DJ. She brings out her flute. It is a Haynes flute with a gold mouthpiece and she is very proud of it. She sits down on a stool and her dog jumps on her lap, lying there while she plays along with Diana Krall’s, “It’s Wonderful.” She is very good. We stay for a set, say our goodbyes and go for a sunset walk along the beach.

Four doors down we run into Geary, our weather guru, sitting on his porch with a friend. We finally get to meet the man behind the voice. He is welcoming and reminds me of Kris Kringle from “Miracle on 34th St.,” complete with the kind twinkle in his eyes. We chat for a while, telling him how much we appreciate his work, take a few photos, and then head back to the dinghy. The sun is going down and it’s time to get back to the boat.

February 27, 2014

It is 0800 and we have just listened to Geary’s weather report on the Sunrisa net. I hear something outside.

“Jay, stop. Wait. Listen. Can you hear that?” I say as I climb up the stairs to the deck.

“What?” he asks, not hearing anything due to the SSB static. He is turning off the radio but still has the VHF radio on.

“Turn off the radio! I think I hear bagpipes!”

In fact, I did. It is the beginning of “Amazing Grace” blaring loudly out from shore. I guess it is coming from Geary’s palapa and I am right. It starts out as a solo and then a full orchestra joins in, and then ends, again, with a solo. All I can do is smile.

It is a spiritual moment.

This happened yesterday. And it happened again today. Evidently, Geary plays this every morning at 0800. We never asked him why. But then, does it really matter?

Today is a water day and we take the dinghy cruising to explore the six coves of what they call Bahia Coyote. The sea is flat and calm. I think this is one of the most beautiful places we have visited yet.

Noon arrives and it is time to taste those great fish tacos they are serving at JC’s. Manuel is there and so is Alex. No one else at the moment. We order the fish tacos and beer and have to agree with Alex. These are the best fish tacos we’ve had– at least since we’ve been in Ensenada.

It is Thursday, movie night at JC’s. They have a big sheet stretched against the back fence, outside the palapa where they will show “The Secret Life of Walter Mitty,” along with serving Carnitas. Will we be back? Manuel asks.

Hmm, had we known…. But tomorrow we set sail so tonight we must tuck in early after boat chores. Now it is time for provisioning. Such as it is in these parts. We head to Bertha’s Tienda.

Mama Bertha sits inside her tienda, hand sewing, while waiting for the next customer. That would be us. There is a surprisingly decent selection of staples. We buy boxed milk, canned mushrooms, four tomatoes, an onion, garlic, four empanadas; two apple, two cheese, flour tortillas, a dozen eggs, and a six pack of Indio beer. At the last minute we throw in two small packages of Oreo cookies.

Jay asks about the chicken. Bertha doesn’t understand our English. I direct Jay next door where the Pollo Palapa is. It is a take-out or eat at the table, casual, kind of place. Jay asks the man behind the counter how the chicken is served.

The one man at the table speaks English and offers to interpret. He tells us the chicken is flattened out and grilled, served with french fries and salad for 55 pesos. It is a very large portion, he says. Just look at the semi-empty plates on the table over there. And, yes, it can be ordered to go.

Jay orders two chicken platters to go. That will be our dinner so I don’t have to cook. We sit down not far from the gentleman who helped us and had a beer.

Errol is his name and he moved here six years ago. He lives on a ranch back in the hills. He, too, is weathered from the sun and has a mouth in need of repair. His eyes twinkle with mischief. He has a good sense of humor and regals us with tales for the next hour while we have not one, but two beers. He is interesting company. He points out Bertha’s son and daughter-in-law as they get out of their truck. They are here to gather supplies for movie night.

“Carnitas are ready!” The man yells to Errol.

“Okay, I will be there in a bit.” Errol responds as he looks at his watch and pours more of his beer into his glass.

He explains that the beautiful woman is the man’s wife and they have a son about ten years old. Later that son delivers his Grandma Bertha, dinner. It is carnitas, from JC’s. I find it sweet to see that kind of love and respect for his elders coming from a child. This is the Mexican way.

Soon it is time to cart our groceries ¾ of a mile down the dirt path in a hot desert sun back to our dinghy. We make way to our boat, put the dinghy to bed, and prepare for tomorrow’s journey. It has been a wonderful visit here in Bahia Conception. Despite my introduction to The Real Sailor’s Club, I am so glad we came.

