Paradise Village Marina

In the wee hours, before the sun rises, I make my way across the marina by foot. I spot a small rowboat anchored in the fairway with one solo light beaming from a pole mid-ship. The fisherman leans back against the transom. He is but a silhouette on the water.

On one side of the boat leans a fishing rod. In his hand he holds a single line with a lure attached to the end. He pulls in his catch by hand. Sometimes, he stands and gathers his net just so. With one graceful move, he tosses the net out into the sea. It opens up in a beautiful display, like a large, woven doily. He watches as it sinks beneath the water. He waits. The fisherman is nothing if not patient.

Night after night, he spends on his boat, drifting gently under the light of the moon, dreaming. Of what, I do not know. As dawn comes up over the mountains, the commercial fishermen gather around his boat to purchase today’s bait. This will be used for today’s local charters. The fisherman collects his fees and disappears into the daylight.

I imagine he takes his boat and pulls it up onto the beach, tucking it into the mangroves in one of the nearby canals. He gets into his beat-up pick-up truck. It doesn’t start. But, like I said, the fisherman is patient. On the third try it turns over. He backs out and heads home.

The fisherman’s house lies along a dirt road. His neighborhood is full of dirt roads. Dogs, cats, chickens and sometimes horses, wander the streets. He arrives at his dwelling. It is a tiny cement structure painted pink; his wife’s favorite color. It has two small windows with no screens or glass, only metal bars. There is a front porch with two folding chairs. The front door is open and the fisherman can smell the scent of corn tortillas and carnitas wafting through the warm, humid air. He likes that smell and looks forward to his meal.

He enters a modest home. It is one room with an alcove for the kitchen and another they use as a bedroom. It holds only a mattress and is separated from the main room with a cloth attached to the ceiling. There is a bath with limited plumbing. On the roof of their house are two large black containers. These hold water and heat up with the sun. This is the source of their hot water, for showers and for dishes. The main room is adorned with pictures of Our Lady of Guadalupe, Jesus, a crucifix, and candles. There is a worn throw rug on the floor and blankets mask the holes in the couch. On one side of the room, near the alcove that holds the kitchen, is a Formica table with four chairs. The fisherman sits down.

The fisherman’s wife is in the kitchen. She is always in the kitchen. Except when she is outside on the porch gossiping with her sister. She tries to serve him coffee. Instead, he pops open a cerveza that he carried in with his cooler. Few words are spoken. The fisherman and his wife live simply.

Two young children run in from outside. “Hola Abuela! Buenos Dias Abuelo!” The children live down the street with their parents who have left for work. Their jobs are a long way from home and they must leave early to catch the bus. Each morning and afternoon the children come to their grandparents until their parents come home from work.

The little girl wants to know how many fish her Abuelo caught. “Suficiente.” (Enough.) He says. The older boy wants to know when he can go with his Abuelo fishing. “Pronto.” (Soon) The fisherman replies. Abuela tells the children to sit and eat their breakfast for soon it will be time for school. There is much chatter between them while the fisherman sits quietly, eating his breakfast and sipping his beer.

The children go off to school. The fisherman lies his tired bones on the soft mattress and falls into a deep slumber. The fisherman’s wife washes the dishes and then brings her coffee and pan dulce (sweet bread) outside and sits on the chair. Her sister arrives and they chat about the latest news of the neighborhood.

Later, the fisherman’s wife goes in to watch her soap opera. Her eyes fall heavy and for a few minutes, she sleeps. The children come home from school and their Abuela goes back into the kitchen to feed them snacks. The fisherman wakes up. The children’s parents arrive back from work. Dinner is served. The two chairs from outside are added to the kitchen table. They bow their heads and say a prayer of thanksgiving. They may not have much, but they have each other.

The sun sets. The fisherman’s wife packs his cooler and sends him off into the evening. He steps into his truck and on the third try he backs out and heads for the sea. All the while he sings a Mexican folk song. He smiles. He is content.This is his way of life.

Note: This story is a composite drawn from the many places we have visited and people whom we have met while here in Mexico.

Everyone, no matter how far they cruise, find themselves marina bound at one time or another. It could be because of mechanical issues, family matters or health. Whatever the reason, it happens to all of us whether we are in Mexico, Fiji, or sail the US. This year it is our turn. We have a short season due to work commitments and Jay is healing from hand surgery. So, other than our day sails (with a little help from our friends) we are staying put. That doesn’t mean we can’t explore.

I think Jay sensed I was feeling a bit restless and secretly made a plan to take me away for Valentine’s Day. He wanted to surprise me, but when it came down to two options – Marina Vallarta (downtown) or Punta de Mita (out of town), he asked my opinion. I chose the latter. I wanted to escape from the hustle and bustle of the city and we had only been to Punta de Mita once before and only for lunch.

