Images of Mazatlan - Historic District

Chance Encounters

At the moment that we stepped into the air-conditioned bus, we didn’t realize that we were risking our lives.  The bus hadn’t traveled far before images of Frida Kahlo’s crippling injuries from a bus accident flashed into my mind.  Our driver’s attitude propelled us at top speed down congested roads weaving through traffic, cutting off other buses and screeching around corners.  He momentarily slowed when he realized that the crunching noise was our bus and a car in an unfortunate encounter.  He thought better of stopping...and so we continued barreling down the road to Juarez, which we realized was not where we wanted to go.  We jumped out of our seats, raced down the steps, landed in the street and hailed a pulmonia, an open-air taxi resembling a golf cart, which also catapulted us at top speed, but closer to the ground, to the hair salon.  Concerned that I was late, I left Ken to negotiate with the driver and entered the tranquility of Tippy Toes Salon whose ad I had seen in an English language news magazine. 

I was delighted to be greeted in French, I have yet to discover who that was, offered a glass of wine, which I readily accepted, and escorted up three flights of stairs to an air conditioned boutique filled with objects d’art, textiles and gorgeous leather purses, all sourced from Mexico, the Middle East and Africa.  And oh yes, there was a small stack of books, “The Little Coffee Shop in Kabul” on the top shelf next to one upright copy of “Kabul Beauty School”, the New York Times bestseller that I read when it was first released.  An American woman with a pretty smile and easy laugh stood in front of a mirrored wall and next to the one hair chair.  She was expecting me. 

We chatted as she got down to the business of cutting my hair.  We discovered a shared interest in the education of women in Afghanistan.  I told her about my affiliation with the Alliance for International Women’s Rights for whom I taught English as a Second Language to a young Afghan woman via Skype. She told me about the beauty school that she established in Kabul, the first in the country. I soon realized that Deborah Rodriguez, the author of both books,  was not just cutting my hair but giving me one of the best cuts ever.  She was forced to leave Afghanistan and has set up shop in Mazatlan where she is offering at-risk girls the opportunity for training and employment in beauty services. 

Just what are the chances of two American women with a shared interest in the well being of Afghan women stumbling upon each other in a hair salon in Mazatlan?  It’s a small world.

Images of Mazatlan

Catedral Basilica de la Purisima Concepcion

Ice cream man

One of many plazas in Mazatlan

A small roadside taqueria

 

Gitane at Marina El Cid

 

Images of Mazatlan - Centro Mercado

 

Southern Crossing

We motorsail 175 miles east from Cabo San Lucas to Mazatlan.  We are 24 hours into the crossing before we see another boat, a fishing boat heading west two miles from us.  After spending 15 days in the company of over 100 boats, it feels a bit lonely out here.  The VHF radio is silent.  A flying fish lands in the cockpit, the only companion on my night watch.     

The Milky Way blankets the sky and dust from the mainland blankets us.  It hangs in the humid air.  Carried in the light north wind, we smell it 50 miles from shore. A fine film settles on the dodger windows, streaks the sail, coats the deck.  In the cockpit it drifts onto the table and cushions.  When we stand to peer over the dodger, it blows onto our glasses, clings to our clothes and nestles in our hair. 

We talk excitedly about the fresh water washdown that we’ll get in the marina.  About how good it will feel and how refreshing it will be to slosh around barefoot on the deck with running water after the sand, dirt and saltwater accumulated in 15 days of sailing and anchoring off of beaches.  We’re going to hose everything down inside and out, including each other.

Whales glide by and sea turtles paddle past as we enter the waters of Pacific Mexico.  It’s by the skin of our teeth and Ken’s keen eye that we avoid getting a fishing net wound around the propeller.  A thick yellow line strung between clear plastic water bottles hangs just below the surface.  We turn sharply to starboard and sail parallel to it for miles before we spot a black flag attached to a buoy bobbing in the swell and marking the end of the net.  It drops deeply into the sea and traps everything in its path.  Fish jump into the air to escape its grip. The scene is hard to watch.

It’s mid-morning when Isla Pajores appears on the horizon, our landmark to the entrance of Sabalo estuary and our reserved slip at El Cid Marina.   

Leg Three - Bahia Santa Maria to Cabo San Lucas

The winds are so light on this leg that the 30-hour cruise seems like it will never end.  Motor-sailing at 5-knots feels like we are standing still.  The main sail bangs back and forth in its track.  The jib slaps in cadence with the ocean swell.  The days are hotter and the nights are warmer.   At nightfall, the lights of La Paz brighten the horizon to the east.  We can smell dirt in the air. The Milky Way provides hours of entertainment.  A long line of port lights and stern lights stretches for miles on the north/south horizons.  The entire fleet is wallowing. 