February 24, 2014

Caleta San Juanico is a large and beautiful bay with a bunch of crazy rock formations scattered through it. It is remote in that there is no village here. A few grand houses sit on the hill. There are two campers on the beach and five boats in the anchorage. There is no one else around.

We took our kayaks on shore and went for a long walk in search of Apace Tears. An Apace Tear, otherwise known as obsidian, is a black rock that was formed from volcanic lava. This is the scientific explanation. However, legend tells us a different story. In this version, the Apache Tear was born out of deep sadness. When the Apace warriors were losing the battle to the US Calvary in Arizona in the late nineteenth century, they would rather jump to their deaths than be caught. Many did just that. The grief of the families was so great that with each tear they shed, it turned to stone. Now, those of us who carry an Apache Tear will never weep again as the Apaches have shed their tears in place of ours.

In memory of those warriors, we found lots of little tears lying along the road.

Alongside the beach, is a cruiser’s tree. As cruisers pass this way, they leave personal articles on the tree. Most are hand-made with their name and dates inscribed. Pieces of wood, decorated with shells or momentos from their boats like a wine bottle or flip flops hang from the trees. There is even a toilet seat cover with “Guess Who” written on it. (That sounds like something my brother, Jack, would do. Maybe he is here in spirit, after all.) And some write poems.

I have been writing poetry since I was a child, so Jay suggested I write one to add to the tree. Once written, we put it in a plastic covering with our boat card attached, and hung it from a branch. The following is our addition to the cruiser’s tree, sitting on the beach at Caleta San Juanico.

Love Finds Us

Love finds us here
in Caleta San Juanico.
Drifting on a reflected sky
dodging jagged rocks
protruding from the sea, tall,
Proud
protecting the cove.
Our army of soldiers.

Voices beckon,
Bien, mi amore. Bienvenidos,
Soaring by on angels wings,
they echo through the sea caves.
Shattered, our hearts rise
into a vortex of soft light,
gently healing
the weariness of the world.
Silently,
we become one
together.

The sun falls
behind the mountains
in shades of purple and pink.
In trunk-like form
the east clouds dip.
An elefante is born
lulling us into
slumber
on the crests of waves
as they break along the shore.

We sleep
peacefully
beneath one thousand wishes
intertwined as lovers do
together.

A flicker of light
enters the porthole,
dances on the bed.
The dawn awakens us
to hunt for new dreams
amongst the ruins
of our ancestors’ past.

Love finds us here
mi amore, in Caleta San Juanico.
Take my hand
and let us wander through our future
together.

February 25, 2014

It was the sound that caught my attention. We had just anchored at Puerto Ballandra on Isla Carmen when I heard it. I was below putting things away and settling in.

“Jay! What was that?!” I cried running up the stairs to the deck.

It wasn’t just the spray of the whale I heard, but he made this strange sound. A whale cry, or maybe a sigh. There began the show for the evening. We had front row seats and we sat watching from our deck as four or five whales moseyed back and forth in front of our bay opening. We think they were Blue whales as they were rather large and their spray went very high.

Finally. A whale sighting. We had not seen one since Cabo San Lucas.

The next morning as we were leaving Ballandra and heading past Isla Coronados we were again visited by whales. This time they were all around us. We decided the area between Isla Carmen and Isla Coronados must be good feeding ground.

To top things off, while writing this, a pod of Orcas (we think) surfaced just on the port stern! It is 0800 and we are heading from Caleta San Jaunico to Point Conception on a gray, cloudy day with little wind. It is actually chilly.

Ain’t life grand!

Thursday, February 20, 2014

Jay and I left La Paz and headed up into the Sea of Cortez one week ago. Already, we have had many experiences and visited several places. Today we are at Puerto Escondido, our fourth anchorage. Tomorrow we will go into Loreto. Saturday we pull anchor again.

Below is a story about the first two anchorages.