Punta de Mita is on the northwest point of the bay. It is a very small village with a few high-end hotels situated on the point. With help from Talia (a Marriott executive) Jay found the Hotel W and booked an ocean view room with our family discount.

Jay thought we might get a driver to take us there, but I disagreed. “No. We don’t need a driver. We’ll take the bus. Getting there is part of the adventure.” I said with a smile.

The first bus was actually what the Mexicans call a “combi.” It is a van. Some are new but most are old and rickety. They can have holes in the seats, no air conditioning and stuff as many people in as possible. Once, I counted 17 of us in one van. Most have no shocks. And Mexicans love their topes (speed bumps).

Evidently, Mexicans don’t follow traffic rules, especially stop signs. To force the drivers to at least slow down, they put in topes. Imagine this. We go slow over the speed bump, then the driver hits the gas hard. We speed up as fast as we can but only go about 100 yards before another speed bump. He hits the brakes. This goes on for miles. Sometimes the sliding door doesn’t fasten and it opens and closes with each speed bump and acceleration. It’s crazy!

For 12 pesos each, we take the first “combi” to Walmart. All commercial travel seems to revolve around Walmarts. There is a Walmart stop if you are traveling north and there is a Walmart stop if you are traveling south. We went to the Walmart north to make our next connection. This time we catch the bus and for 20 pesos each, it will take us all the way to Punta de Mita. (Figure 20 pesos to the dollar.)

The buses aren’t much better. (The local ones. The buses that take you from city to city are quite nice.) They are old with no shocks either. There is always a crack in the windshield. A rosary hangs from the rear-view mirror. If you are lucky, there is air conditioning and curtains on the window to protect you from the heat of the sun. Otherwise, the windows are open and you long for those few times there are no topes and the driver can speed up sending fresh air through the bus.

As we made the last turn toward Punta de Mita, we found ourselves on a winding road with jungle on either side. There are few places to stop so the driver hits the gas pedal. Jay and I mention we are glad we had a light breakfast as we twist and turn. We hold on. Our driver drives in the center of the road, going uphill on a two-lane highway. Another bus comes around over the hill. I shut my eyes and pray. “OMG!” I said. “Did you see that?” We laugh, nervously.

We pass the W to the left. We decided to go into town first and have lunch at Si Senor, a very nice Mexican restaurant that is right on the beach. We go another five miles, or so, and get off the bus and walk into town. It is basically, two streets.

Our lunch was wonderful. They made fresh guacamole and salsa at our table. Jay had a mahi mahi dish with adobo chili sauce and I had a traditional vegetarian plate with an enchilada, a tostada and a chili relleno. We decide to take a cab to the W. 500 pesos later we asked ourselves why. 500 pesos! To go about five miles! “I read that everything is expensive in Punta de Mita.” Jay told me. Ouch.

So, instead of arriving by bus at a five-star resort, we arrived by cab. However, we were in shorts and flip-flops with only a backpack. We walked through the entrance at the top of the hill where we were ushered into a golf cart. “Your luggage?” the porter asked. I turned my back to him, “This is it.” He looked a bit bewildered, then shrugged and got in. We drove down a narrow road, part cobblestone, part asphalt, toward the beach. More curves and more jungle. There was no hint of what lie ahead.

It was one of those breath-taking entrances. The lobby led into what they called “the living room.” (A mere extension of the lobby.) Stairs led to the bottom floor where there was a bar in the center of the room. The entire room was open on either side. A view of the jungle could be seen where we had just arrived and a view of the pool with tall palm trees separating it from the beach was the view as we walked in. The décor is what we called contemporary Mexican with bright colors and exquisite artifacts. Even the lights that hung from the ceiling were works of art. We were welcomed with a special tequila cocktail and then taken by golf cart to our room. It was an unusual entrance, but everything about this hotel was unusual.

The hotel is divided into three parts; the ocean-front suites, a three-story building that was hidden in the jungle – we didn’t even know it was there until we stumbled upon it while walking along a foot path – and single-story rooms set back against the hill. Everything about this hotel seemed to be designed to be in harmony with nature.

Ours was one of the single-story dwellings. The front door led us into an outdoor porch. It had a brightly colored basket chair hanging from the ceiling and a painting on the wall of Freida Kahlo with a skateboard. I wondered what she would have thought about such a whimsical portrayal of herself. From this, we entered through a sliding-glass door to our room. It was in keeping with the hotel theme and was decorated in turquoise and yellow and a mix of bright colors everywhere. There was another portrait of Freida, this one with a surfboard. Next to her was a painting of Diego Rivera. He was holding a skateboard. The back porch had a second bed and was designed to be completely private with a view of a lake. The room was described as “ocean-view,” but was really more like a lake view. It didn’t matter to us. The man-made lake was beautiful with the jungle off to one side and the ocean on the other. We had a peak of the ocean and could hear the surf crashing on the shore. The bathtub also had a large window overlooking the lake. Overall, the room was light and airy and fun.

