Christmas Afloat at Tenacatita

Celebrating Christmas afloat is a simpler, stripped-down version of the shore side experience.  The celebration of Christ’s birth is quieter, intimate, and more reflective.  Hymns and carols from CDs and the iPod fill our space.  Between songs, we hear the sound of breaking surf rather than commercials enticing us to buy something that we may want but don’t need.  I’ve replaced last minute dashing about with stepping down the transom ladder and slipping into the warm ocean water for a refreshing swim. 

For decorations, I wrapped an empty wine bottle in silver garland transforming it into a Christmas tree for the cockpit. 

This year, I made a flag proclaiming the ‘Joy’ of the season which now flies from the port spreader. 

Down below in the main salon surrounded by garland and tea lights Santa Claus reigns from a corner shelf keeping track of who’s naughty and who’s nice.

Although I miss my family and sharing our traditions, I thoroughly enjoy the quiet, contemplative celebration afloat. 

We wish you a very Merry Christmas.  

 

  

A Flag Workshop

Four kids and two teams; the Tonga team and the French team, a luxuriously wide tile floor, two sewing machines, yards of nylon, a myriad of sewing supplies and two patient moms contributed to a noisy and productive workshop. 
 

The kids are on boats that will be cruising to the South Pacific in the spring. After researching the countries that they will be visiting, Victoria, Johnathon, Shandro and Matero made courtesy flags that they will be proud to fly when they arrive in the territorial waters of the respective countries.  Using my patterns, they measured, cut, pinned and stitched as the soft morning sunlight flooding the room transformed to bright afternoon rays.  With just an emblem left to paint on the Tonga flags and grommets to pound in, they’re good to go. 

 It was a great day spent with smart, funny, engaged cruising kids.

   

A Field Trip

Our mission for this day was to visit Entreamigos, an amazing community center in San Pancho. It was a three-bus trip, from La Cruz to San Pancho. The first was a “collectivo”, a privately-owned van that seats 16 people when crammed full as they often are, which dropped us off on the main highway.  We darted across four lanes of traffic and waited under a concrete overpass for the bus to Sayulita which rattles and snorts, climbs and grinds along the downsized two-lane highway through the jungle before arriving at its terminus.  This surfer-hangout town is known for its healthy lifestyle and with fresh fruit juice and smoothie bars on every corner and in between, we just had to choose a vendor.  We savored our smoothies as we waited 40 minutes at the outdoor bus terminal, a collection of bus seats set in the dirt under a tin roof, for the next bus to San Pancho.

It was worth the wait.  The bus dropped us off on the highway and it was a short walk down the colorful main street in San Pancho to Entreamigos, a non-profit, community-supported education center.  The entrance to this old milk processing plant is wide and high, drawing one’s gaze up and through the immensity of the space.

The building sat abandoned from the 1970s until 2009 when the government gave Entreamigos the rights to occupy and remodel the building.  It is a recognized model of environmentally responsible design.  Recycled materials were used throughout. Sunlight pours through skylights in the reception area, library, computer lab and study areas.

Deeper into the space is a sports area with trampolines and gym mats; eco-design workspaces for sewing, screen printing, glass and metal works; a recycling area and a recycle shop. 

Outside are an organic garden and a play area. 

This is a busy place where materials collected in town are repurposed; plastic detergent bottles become toys, a velvet blouse becomes lovely purses, a car hood becomes a blackboard, egg cartons are lamp shades, glass bottles and jars become vases, cups and ornaments. 

Nothing is wasted. Classes are taught by volunteers, visiting artists, local inhabitants, anyone is invited to give a workshop, to share their talents inspiring others to take care of their planet and contribute good things.  Oh, and while we were there, a Navy League member from Puerto Vallarta came in and purchased 20 toys that will be distributed to Families at the Dump for Christmas!  This is an amazing place.  You can learn more about it at www.entreamigos.org.mx. 

We were standing on the highway waiting for the hot, rattily return bus to La Cruz when a big, plush Pacifico long-distance bus pulled up and stopped. They had a few empty seats and invited us aboard.  Cushy, reclining seats, air conditioning and a movie - what a way to end a great field trip day!  
 