BEING HERE NOW

Raising my children in southern California, I often took them to the Santa Monica Pier. This was the California version of my memories of Atlantic City. Our family lived in the New Jersey area, close to Philadelphia. We lived in suburbia and my cousins lived in the country. Our big summer treat was a trip to Atlantic City. At that time, there were no casinos. There was no gambling. The beach was the main event, but the boardwalk, made of wood planks, also held a multitude of delights for a child. It had vendors selling foods and souvenirs. There were games, rides, and of course, the much-loved cotton candy. It was those fond memories, of frolicking in the surf with my cousins and eating cotton candy, that caused me to want to share similar experiences with my children.

The Santa Monica equivalent of Atlantic City’s boardwalk is a cement path designed for tourists and locals who want to bicycle, walk or roller blade along the beach. Vendors set up their shops, selling trinkets, ice cream cones, and cotton candy. There are tattoo parlors and there are pubs. The amusement park is located on the pier. There are several different rides, mostly gentle ones, aimed for a younger audience. It has a roller coaster, a Ferris wheel and a merry-go-round. Popular restaurants dot the pier along with small food shacks and the requisite games where you can win the stuffed animal of the day. There are also the small rides for toddlers, like you might find outside a grocery store (or used to find, anyway). These are the ones that are usually an animal, like a horse, or maybe a carriage of some sort, on top of a big metal spring. It costs a quarter and a small child can have a ride safely, back and forth, for about one minute.

This is where I took my daughter when she was four years old. On the pier, just outside of the arcade we found three tiny rides. Just Talia’s size! There was an elephant, a horse, and a buggy. Her eyes lit up as she squirmed out of my hand and went running toward them. She circled all three, then tried each one before I caught up to her and got my quarters out.

“Which one would you like to ride, honey?” I asked.

“This one! This one!” She said as she got up on the elephant. I put the quarter in. Immediately she squealed in delight.

“I want to go on that one!” She said, pointing to the horse, while riding the elephant.

“Wait, honey. Enjoy that one first. Then you can ride the horse.”

She cried out again, “But I want to do that one!”

“Enjoy that first. It’s going to…”

The elephant stops moving. Her smile falters.

This is Talia’s first lesson in “Be here now.”

I kind of feel that way about the Sea of Cortez. There are so many places to visit. So many coves with villages and mangroves, salt ponds and beaches galore. Once we arrive at our destination and put down the anchor, I’m so excited by the beauty and awed by the majestic nature of the surrounding mountains that I am already pulling out the cruising guide, planning our next leg. With the same excitement of my four year-old Talia, I say,

“I want to go here! Oh, I want to go there! That bay sounds lovely. Which one should we stop at next?”

But Jay reminds me to stay focused on the present.

“Whoa, Terri. We just got here. We can plan that later. Let’s see what’s here first.”

This was in San Evaristo. We had already spent two nights in Caleta Partida. This is the place I mentioned in an earlier blog. The cove lies at the south end of Partida, just north of Isla Espiritu Santo. There is a sand spit which practically connects the two islands. It is so close, one has to row through it on high tide to believe there is actually a separation.

While on shore, we explored a fishing camp. It was vacant at the time, but looked like it could house maybe twenty or more fisherman. The “houses” or huts were made from whatever materials they could gather. Mostly made out of various sizes and pieces of wood, there was also some metal and plastic used. Old iron chairs sat outside on the “porch.” A few even had satellite dishes! And all had an ocean view. (See photo above.)

Getting out of the kayak, I had noticed a big fish swimming by in shallow water. It turned out to be a Dorado and we believe he was dying. Of what, we don’t know. He was acting strangely, fluttering about in the shallow sea, and then beached himself over by the fishing camp. There were no fisherman to claim him but I found a guilty sea gull with a very red beak running from the scene. Not long after, he called in all his friends for dinner. Such is the cycle of life.

Our friends, Casey & Diane on sv/Inkatu, and Ed & Barbara on sv/Barbara Ann, joined us for this part of the journey. We had two evenings of full moon nights and took turns hosting dinner and cocktail hour. It was great fun as on Friday evening we toasted to Valentine’s Day and watched the moon come up perfectly framed by two sides of the mountains over the sand spit. To finish the day with finesse, Jay serenaded me – and everyone else in the bay – on the trumpet with one of my favorite songs, “My Funny Valentine.”