Later, we explored the grounds. We found two pools, three Jacuzzis, several restaurants, and a long, white beach that was so empty, it felt like our own private beach. We also found the Chevcheria. It is a ceviche bar made out of a Chevy truck. So cool. The ceviche chef enjoyed showing off his skills and prepared us one of his specialty dishes while we sat memorized by the ocean view.

Two days of total relaxation and we were ready for the bus ride back to Nuevo Vallarta. With our flip-flops, shorts and back-packs, we took the golf cart up the hill and caught the next bus into town. From first class to third class in a matter of minutes. It can be that way here in Mexico.

Jay and I usually don’t make much out of Valentine’s Day, but he instinctively knew I needed a change of scenery. I really love visiting new places and hanging out at the W in Punta de Mita was incredibly romantic… Even if we did commute via chicken bus and combi!

Note: More photos in the photo gallery.

Paradise Village Marina

We bought Patches second-hand over fifteen years ago for $1500. She was in immaculate condition. We outfitted her with chaps and wheels. We had davits built to carry her. She has been our boat “car” and Jay has spent many, many hours taking care of her. Fifteen years plus is a long time to own one dinghy and over that time we have shared so much together.

I took my first solo drive on Patches in Channel Islands Harbor. I was so proud of myself. I started her all by myself. My daughter jumped in and we took her through the canals of Oxnard to Vons. It was a five-minute car ride that took us half an hour in the dinghy, but that wasn’t the point. The point was – we could actually take a dinghy to the market and back. Just the girls! How cool was that!

When we got back to the dinghy with our groceries, I had a little trouble starting her again. Of course, a man offered to help. I hesitated. Almost surrendered. But then, “No thanks. I’ve got this.” I told him. A few tries later, she started and Talia and I motored back to the slip.

Jay and I dumped her a few times. Or maybe I should say, she dumped us. The first time was at Smuggler’s Cove on Santa Cruz Island in California. “Why is that silly person anchoring their dinghy and swimming instead of landing on shore?” We asked ourselves. We were about to find out.

The surf was bigger than we thought. We caught a wave and Jay came right over me as the dinghy folded in half. What a mess! Jay lost his glasses. We broke an oar. The radio went swimming. I got tangled up in the lines as waves continued to pound us. Worst of all, the motor was dunked in salt water. Yet, she survived and so did we.

The second time we were at Yellow Banks anchorage on Santa Cruz Island. Don and Bobbi were with us and their dog, Rags, needed to go to shore.

“No way. I’m not going.” I said.

“Me either.” Bobbi joined in.

“Drop us off on Cindy’s boat.” (Cabana Girl was anchored a few boats away.) Bobbi, Cindy, Dann and I drank margaritas and watched as the boys did it again.

They landed on shore and Rags was a happy dog, running up and down the beach. Back in the dinghy, they began rowing back to Cabana Girl. Only Rags had other ideas. He jumped overboard and swam back to shore. One thing led to another and oops! Up and over.

In San Diego, we took Patches to a concert. It was held at Humphrey’s on Shelter Island. All the dinghies in the neighborhood would gather outside in one of the fairways. There we would turn off our motors, sip our wine and listen to good music under the stars while the dinghies gently swayed in the water.

Patches has traveled thousands of miles with us. She’s visited both Santa Cruz Island and Catalina several times. She has explored Islas Espirtus Santos in the Sea of Cortez. In fact, we spent six weeks with her, visiting all the wonderful coves in the Sea of Cortez. She took us on a river ride through the jungle in Tenacatita. She has survived two hurricanes. She even ventured through the canals of Nuevo Vallarta while we searched for crocodiles. Once, Patches even caught a fish. Inadvertently
.
We were sailing down the Pacific Coast of Baja California somewhere between Turtle Bay and Santa Maria. Jay and Don were fishing off the stern. I can’t remember who reeled in the fish but as they were trying to release it, it jumped into the dinghy. Don climbed over the stern rail and into the swinging dinghy hanging on the davits. The fish was flapping. Don was squealing. Jay and I were laughing. Good times.

But Patches was also the one who bucked like a wild horse, throwing me off into the sea outside of La Cruz. I will never forget how she turned into a viscous monster aiming to attack me. And she did. She chopped up my leg and then turned around and headed for El Salvador. I have since forgiven her, but the memory still haunts me. It took me two seasons to do my first solo again and I shook all the way on the long, slow ride to the shore of Zihuatanejo.