Waiting in La Cruz

We’re waiting in La Cruz for refrigeration parts, which gives us ample time to complete a myriad of boat chores, from the nastiest (blasting the concrete out of the sanitation hoses) to the prettiest (sanding and oiling the rub rails and side rails).  In between chores, we make daily dingy trips to town for blocks of ice and fresh vegetables.  Occasionally, we hop on a bus for a wild ride to Home Depot or the chandlery in PV.   

Last week, we took the bus to Sayulita, a small beach town about 10 miles north.  It’s a compact town stuffed with tourists and surfers, some of whom appear to have been dropped off in the 70s and stayed.  We wandered the narrow, cobbled streets and settled at a breakfast bar on the town square for chilaquiles and smoothies.

We accomplished alot down below on this gray, rainy day and were treated to a magnificent sunset.    

La Dia de Muertos

In Mexico, the tradition to honor the dead began with the Aztecs.  Today, The Day of the Dead is celebrated with parades and costumes and parties that stretch over three days, but the most traditional activity is to build an altar.  Whether created in the home or in the cemetery the components are the same: marigold flowers, a skull, the delicious Bread of the Dead made only this time of year, candles, photographs, incense, and the favorite food and drink of the departed.  And, oh yes, a likeness of La Catrina, the woman considered to be representative of the dead.  All of this to entice the spirits to happily return for a brief visit.

In oppressive late afternoon heat we caught a bus that wound its way along the cobblestone streets to El Pantheon, the oldest cemetery in old town Puerto Vallarta.  Police blocked off the street out front and vendors set up stalls along the sides.  Just about everything needed for the day could be purchased at the entrance. 

Walking through the massive white concrete arch of the cemetery is like walking into a small town.  The ground is uneven, the dirt passages rocky.  This place has been around a long time and it’s crowded.  Crypts of every size fill the space.  They cascade up and down the hillsides.  Some are low to the ground and simple.  Others rise up to the size of a shed made of brick or stone or adorned in decorative tile with doors protecting the photos and flowers and candles. Some plots are nothing more than a cross stuck in the dirt bearing a family name, reserving the space.  

It was a busy place.  Entire families brought buckets of water to wash the crypts and then rolled on a fresh coat of bright white paint.  Silk flowers suddenly appeared in giant urns, trees were trimmed, the dirt swept.  When the kids got bored, they climbed over, under and around.  Not to miss entrepreneurial opportunities, two small boys wandered about the spirit houses selling cold beverages from a cooler trailing behind them. A tall staff with dangling bags of pink and blue cotton candy bobbed in the distance as the vendor stepped carefully amongst the departed.     

I wanted to honor my departed friends and family members so I gathered the traditional bits and pieces and built an altar.  There was a skull, marigolds, La Catrina, and food and beverage for everyone.  As the edibles all disappeared, I’m assuming that my spirit visitors enjoyed their stopover.

 

 

 

 

 

Magisterio

Hope Road is muddy and deeply rutted from the heavy summer rains.  Our drive is laborious, our snail’s pace symbolic of the long road of transformation experienced by the families living and working at the transfer station at Magisterio, a village on the outskirts of Puerto Vallarta.

This seems an unlikely place for the new construction of a 70+ unit apartment building, an adjacent community center, classrooms, laundromat and soccer field/basketball court.  Rounding a curve in the road the project looms up, its juxtaposition as powerful as the hope of the aspiring tenants. The work accomplished by the non-profit Families at the Dump since my visit in April is amazing.  (www.familiesatthedump.com) The Foundation has worked for years to break this cycle of poverty, a testament to their constancy and dedication. Kids are sponsored in school, adults are learning new job skills, micro-loans are providing small business startups, a daycare center provides lunches, kids are engaged in art and games at the activity center, a computer classroom connects them to the world. And sometime within the next year families who have demonstrated the greatest desire to change their lives, who have applied themselves and focused their hearts and minds on a better life will leave their shanties and move into these new apartments with running water, toilets, refrigerators, cooktops, tile floors, ceiling fans, beds to sleep in, chairs to sit in, a table at which to eat, doors and windows, and walls that don’t flutter in the wind or leak during torrential downpours.

