We have a routine now, our second hurricane season in Mexico. We tuck Gitane
in her dock at Paradise Village in Puerto Vallarta with caretakers looking
after her. We remove the sails, dodger,
bimini and all running rigging and lay out a canvas cover to protect her from
the UVs and the rain. We flush the
engine with fresh water, wipe down all of the interior wood with vinegar, defrost
the freezer, clean out the refrigerator, remove all dry food, and fill the
water and fuel tanks before we say goodbye and hit the road.
We left PV in mid-May and arrived in Anacortes a few days
before June. It is a three-nights-four-days
drive to the Mexico/US border. We
stopped at our favorite RV parks in Mexico: Las Jaibas in Mazatlan where the
owner told me that whatever I wanted to pay was OK with him, Dolisa Motel and
Trailer Park in Los Alamos where the caretaker rakes the dirt behind our every
footstep; and Totonaka in San Carlos where we had our pick of the shady spots.
 |
| Las Jaibas, Mazatlan |
 |
| Restrooms at Dolisa, Los Alamos |
As usual, we lagged far behind the RV exodus
that occurs in early April so there were only a couple of RVs in each location except
in Los Alamos where we were once again the only guest. We were quite comfortable being the solo rig and
only gringos in this small town where we look forward to dinner at one of our
all-time favorite restaurants, Las Palmeras.
Their combo plate is to die for and their traditional wood and mirrored bar
is a work of art. It spans three walls
and is stocked to the ceiling with who knows what libations in sparkling colored
bottles in all shapes and sizes. The family
lives in the back; the girls come and go, food is delivered behind closed doors
and we watch a Mexican drama on the big screen color television. Just like
home.
We drive north from the humidity of the tropics into the “cool”
mountain air of Tepic, and then descend along the shore at Mazatlán, before
rolling into the dry heat of the high desert north. By the fourth day when we
cross the border into the U.S. we are dehydrated and tired of the drive, the
bad roads and high tolls. Our first night in the U.S. is pure bliss. The De Anza Trailer Park is a converted dog
racing venue that boasts an expansive club house with an indoor pool, Jacuzzi,
restaurant, fitness center and game tables. I sprawl on a luxurious, over-sized
leather sofa, my first feel of real furniture in eight months, and watch a huge
television that I can see without squinting. I take a shower in the immaculate restrooms
with big shower heads that lavish hot water onto weary travelers. I probably use more water in that one shower
than I’ve used all winter. I’m in
heaven.
We’re lucky to have friends in Scottsdale where we spend a
few days sequestered and slowly ease back into American culture. My
successful re-immersion comes to a screeching halt during my first trip to the
pet store. Browsing amid eight aisles of
kitty food I am overwhelmed with the voluminous choices before me. I can’t remember the brand that I used to buy
so I look for a familiar label and don’t see it. Perhaps the graphics have changed so I look
at each brand searching for a key word that might jump out at me. My eyes won’t
focus, my head hurts, my breathing becomes fast and shallow, and I’m suddenly
paralyzed. In Mexico, whether in a big
national chain store or in a small town tienda there are two brands of cat food
to choose from. It makes shopping so
much easier. But here, the multitude of
brands proves to be too much for me to absorb.
I pick a couple of cans and get out as fast as I can. I climb back into the RV and slam the door,
shutting out the vastness and abundance of America.
We slip back onto the frenetic freeway and head north,
stopping in Prescott, Arizona at Point of Rocks RV Campground set amidst the
austere beauty of enormous rock formations; along the river at Big Mountain Campground
in Nephi, Utah where kids are fishing with their parents; and finally at Mt.
View RV Park in Baker City, Oregon where we stroll into town for dinner along a
paved path that follows a gurgling creek.
It’s a peaceful and melodic end to a day spent speeding along the
asphalt freeway.
Our reserved space fronting a wetland buffer was waiting for
us at Fidalgo Bay RV Park in Anacortes where we are spending the summer. The air is fresh and clean and sometimes a
little too cool. We don sweatshirts
rather than life jackets. We marvel at
the beauty of Padilla Bay and Mt. Baker as we ride our bikes to town along the
Tommy Thompson Trail that borders the bay.
We are awed by the bald eagles in the tree tops and flocks of herons tip
toeing in the shallows near their rookery.
We plan bike rides to the islands and camping days with family. We buy fresh, local produce at the Saturday
Farmer’s Market. We perch our lawn chairs
on the berm and read from the stack of library books. Life is good here…with a different rhythm.