Jay continues to try and save her. He put yet more patches on her yesterday. Poor Patches. I think the end is near. I am declaring this her last season. It is time to say thank you and farewell to our trusted dinghy, Patches.

Note: We actually never named her until a few years ago when our friend, George, came by and saw all the patches that were hiding under the chaps. He said we should call her Patches. And so we did.

It was another perfect day for sailing. Fifteen knots of wind. Flat seas. Nine souls on board. (+?) And, of course, we were searching for whales.

It was the dolphins we saw first. Then, off in the distance, someone saw the spray of whales’ breath. “Ten o’clock! Whales!

We all watched as they continued to spout and show their tails. That was nice, but we wanted to see some up close. What is that old adage? Careful what you wish for.

We had just finished lunch. The wind was dying so we were headed home. I was standing up looking back toward the stern of the boat. Jay was at the helm so he was looking forward. Suddenly I heard a thunderous splash and a loud cry from the crew. Jay yelled, “Oh shit!” I turned around to see a huge wake in the water crossing the front of our boat.

“Oh my God! A Whale! It breached right in front of our boat.” Jay said.

I stood very still, holding on to the standing rigging, prepared for a thud and silently praying we didn’t hit it or it hit us. I looked down and saw a dark shadow descending on the starboard side. I started to breathe again.

Needless to say, there was a lot of nervous chatter and wide-eyed looks for several minutes. Everyone told their version of what they saw. Only a few actually saw the whale jump. The rest of us heard the loud sound and witnessed the aftermath.

A few minutes later, I notice something moving on the foredeck.

“What’s that? An iguana? How did that get here?”

Lots more chatter from the crew. He seemed stunned and we imagined him to be saying to himself, “How did I get out here?”

“Maybe the whale dropped him off?” I asked.

“He must have been hiding under the staysail cover.” Someone said.

“Let’s call him Iggy.”

Iggy moved slowly over to the rail. He looked down and around trying to figure out what his next move would be.

“Don’t jump Iggy!” A chorus of people cried.

We decided he must have been startled by the whale encounter and now that he was awake, he discovered he had a new problem; how to get off the boat.

We all settled down and quietly watched as Iggy finally decided to move up to the bowsprit and stay on board. We kidded that he was doing his version of “I’m king of the world!”

“Turtle!” Someone spotted a big sea turtle off the side of the boat. I looked at Richelle. “Whales, dolphins, turtles and even an iguana! This has been quite a day.” We laughed.

Iggy actually stayed put until we got back into the slip. Even when I came up to get the dock lines, he didn’t move. Once we were steady, he climbed down the fender line and onto the dock. However, he didn’t go far.

We watched as he tried, unsuccessfully, to climb on board another boat. A little while later, Tommy said, “He’s back.” We were having after-sail drinks in the cockpit and telling stories of our adventures at sea. I turned around and there he was. Iggy was back on the deck.

“No. No. No, Iggy. You can’t stay here.” I told him as if he would understand. He started to leave, but no, I had to make a compromise. Iggy spent the night in our dinghy.

Banderas Bay, Mexico

We arrived on the south shore via power boat three nights after the blood moon. The waves were rough and we were being tossed back and forth, left and right. Four gentlemen (two on shore, two on the boat) connected a plank from the boat to land and then helped each passenger step off carefully. No one got hurt.

We followed a line of people along the footpath that was lit by small candles along each edge. Every ten feet or so, a torch stood tall guiding our vision. Slowly we climbed higher and higher. The beating of drums echoed through the jungle. The natives were restless.

Las Caletas. A hidden cove along the south shore of Banderas Bay which can only be reached by boat, horse, or on foot. In the daytime it is a tourists’ playground where children can fly through the air on zip-lines created just for them. They can ride a donkey, hike, snorkel, swim, or just lie along the beach. There are even waterslides.

At night, Las Caletas turns into “Fantasy Island” and from the moment you step on shore you are transported to a world far, far away. We were there with our friends to see the newest show from Rhythms of the Night, Savia: The Legend of the Five Suns, presented by Cirque du Soleil.

After stopping to take the obligatory photo with a woman dressed in costume, we were shown to our seats. We had splurged for VIP tickets, so we watched the performance from the third row.

We sat in an outside amphitheater surrounded by tall palms along the hillside. The stage was set to look like the exterior of an ancient pyramid. The story background is this:

“A small village surrounds the structure full of people who have lived in harmony with nature for generations. Each night, the spirit world of the ancients comes to life in a theatrical presentation.

“Legend has it there were four civilizations of humanity prior to ours. Each period saw the evolution of the human race as well as its demise. These previous worlds were destroyed by tornadoes, fires and floods, yet rituals and sacrifices have kept the human spirit alive. From the bones and ashes of the ancients come a celebration of the new Sun and hope for a better world.”