I volunteered at the community center on a hot, humid day when there was a lot to do.  Four of us spread the load.  We served lunch, a pasta salad that we scooped up and slathered on tortillas, to about 50 kids but only after inspecting the small hands of each child confirming that they had used the wash station outside the lunchroom. 

We washed dishes changing the cold, soapy water several times, re-using the plates so that everyone had a meal.  For some, it would be the only one of the day.  We spent time in the activity center making Halloween masks, with the kindergarten class learning numbers, and joined the middle school kids for belly dancing and yoga before they left for their afternoon sessions. In the coming weeks, I’ll be teaching English during the morning session. 

 

Once again, I left this amazing place awed by the strength of the human spirit and the fundamental goodness of humankind.  

Passing debris

It’s called “debris”.  The shifting winds, big swells, and torrential rains resulting from a cyclone that passes nearby but not close enough to cause real damage.  Well, its 9:00 Saturday night and we suddenly find ourselves in the debris field of a cyclone.  Its 86 degrees in the cabin; two oscillating fans blow the warm air around and trick us into thinking that we’re cool.  Heavy rain sounds like tap dancers on the cabin top; some of it bounces through the open portholes; some of it pings sideways into the cockpit.  Lightning flashes.  Thunder claps.  Wind gusts create a welcome breeze.  In the aft cabin, we hear the distinct plopping of raindrops crescendo into a rivulet, discover a leak in the hatch and place a bucket on the floor.  The stream becomes constant and quickly piles up in the bucket.  It’s a torrent outside.  I’m nervous and patrol down below for more invading rivulets.  Suddenly at 9:30, the only audible sounds are the whirling fans and occasional drips.  Outside, a fine mist hovers around the canvas.  The wash down is complete.  Depending on location, rain measurements for the 30-minute deluge are from 1-1/2 to 2 inches. 

We're back!

In early October, we arrived to the oppressive heat and humidity of Puerto Vallarta.  After crossing the border at Nogales, we bounced our way down 1,200 miles of Mexico’s finest highways. We paid $100 US in tolls for the privilege of dodging potholes and driving on narrow lanes without shoulders.  We stopped at our favorite campgrounds: San Carlos in the desert, Los Alamos in the mountains, and Mazatlan in the tropics.  All were practically deserted leaving us feeling a bit lonely and realizing that we were a couple of weeks ahead of the southerly migration.  We saw just one other RV which was northbound.    

We were relieved to find that Gitane was well-cared for during our summer absence.  Down below, the dehumidifier kept her dry, mold was non-existent, and she was free of bug infestation.  Now, the hard work begins to get her seaworthy for our second season cruising Pacific Mexico.

We work into the early afternoon when it gets too hot and humid to move and we head to the pool.  Our long work list is evaporating:  We ordered the refrigeration compressor, furled the sails, turned the dingy engine into an art project to deter banditos, added big dingy wheels for those tricky beach landings, provisioned, emptied the water tank of the vinegar and refilled it three times, changed the oil in the Yanmar, and plugged in the navigation equipment. Whew…so far so good.  

Decommissioned

For the first time in over seven years, Gitane has been decommissioned and the memories of our first year of offshore cruising are neatly bundled. 

Down below, her folded sails are stacked in their bags, reflective insulation is in all port lights and hatch covers, the watermaker is pickled, the water tank is filled with water and two gallons of vinegar, electronics are unplugged and removed, all surfaces were washed with vinegar, clothes lockers are emptied, the refrigerator is cleaned and dried out, the dehumidifier is plugged in and fans are strategically placed. Topside, sheets and halyards are stowed, all canvas has been removed, the dingy is deflated and lashed to the deck, reflective tarps are tied tightly, extra lines and fenders are in place.  She’s ready to withstand hurricane winds and the torrential rain of a summer in the tropics.