It is Saturday, February 15th and now we are in San Evaristo. Jay is a little disappointed. I think he expected more. There is not much here. The hillside has a handful of houses. A desalination plant sits on the beach. So does the only restaurant, but although there are people there, we are told it is closed. They have no cerveza. It is Sunday and we see a family gathered together on the beach. The children are swimming, along with the dogs. It is very hot and dry.

We find the tienda. This is the little market that is the front room of someone’s home. (Like Mrs. Wizzy’s candy store in Trenton!) Three men stand/sit outside on the porch. Hesitantly, I call out, “Esta tienda aqui? “Si.” They answer. “Esta tienda abierta, por favor?” “Si. Beneca.”

Inside we find a room about the size of a large dining room. It has shelves filled with a little bit of a lot of different things; canned goods, dry goods. There are beans and rice. Flour is available. Bread too. And of course, the ever present cleaning supplies. The produce sits in boxes on the floor. Soft drinks and water are for sale, but no beer. I hear voices from the back, behind the curtain that divides the two rooms. It doesn’t quite cover the opening and, not wanting to be nosy, but still curious, I peak through.

It is a kitchen with a little girl about six years of age sitting at a small wooden table eating what looks like a bowl of cereal. Two other women are there. One is probably her mother as she is fussing about the stove. The other women takes a seat in a kitchen chair by the wall. Maybe it is her sister who has come to visit? A little boy, not much older than his sister, runs in from outside, excited, saying something in Spanish. Feeling self conscious, I turn my attention to the vegetables. We buy one avocado, two potatoes, four tomatoes and ten limons. We pay our 35 pesos to the old man at the register and leave asking him the way to the school.

We walk along a dirt road. Jay mentions that they must have laid down some oil to keep the dust from rising. The houses all seem deserted. Where is everyone? We pass the school. This is a welcome surprise in that it is in fine shape compared to the rest of the village. It looks rather new and well groomed and has a fence around it. We hear there is a woman, Charlotte, who teaches here. She lives with her husband, Steve, on board a boat in the bay, called Willful Simplicity. She asks for donations from the cruising community. They are in great need of notebooks and pencils and crayons. We have brought some, but she is nowhere to be found. Not even her boat is anchored here at the moment. I am hoping we get to meet her on the way back. I must confess, though, it is not only to give her our donation, but I would love to speak with her about this village and its people. Who are they and what is their daily life like?

We wander up a hill and find an abandoned house. It has a foundation with some walls and a partial roof. The windows are holes. No screens. There is a cement rectangle protruding six feet from the ground. Is it to catch rain water and/or to be used to wash laundry or people? I’m not sure as I don’t think there is much rain here. Maybe they bring in water from another place.

We notice some beautiful pieces of tile that lie on the concrete. Someone had plans for this house. Toys lay scattered about too. Broken Barbies and bath toys. What was it that took the children away from this house so quickly that they left their most prized possessions? Or are these toys leftover from the village children who come up here to play house? I can’t help but wonder.

My favorite part of our walk is when we go over the north hill and see the salt evaporation ponds. I have never seen salt ponds before. But it isn’t just that. The view from the hill is spectacular. It’s a clear day and we can see for miles up the Sea of Cortez. A huge expanse of blue water with Baja on one side and a scattering of islands on the other side. Following the road down the hill, there are several homes, protected by wire and wooden fences, and decorated with beautiful date palms that line the lane. This bit of green is refreshingly rich in color.

The valley below holds dozens of ponds lying just before the beach. Jay tells me this is where they let the water dry out and catch the salt. Then they gather the salt, clean and sell it. The water that leaches under ground is gathered too. In fact, we witnessed a Sunday family outing where they were piping some of this fresh water into a huge container loaded onto the back of their pickup truck. It would be taken home to be used for showers and such. This is what they told us.

Later, we ran into that same family. Only now they were at the beach to greet their fisherman. The boys had caught a Manta Ray and a Benita, and were cleaning them up for this weeks’ meals, no doubt. Meanwhile, the children were running around the beach, playing and splashing with the dog.

So it seems this is how they spend their days. Simply.

Back at the boat, Jay and I leave the present just long enough to chart out the next few days. Tomorrow we will pull anchor and head toward Los Gatos. At least that is the plan. Once we are out there in the here and now, who knows?