The lights dimmed. Dry ice shot up from the stage, creating a fog-like atmosphere. The music began and four native drummers were lowered down out of the sky. (via crane) All senses were involved, including scent through the use of incense. The mood was set.

It was an absolutely amazing show, complete with acrobatics, gymnastics, and graceful dances. Two women sang the vocals live. The rest was prerecorded. The music was haunting, rhythmic and authentic to the culture. Jay was so taken by it, he wanted to buy a CD, but alas, no joy. (Someone should speak to their promoters.)

Four Asian women folded themselves into pretzel-like forms and then stood on top of each other, balancing on one hand. A man hung from a rope with one hand. Only his his feet held his partner as they swung across the stage fifty feet in the air. A couple expressed their love through dance. There was so much going on we were overwhelmed, afraid we were going to miss something.

The costumes were fabulous too. They paid tribute to The Day of the Dead with all the performers dressed in skeleton leotards. A fifteen-foot skull danced across the stage.

Not to be left out, the court jester provided us with laughs.

After the show, we were escorted back down the footpath, through a bamboo jungle, to our dinner table. It was pitch black but we knew we were on the beach from the loud sound of the surf. It even splashed up once, covering our neighbor’s table as well as the harp player who, along with his band, was serenading us.

Dinner and dessert were served buffet style. Typical and decent.
We were told to head back to our boat at the sound of the bell ringing. Off we went, into the night.

We were served yet more drinks (drinks on the boat ride up and wine on the dinner table) and were entertained by our waiters. Lots of laughter. In the quieter moments, we couldn’t help but be mesmerized by the city lights twinkling around the bay.

All in all, it was one fantastic evening. If you ever come this way, don’t miss Rhythms of the Night.

Banderas Bay, Mexico

Politics. The wall. Government shutdown. The Russia investigation. Hurricanes. Volcanoes. Fires. Mudslides. Syria. Gun violence. The Me-Too movement. Murders and kidnapping. Climate change. Brexit. A little child, no more than three years old runs along the highway. She is barefoot and crying. She is lost and alone and it is freezing outside. It seems the world has gone crazy.

But then…

A bus driver sees her. She stops. She runs across the street and picks her up in her arms. One of the passengers gives up her coat and wraps it around the child. The little girl is found sleeping in the bus driver’s arms when the authorities arrive. Kindness and human decency prevail.

In this day and age when we are flooded with minute by minute news via the airwaves and social media, it can all be too much. One must find a way to break free and find some peace to keep from being pulled into the vortex of negativity. One way Jay and I find our peace is through sailing.

It was Saturday, the twelfth of January and after only two weeks of being here in Mexico, we were ready to take Cadenza out for her first sail in eight months. As usual, we had to put the boat back together. Everything was stashed inside. Boat cushions, sails, our extra ladder, the wagon. All that had to come out again. We put everything back in its place, attached the Genoa and took down the canvas covers. Jay reconnected the electronics and tested the anchor windlass. Everything inside, absolutely everything inside had to be washed. Sheets, towels, any clothing that we had. All the dishes. Cabinets had to be emptied and cleaned. Suffice it to say, it is a lot of work to put her back together but finally, we were ready and anxious to get back on the water.

Banderas Bay is a great place for day sailing. The sea is generally calm and flat. The wind almost always picks up in the afternoon. And, there are whales. The bay is surrounded by mountains, lush terrain and white, sandy beaches. In January, the mornings and evenings are filled with soft, cool breezes and in the afternoon the sun heats up and warms the skin.

Our first sail went well. Everything worked. Hah! Everything worked! How rare is that? However, the wind was lazy that day but we didn’t care. We ghosted along on six knots and felt the gentle waves lull us into a serene relaxation. All was quiet. Peaceful. That is what we do when the world goes crazy.

Martha’s Vineyard

“What is a switch-hitter?” I asked Jay the other night as I was falling asleep. He was reading.

“In baseball or sex?”

I laughed. “In baseball.” I said.

“It means you can hit with either your left hand or your right.”

Now, I’m not a baseball player, nor am I ambidextrous, but just go with me on this…

Six years ago, Jay and I sold our home in Malibu and moved into a two-bedroom apartment while we finished preparing Cadenza for cruising. We had both lived in California for over twenty years. We had our careers there. We raised our children there. With the children either married or off to college, we decided to cut the lines and head south. It was exciting, daring, and a little bit scary. Initially, we weren’t sure how far we intended to cruise. Mexico for sure, probably not to the Marquesas, definitely not around the world, but Costa Rica was a possibility and even Panama and through the Canal. One thing I was sure of, I didn’t want to get “stuck” in a marina in Mexico. Well, if there is one thing we can count on in life is nothing stays the same.