We will spend the summer months exploring the interior of northern Mexico and the western U.S. in our motorhome, “Casa del Sol”, visiting family and friends along the way.  Hiking, biking, swimming and bocce ball are on the agenda no matter where we find ourselves. 

This has been a fascinating year of discovery in the great outdoors.  Living in nature every day, enjoying new friendships, great food and the generous hospitality of the Mexican people have extraordinarily enriched our lives.  We will continue our sailing journey to southern Mexico in the Fall.  In the meantime, you can follow our land cruises on our Facebook pages:  Nancy Arnold-Hunting or Ken Hunting.

Hasta luego!

Winding Down

The winter sailing season is coming to an end.  Some boats have moved north to Mazatlan or the Sea of Cortez, others jumped off for the South Pacific, and those still in Banderas Bay are making their way into marinas for protection from summer hurricanes.

Yesterday was the last day of the fabulous Sunday Market in La Cruz. It was a sunny day with warm ocean breezes, just right for strolling around the Malecon. The crowds had dwindled, but the vendors were out in full force, offering their beautiful blankets from Oaxaca, handmade jewelry, painted plates and bowls, and delicious homemade juices, cheese, smoked fish, bread, roasted coffee, ice cream and an assortment of tempting delicacies. 

 

 

 

In the courtyard, the fish nets were gathered and the dirt swept in preparation for the band who blast out their Mexican rhythms much to the enjoyment of the crowd. Almost everyone gets in at least one dance. 

 

And oh yes, the best part was another delightful French conversation with my elderly Mexican friend, Alicia.  She comes to the market every week with her son and while he’s busy with his customers, she tells stories in elegant French about her life in France...her son says that it gets her away from the television.   

 

Another grounding, Banderas Bay

The second boat within a week went aground in Banderas Bay yesterday.  This time, it was at the La Cruz anchorage. 

The afternoon winds gusted to 20 knots and large swells rolled through, bucking and rolling the boats at anchor.  It was dusk when this Islander 28 bounced across the reef and onto the beach.  Iggy, the owner was not aboard. A swimmer struggled through the high swell to get a line to the boat while cruisers climbed on board to cleat it.  Two dinghies with anchors and line flipped in the high surf while assisting.  A half-dozen more dinghies from the anchorage lined up and pulled on the line, managing to turn the vessel into the surf before rescuers on the boat signaled to stop.  A panga with a big engine arrived and a second line was attached to it and the boat.  Within minutes, the mast snapped and fell to the beach taking part of the cabin top with it.  Daylight faded and the rescue was called off. 

In the dark of the night, flashlight beams flitted about on the boat like fireflies.  In the morning, its contents were spread about on the beach; sails, lines, hoses, a refrigerator, clothing, food.  A small camping tent was up where Iggy had spent the night.  He was selling everything that he had salvaged. 

 

A backhoe arrived and lifting its big claw into the exposed cabin of the bow it pulled the vessel up high on the beach. More gear and the engine were removed while a dump truck waited silently like a vulture.  Finally, the backhoe flung its claw into the hull, lifting the splintered pieces into the dump truck.  It took just two loads for the boat to become a memory. 

A Bad Day in Paradise

It does happen occasionally even in paradise: the universe conspires against you.  So being oblivious to their fate, a family left the anchorage on a sunny, blustery day for a delightful sail and by the time they realized that some crucial equipment was malfunctioning and that the stars were not aligned for them, they and their boat, Flying Dragon, were hard aground on the beach.

Ken and I, along with others, responded to the call for assistance Monday evening.  We worked our dingy by moonlight and flashlight handling lines between the tug and the grounded vessel.  We tested our engine’s capacity as we carried the heavy lines toward the vessel and then had to back out of the surf zone to avoid flipping.  We would tie the lines and then move out of range in case they snapped.  Our handheld radios crackled with instructions.  Patience and stamina were tried and optimism tested as lines broke throughout the night as the tug tried unsuccessfully to pull the 80,000 pound vessel off of the beach.  The tide steadily increased until 1:30 a.m. when it began to subside and the rescue was called off for the night.  It was determined that attempts would be made again at the next high tide on Tuesday at 5:00 p.m. so we motored back into the dark, quiet marina wet, tired, and disappointed. 