As we near Cabo Falso in the afternoon, we are charmed by sea turtles paddling by. Condos and hotels appear on the beaches and hills.  Sport fishing boats cross our bow with lines out.   Suddenly, we are back in a busy port and our serenity is obliterated. 

 

We anchor off of the beach which is great for diving off of the stern into the 80 degree water.  This is a busy place with jet skis screaming by, pangas motoring by with tourists, cruise ships and party boats plying the bay.  There are numerous restaurants to choose from and well-stocked supermarkets. We purchased an internet modem from the phone company’s main customer service center which was open on Sunday!  Everyone with whom we’ve come in contact in Cabo has been very friendly. 

The Baja Ha-Ha rally ended here with a fabulous catered lunch on the beach and an award ceremony in which we all celebrated our triumphs and challenges.  The rally provided support via a daily net which delivered weather information, organized medical support, helped the fleet address mechanical issues and logged daily position reports of each boat.  We are grateful to have had the opportunity to participate in the rally and will take many of the lessons learned with us as we continue cruising.      

Leg Two - Bahia Tortugas to Bahia Santa Maria

We followed a stream of stern lights into the vast expanse of Bahia Santa Maria at 0230.  Total transit time was 42.5 hours. We motor-sailed for 29 hours due to light winds.  As we rounded Punto Hughes, the anchor lights in the bay looked like streetlights of a small town.

The morning light reveal an enormous, beautiful bay with a fishing camp on shore.  A couple of one-room, wood-frame buildings on the hill and simple lean-tos line the beach along the estuary.  Nicely painted and well-maintained pangas begin plying the waters of the anchorage in the late morning providing taxi service to the beach party. There aren’t any services here, just a lovely bay for swimming, waves for surfing and hills for hiking.  It’s a quiet, serene place. 

 

A lunch for the fleet of grilled tuna, ceviche and rice was catered by folks from a small village about 30 miles east.  A live band from La Paz played great music all afternoon.  Swimming and beach volleyball rounded out the day. 

 

The fleet brought toys, clothes and candy for the kids of this poor camp.  I gave a coloring book and crayons to a sweet, barefoot girl whose eyes lit up as she held her gift as if it were gold.

 

 

Bahia Tortugas

We slip into Bahia Tortugas under a full moon at 0330.  Anchor lights gently rocking in the bay look like fireflies against the dark hills.

This small, dusty fishing town is awake at dawn.  The economic impact of our 145-boat fleet is significant.  Men and boys in pangas roam about the bay collecting garbage, delivering diesel ($3.80/gal) and serving as water taxis to the town dock which is in dire need of repair and takes astute navigation skills to avoid the gaping holes and missing boards.

We celebrate the completion of the 360-mile first leg with a beach party, a baseball game with local kids and dinner at Veracruz, one of two cafes in town. They are expecting us and have stocked up with a simple and flavorful Ha-Ha menu of tacos and burritos and plenty of cold beer and icy drinks.  There are two tiendas, little one-room stores that had a few root vegetables, eggs, canned good, soaps, cold drinks and other basics.    

 

A walk through town on the unpaved streets reveals the orderly lives of a community that takes pride in their surroundings.  The small cinderblock homes boast bright pastel interior walls and tidy kitchens. Patios are just feet from the street and are swept clean in what must be a constant battle. Black water tanks mounted on rooftops absorb the sun’s heat.  A coating of dust from passing cars softly settles on laundry hung out to dry.  Almost every house has satellite TV.  Everyone with whom we came in contact was pleasant and friendly.    

Leg One - San Diego to Bahia Tortugas

The rays of the full moon splash across the blackness lighting our watery world like a street light on wet pavement.  There is a plethora of stars at times veiled by billowy white cotton ball clouds that float by and stack up on the horizon.  The glow of our steaming light bounces off of the main sail.  The flags on the spreader flutter in the light northwest wind. The engine hums quietly as it gently pushes us at seven knots across three foot seas.  The winds were so light that we motorsailed for 36 hours of the 81-hour cruise.   The warm nights are spectacularly serene.  There is plenty of room to think and breathe in this wide open space. 

On the first night after leaving San Diego with the rally, I counted the lights of 25 boats around us.  On the second night there were four.  We entered Bahia Tortugas at 0300 on the third night following the stern lights of two boats.  Boats continued to enter the bay throughout the night. The winds were so light that we motored 36 hours of the total 81 hours of transit time. 

By contrast our days are busy and noisy.  The fleet roll call on the SSB takes an hour. The VHF crackles with conversation. We run the watermaker, make meals, adjust the sails, adjust our course, and stand watches.  The colorful gennaker balloons out and pulls us south in the light, warm winds. 

We are humbled by the gentle giant blue whales as they surface, their length longer than our boat.  We set out our fishing pole and in the evening and savor the delicious mild yellow fin tuna.