Selling our house and moving onto a boat means downsizing. That was both liberating and challenging. What to keep? What to throw out? (See our very first blog, “Cruising and the Second Noble Truth.”) I found it interesting, how many material things I was attached to. What I didn’t foresee (and please don’t think bad of me) is how attached I was/am to family.

At the time, I was yearning for adventure. I was always a bit of a dreamer growing up. I got that from my father. We traveled constantly, moving from house to house, apartment to trailer to house again. We moved from city to city and state to state. We even moved out of the country, living in Bangkok for a year. So, after staying put to raise my children in one city, I longed to venture out again and see the world. I longed to challenge myself, to get out of my comfort zone, so to speak. When Jay shared with me his dream of cruising, I jumped at the opportunity and together we made our dreams come true.

We are “living the life” as they say. But there are downsides. The main one is, of course, being so far away from family. I think that was the biggest deciding factor – at least in my point of view – in not cruising any further than Mexico. Sailing in the Sea of Cortez, I learned what it is like to be in a remote area with little ability to communicate. We were missing out on their daily life accomplishments and struggles. And what if something happened to one of our children? How would we know? I realized then, if we went further south, we would be even more removed and I started second-guessing our choices.

Some people sell their house, move onto their boats and cruise the world. Others, like us, live in two worlds; one on land and one on the sea. We chose to keep our house on Martha’s Vineyard and make it our land home. Our sea home, our west coast house, is Cadenza, our sailboat. We spend four to six months on Cadenza and the other half of year at our home in Massachusetts. We are still far away from our children and grandchildren, (most living in California) but it is easier now, to stay in touch. We visit as often as we can.

This year is the first year in six years we spent the holidays at home, and I must say, I was very happy to nest and decorate and cook for family and friends. And we aren’t really “stuck” in a marina. Last year we sailed over 700 miles. When we returned, I asked myself how will I ever say goodbye to cruising? Now I understand. Like with everything, when it is time, we will know. But for now – we both love living our life on land and on sea.

May, 2018

It was April. The weather was heating up. The humidity too. Most of our cruising friends had already left. Some had sailed south to El Salvador or the Panama Canal. Some did the Puddle Jump, crossing the Pacific to the Marquesas. Some sailed north to spend the summer in the Sea of Cortez. And others, like us, were putting their boats to bed in Mexico and heading home.

We always have mixed feelings about leaving. Our cruising life is exciting, challenging and fun. Sometimes it is terrifying. Always, it leaves us with a sense of accomplishment. The downside is being so far away from home and family. I was homesick and ready to close out the season. Jay, not so much. “Why do we want to go where it is so cold?” He asked me on more than one occasion.

“I like weather.” I replied. “Sunshine every single day is nice, but it gets boring. Besides, it won’t last for long.”

In the first four weeks of being home on Martha’s Vineyard, the sun came out only two days. Two days! It was rainy and cold. The sky was overcast constantly. I woke up one morning and looked out the window. The fog was a thick white sheet hovering over the green grass and wallowing between the trees. Dew dripped from the leaves. The newly-planted flowers were stifled by the chill. I wondered if somehow, we had been transported to England. The depression that takes over from lack of sunshine and vitamin D had long since gotten to Jay. Finally, I too, succumbed.

Mother’s Day weekend Talia arrived and with her, the sun. We enjoyed the afternoon at our favorite local hang, Coup de Ville, overlooking Oak Bluffs Harbor. Our moods were enhanced both by the sunshine and Talia’s beautiful smile. There are certain traditions we adhere to when we come back to the island and each time we say, “Now we are home.” Hanging out at Coup de Ville is one of them.

The rain and cold reared its ugly head again the next morning. Just in time for our 5K along South Beach. Oh well. It just made us move that much faster.

When Talia left on Sunday afternoon, she called us from the ferry as we were driving back to Edgartown. “Did you know your boat is in the water?” We immediately drove back to Vineyard Haven.

There she was, Skipjack, our 18’ Herreshoff America catboat we keep in Martha’s Vineyard. She was sitting at a mooring, gently rocking and just waiting for us to pick her up and take her back home, to Katama Bay. Jay and I were elated. Until we checked the weather. Cold and rainy for the next week. “What happened to spring?” Jay wanted to know.

“I think this is spring.” I said, sadly. “An endless spring.”

One week later, we were on our way to pick up Skipjack. We were on the bus, traveling on the road between State Beach and Sengekontacket Pond. “The island looks so different.” I said. For weeks everything around us had been a dull gray. Now, with the air dry and crisp, everything was perfectly clear. The water, on both sides of the road, was a vibrant blue. The shoreline, covered with the barren gray trees, contrasted nicely with the pond’s reflection of the sky. That is just one thing that is so special about Martha’s Vineyard; the ever-changing light.