We walked out to the beach in the morning, were hoisted aboard Flying Dragon and began packing up EVERYTHING and off- loading it onto the beach.  The refrigerator, washing machine, batteries, the rocks and lead used for ballast, clothing, dishes, tables, dressers, pictures, lamps, books, linens, everything that had created a comfortable life afloat was piled on the beach.  Within a couple of hours, what had once been a home became a shell holding nothing but sweet memories.

A welder arrived and cut off the 5-foot rudder that was preventing the boat from pivoting.  An excavator arrived and dug around the rudder, hoisting it away from the boat.  It then removed the sand around the perimeter of the vessel. 

Pumps and generators were donated.  A large, heavy sailboat arrived with a strong windlass that was used to pull on the huge lines.  A Nordhaven arrived and was used as a tug boat.  Lines were cleated to its stern.  Cruisers and vacationers grabbed onto the lines and began pulling in unison while others pushed on the bow and the Nordhaven pulled to turn Flying Dragon into the sea. 

It was 5:00 p.m. on the high tide when she turned to the west, was pulled past the surf line to cheers, whistles and clapping and towed to a nearby marina.

It was an amazing confirmation of the fundamental goodness of humankind and the strength of community.  Boats, lines, muscle power, food, beverages, radios and many other resources were donated without hesitation.  Strangers worked long hours side by side to help others in need. 

There is no denying that the family’s financial and emotional losses.  Flying Dragon has an interesting and checkered past and the current owners worked tirelessly those days to save her.  They carried themselves with extraordinary grace under extreme pressure and the cruising community was there with them to help carry the load.   

A Journey of Hope, Magisterio, Puerto Vallarta

The road dust envelops us as we step out of the van at the top of the garbage transfer station and unload cases of water.  The men and women working in the dump, the recyclers who sort through the refuse for looking for anything that can be sold, line up in the hot, morning sun for a liter of water.  They are of all ages, dusty and dirty, making a meager living the only way they know how.  They come over quickly with a smile and a friendly greeting, and leave with a gracious “thank you”.  They sell what they can find and leaving their place in the dump to get water means that they may miss an item that could be worth a whole day’s work.  We hand out six cases before we drive to the bottom of the transfer station and do the same for those working in that area. 

We leave the dump and drive a few blocks into the village of Magisterio where the workers live.  We stop at the community center day care and kinder classrooms where we are greeted with warm hugs by energetic, happy kids.  They love having their picture taken and giggle as they look at themselves while pushing all of the icons on the digital screen. 

 

At this center, they are well cared for, learn English, play in an activities room, enjoy a hearty meal in a clean environment, splash in a bath at the end of the day and go home in clean clothes. Home for some is a space in the dirt surrounded by tarps.

After visiting with the kids, we bounced through the potholes to the end of Hope Road and view the construction site of the new apartment building for 70 families and a community center. 

 

While standing in the heat and swirling dust overlooking this new construction, I felt a poke in my thigh.  Looking down, I met the big brown eyes and sweet smile of a small boy wanting to hold my hand.  My new best friend shared my walk around the construction site with his shoes on the wrong feet. He gazed intently at the activity.  If his parents meet the criteria, it could be his new home. For the first time, he may feel the safety of four walls, lay his head on a pillow, and sit on a sofa as all of the units will be furnished.   

 

We left the site and drove slowly along Hope Road stopping three times to hand out juice to the kids.  Lining up when they saw the van, they stood quietly, the older ones helping the younger, most of them barefoot, reaching out with a polite thank you when handed a juice.   We distributed six cases. 

This Journey of Hope happens six days every week.  It is the mission of the non-profit organization www.familiesatthedump.org, the vision of the Board and the generosity of donors that are breaking this circle of poverty; the young kids are being cared for, daily meals are provided, the older kids have sponsorships to attend school, medical care is available, adult job training and micro-loans are provided for small businesses, and a housing facility with a community center are under construction and will be fully furnished when completed. 