On board Skipjack, we dropped the mooring and headed out of Vineyard Haven Harbor. I would like to say we sailed her home but the sea was flat and there was no wind. What little wind that came up, was on the nose. Of course. It didn’t dampen our spirits, though. The sun was shining. We were back on the water, on our boat. “Now we are home.” We said as we smiled at each other.

Nuevo Vallarta, Mexico

Punta de Mita anchorage.

It was late February and we were in Barra waiting for a weather window. It seemed like we had one norther after another after another. Finally, in three days’ time, it looked like one might open up.

Meanwhile, Jay was checking the engine, checking the oil, checking the transmission, checking the coolant…wait! What? “There’s no coolant in the reservoir.” Jay told me. “It’s empty.”

“How can that be?” I asked. He checked the hoses. One of them had a leak. This was certainly a downer as there is no easy way to find boat parts in Barra.

We immediately called “our guy,” Pancho. (Everyone needs a “guy” in every port. No! I know what you are thinking. Not like that. We need a guy who has local connections. A guy who can fix things and when he can’t, he knows someone who can.) Pancho and his nephew went out on a search.

While they were looking, Jay made a few phone calls himself. He called some businesses in Manzanillo (a forty-minute taxi ride), and he called some friends who then gave us some numbers and names of friends. No luck. Our one big hope was Jonco. He is one of the few guys we know in Barra that works on boat engines. He gave a lazy laugh. “There are no 1 1/8″ exhaust hoses in Mexico. They don’t exist.” He told us. I looked at Jay. “Seriously? Now what?”

Here was the problem. Our weather window was closing in, but there was no way we were leaving without replacing the hose. Getting a hose from the United States to Mexico would be no easy task and could take weeks, even months. My kids were flying into PV on the 14th of March so we needed to be back. I know two weeks sounds like a long time, but considering the dilemma we were facing, the odds of that happening were looking pretty slim. We were quietly panicking.

Leave it to “our guy” Pancho. He couldn’t find a 1 1/8″ exhaust hose, but he did come up with a 1 1/8″ heater hose. At first, Jay was hesitant to use it, but after talking with a few people who all agreed it should work, he installed it. He tested it. And tested it again. Believe it or not, it worked!

On March 1st, we headed north with the open weather window, albeit a small one. With that in mind, we decided to skip Tenacatita and motor sail straight to Chamela. We arrived to find another twelve boats in our same situation, all wanting to head north around Cabo Corrientes. (Corrientes means “currents” in Spanish. The wind and seas can get rather fierce there if you don’t time it right.)

We spent the evening listening in on Channel 22 on the VHF as the cruisers kept checking with each other. Everyone wanted advice to the timing of rounding Corrientes. Some were leaving at four in the morning. Others, five. Some at six. One was leaving at 11 am. We decided on six am.

We slept outside in the cockpit and at 4:30 am, I woke up. I sat up and watched a boat’s stern lights head out of the bay. I was wide awake. I decided to wake Jay and suggested we go ahead and leave. At 5:50 (the sun rises at 7:15ish), we weighed anchor and were on our way. By that time, there were already five boats in front of us.

We left with the attitude that we could either motor sail the 50 nm to Ipala and anchor for the night, leaving at four the next morning to go around Cabo Corrientes or, if Ipala was crowded, we would keep going. Fortunately, the winds were down and the sea was relatively calm.

About 4pm, just outside Ipala, we saw there were only two boats anchored there. Even though it is a small cove, we could have fit in easily. But the conditions were such that we decided to keep going. If all went well, we would arrive at Punta de Mita around midnight. All went well. However, it was quite confusing between all the different lights. There were lights on the Marietta’s Islands to our left and city lights all around the bay, in front of us and to our right. To add to the confusion, fireworks were going off sporadically throughout the evening. And we couldn’t discern anchor lights from the town lights until we were right up on them. Eventually, it all became clear and we dropped anchor in 35 feet of water under our spreader lights and a full moon. We tucked in for a good night’s sleep.

Later in the afternoon the next day, Jay looked at me and said, “I’m glad you suggested we stay here for another night. It gives us time to decompress.” Not long after that, a whale came up, leisurely swimming alongside our boat! Literally, about twenty feet off the port side. It was a great way to end a successful voyage; lounging around on the boat at anchor, reading, eating, napping, even whale-watching.

I’ll be honest, though. I was nervous about this latest trip. Before leaving, we heard from our friends who had to abandon their boat on their way from Cartagena to Jamaica in twenty-foot seas after three days of storms that took out their sails and engine. Then we heard of two other experienced sailors who lost their lives just outside Ensenada when they hit a storm while on their way home to San Diego after seven years of cruising. They never found the boat. Just two bodies washed up along the shore. I was spooked. So, this trip was good for us. Despite some of our hardships, we spent two months cruising, traveled 726-miles, and we were fine. Cadenza was fine. We were back in the saddle.

Barra de Navidad

When I was a little girl, my friend, Lisa, and I would take listening walks. We would walk around the block and write down everything we heard and then compare to see who heard the most sounds. That person would win the game. What is particularly interesting about this (other than I have never met another person who played this game) is that when I became a TV producer, one of my responsibilities was to oversee the sound mix. On Star Trek: DS9, we had three mixers; one for dialogue and Foley, one for music, and one for sound effects. Their job was to create the best sound for their individual parts. My job was to listen to the mix as a whole. My comments were something like this: raise the dialogue, add more walla, we need a bigger explosion. So, it was no surprise, that as we were walking through town one day, Jay said, “You should do a blog about the sounds of Mexico. Too bad you can’t record it and put it on the blog.” Actually, there must be a way, but I am not technically savvy. I am a writer, so with my words and your imagination, maybe you will hear the sounds of Mexico.

To begin with, I must mention the birds. Every morning and every evening their songs fill the air. They are not the sweet, musical tweets of New England birds in spring. Many of these birds’ vocals are harsh. They caw and whistle and cluck in succession. However, the white egret is silent as she moves gracefully along the dock. Her eyes peer down intently at the water waiting to catch her next meal.

There are many sounds emanating in and around the ocean too. The waves hitting the shoreline, of course. Small fish jumping, running away from some other bigger fish. The dolphins’ breath as they swim alongside our bow. Rays doing belly-flops as they dance across the sea. And if we are lucky, a whale might breach, jumping clear out of the water, making a big, thunderous thud as he hits the water.

While we are on our boat, we leave the VHF radio on. That is how we cruisers communicate. In Barra, at 0830, six days a week we hear, “This is your French baker. I am entering the marina.” He says this with an authentic French accent. He is here to deliver fresh baked goods to our boats by panga. Ding ding. Ding ding. This is the bell he rings as he passes our dock.

Pangas are everywhere. They are the main mode of transportation along the coast. They are used for tours and for fishing. It is common to hear their motors charging by at all hours of the day and night. Many times, we hear music blasting from their boats. Once, in Zihuatanejo, a panga driver passed our boat and we could hear an opera playing from his radio. He stood tall, (Panga drivers often stand while driving.) with his hand on the tiller and sang along at the top of his lungs. He had a beautiful, deep voice. A baritone, maybe?

The many sounds make us laugh as we walk through the streets of Barra. Fresh water is delivered in five-gallon jugs by truck. The hatchback drives along very slowly. There is a loudspeaker on the hood. Out of it a man’s voice bellows in Spanish. I don’t know exactly what he is saying, but I’m sure he is advertising his water. It echoes through the town. Propane is delivered this way too.

Mexicans love their music. And so it goes that you will hear it coming from homes, businesses and cars as you walk by. The other day, we were on our way to the Port Captain. We turned a corner and heard loud music. We looked up to see three young girls dancing and singing on the second-floor balcony. When they saw us, they giggled and ran inside. And one Monday night, when we were leaving our favorite restaurant, we ran into a block party. Thirty, or so, people were gathered around in a circle, sitting on chairs in the middle of the street. There was a band playing and some people dancing in the center of the circle. Gail and I just naturally started moving to the music. They saw us and called us over. At first, we were shy. But, as they kept insisting we thought, oh, what the heck. We ran over, entered the circle and danced with them for a few minutes. There were no words spoken, only laughter as two cultures joined together in song.

Motorcycles are another staple in Mexico. They are an inexpensive way to get around. They putter through town. It is not unusual to see a mother with her two children; one on her lap and one behind her, holding on. They wear no helmets. I worry for them.

That same day we walked to the Port Captain we saw two horses clomping down the road. Clickety-click, clickety-click. No one was with them, other than a dog following. A rooster crowed. And they don’t just crow in the mornings, either! They banter back and forth day and night.

On the way back through town, we passed the elementary school. We could hear the children’s laughter and shouts as they ran around the playground. A child’s joy always makes me smile.

Next, we passed the Catholic Church. Three masses a day are celebrated here. It was noon and the parishioners were singing hymns they know by heart. Many years ago, a hurricane hit Barra hard, causing part of the church’s roof to collapse, breaking the arms of Jesus. Legend has it that this coincided with the wind stopping. The broken crucifix still hangs in the church, a constant reminder of their faith.

The sounds of life are universal and yet, at the same time, unique to individual cultures. These are some of the sounds of Mexico.