My time in Magisterio was humbling and affirming that hope never ends.  Information on the work of this mission can be found at www.familiesatthedump.org.

San Sebastian del Oeste, Jalisco

The steep incline and winding, rough road slowed the van to a crawl every couple hundred yards.   We travelled 40 km and a full morning to this old silver mining town nestled at 4,400 feet in the lush Sierra Madre Mountains above Puerto Vallarta.

About a mile before we reach town, we stop at the beautifully restored, 17th century Hacienda Jalisco where silver ore was processed. 

 

Stepping through the crumbling arch portico we wander through the house admiring its thick walls, massive beams, and trompe l’oeil ceilings.  Oil lamps and candles grace tables and stairways as there is no electricity.  There is a fire pit in the patio for evening conversations.   Lush gardens surround the house; plump red coffee beans dangle from tall plants while picked beans are already drying on the patio where ore used to be ground; the sweet fragrance of orange blossoms hovers in the hot air; avocados hang temptingly on high branches. I run my fingers over the rough remains of an adobe wall now held together by tree roots.

Another ten minutes up the hill and we’re bumping along the narrow, cobblestone streets of San Sebastian del Oeste.  Today, 800 people live along the streets and alleys of this designated “Pueblos Magicos de Mexico”, a far cry from the 20,000 who lived here when the town was enjoying the riches of the silver mining industry.  The designation recognizes the town’s historical and cultural relevance: the buildings are painted traditional colors of white and brick red; handmade tiles, all different depending on the size of the man’s thigh who made it, line the roofs; cobblestone streets too narrow for cars; a graceful central plaza that provides a meeting place in the soft afternoon air adjoins a stunning, white gothic church filled with frescoes, crystal chandeliers, and gold.  The town exudes the charm of old Mexico. 

 

 

We inhale the sweet smell of pine as we hike up a dusty road in the afternoon heat to one of the old mine entrances, now almost engulfed by the forest.  We enter the damp air of the dark, narrow chamber and turn on our flashlights.  Standing 100 yards into the shaft, we turn off our lights and imagine the lives of the nine-year-old boys who worked in it.

The mine has not been in production since 1921; however, it was recently sold to a Canadian company with plans to begin mining in 2014.  This vein is so rich that they expect to extract hundreds of tons of silver ore.  The impact on this “Pueblos Magicos de Mexico” is unimaginable.  I’m grateful to have walked its quiet streets on this day.

A Young Entrepreneur, Zihuatanejo

Maria gently places her small hand on the dinghy as she walks alongside, as if she were blessing it.  She doesn’t lift her hand from it as her father hauls it onto the beach.  Some days, she comes to the beach directly from school, still wearing her uniform.  Other days, she’s in shorts.  Always, her hair is disheveled, falling carelessly out of a barrette or ponytail.  Sometimes, she brushes the stray strands away from her face; sometimes, she’s too busy to notice. 

Whether it was out of a need to take care of his family or his entrepreneurial spirit, or perhaps a little of both, her father, Juan, saw a need and filled the gap and at the tender age of six, Maria is helping when she can.  Juan provides a welcome service to cruisers by helping them land their dinghies safely on the beach in Zihautanejo.  Watching from the shade of the palm trees, he wades out to meet them, always with a smile and a polite greeting.  He holds the dinghy steady while the passengers hop out into knee-deep water, the driver shuts off the engine and hops out before pulling it up past the surf line.  Most bays do not have dinghy docks so beach landings are a necessary evil and having shore help is really nice.  After landing, Juan will keep an eye on your dinghy until you return and then he helps you launch, reading the waves and trying to keep everyone dry.  For this roundtrip service, he charges 20 pesos, about US$1.80. Some days, he may help 10 boats.  During a festival there may be 20 or more, but his average daily income rarely exceeds US$20. 

For many of us, Juan embodied the hard-working, entrepreneurial spirit that we encountered throughout Pacific Mexico.  Doing something is better than doing nothing. By filling a niche he found a means to provide modestly for his family. We don’t know his whole story.  He may have other income, he may do some fishing occasionally, but based on the hours that he was on the beach, it’s hard to imagine that there was time for anything else, and he was teaching his young daughter the same principles of hard work. 

Maria is a shy girl of few words.  She mostly just wants to touch the dinghies and walk alongside them.  I usually gave her some small coins for her efforts.  One day, I gave her a coloring book and some crayons.  She smiled and held them tightly.  On another day, I gave her a Barbie sticker book and her eyes lit up.  Next time I see her, I will have some clothes for her.  Sometimes, it's the little things in life that really matter. 

The Mayor's Raft Up, BahiaTenacatita

Tradition has it that all everyone anchored in Bahia Tenacatita on a Friday night is invited to a dinghy raft up hosted by the presiding Mayor of the anchorage.  At promptly 5:00 p.m., the Mayor anchors his dinghy off of Good Dog Beach and all other dinghies tie off to him and each other forming a circle or rectangle or some such form, depending upon the number that motor over.  The purpose of the event is to ‘meet and greet’.  Some cruisers may have been playing bocce ball and/or volleyball on the beach for days or even weeks, while others may have arrived that very afternoon.  Hors d’oeuvres are passed, introductions are made and conversation ensues until dusk when the bugs come out in force and everyone retreats to the safety of their cockpits and mosquito coils. 

 

In our last port, I came across some fresh basil and made pesto.  I decided to use it on a pizza with artichoke hearts, diced tomatoes, sliced olives and freshly shredded parmesan.  I made the dough in the morning, let is rise and placed it in the refrigerator to chill during my afternoon swim.  Upon my return, I stood in the cockpit and counted 38 boats, more than twice the number that were here in early January when we stopped on our way south.  I did the math.  If half came to the raft up there would be 19 dinghies and at least 38 people.  Serving a crowd of that size from one pizza made in my 13” x 17” oven was daunting. 

Then I remembered Patty, on Oogachucka, who fed 400 people with one bag of Costco meatballs.  No kidding.  The Baja Ha-Ha fleet arrived at our first anchorage, Bahia de Tortugas, and our first potluck. There she was standing at the head of the buffet table.  “Would you like a meatball?” she asked producing her hostess smile. If the answer was “yes”, she gently placed one toothpick-speared meatball on the plate. 

“The bounty looks slim”, I said to Ken as I examined the white expanse of my plate not covered by the meatball.  It was not an auspicious beginning.  Just beyond Patty, however, the potluck began in earnest with every appetizer, main course, side dish and dessert imaginable contributed by all 118 boats.  Fresh fish had been caught and was generously shared on the grill.  It was a hearty, fulfilling meal.

To this day, Patty's feeding of 400 is nothing less than a miracle.  Inspired by her, I arranged the ingredients into 45 bite-size pieces on the risen dough and baked it.  Homemade pizza is a treat for cruisers and there was enough for everyone. 

 

Zihuatanejo

In a nutshell, we like everything about this lovely fishing town. 

We anchored off of Playa la Ropa, a beautiful one-half mile long beach dotted with colorful umbrellas and palapa restaurants.  The water is warm and clear, perfect for morning and afternoon swims ashore.  Brightly colored homes and hotels cascade down the lush hillsides.

 

We enjoyed delightful walks along the shaded pedestrian-only streets, good restaurants, easy bus access for errands and field trips, friendly locals, evening cultural programs in the main plaza, an astonishingly large central market where just about anything can be found, and cheerful entrepreneurs who help with dingy landings on the beach for tips.

 

 

The highlight was volunteering for Sailfest and contributing to the non-profit foundation PorLosNinos which provides scholarships, school supplies and meals for indigenous students (www.porlosninos.com). Donations are raised during the weeklong event which includes a sailboat race, a benefit concert, a chili cook off and a sail parade for which we hosted a delightful group of donors aboard Gitane.

 

The following day, we helped keep track of 150 energetic kids on the beach during open swim, games and lunch.  For some kids it was the first time at the beach and it was great fun frolicking in the waves with them. 

 

We vowed to return earlier next winter and to stay longer as it quickly became our favorite winter destination.