A Christmas Pageant, Barra de Navidad

The town square is alive, packed with families and vendors selling street food.  A Christmas tree of tall poles and lighted spheres stands in the corner of the stage illuminating the space. The celebration begins with Mickey Mouse and other Disney characters on the stage dancing and singing Christmas songs with the kids brave enough to play with the giant creatures until the characters are ready to collapse in the hot costumes and they take a break.  

   

Chairs are set up within feet of the five-foot tall stage. Moms, dads, grandparents and kids sit silently, listening intently to the characters in the pageant.  All of the traditional ones are on stage, angels with halos glowing, shepherds, wisemen, Mary and Joseph, and of course, baby Jesus in the manger.

We’re pretty sure that we know this story so our attention strays to mostly people watching on this balmy 75-degree night when suddenly this rendition takes a turn and grabs our attention.  The shepherds form two lines on either side of the chief angel.  It becomes evident that the good shepherds stand on his right and the bad shepherds are to his left as each side take turns explaining what Christmas is all about.  The chief angel is mediating their disagreement with a lot of “no no” or “si si” when suddenly firecrackers are thrown on to the stage.  Amongst the smoke and explosions the devil appears with a small, Peter Pan-like assistant devil so cute he almost steals the show. The big devil begins talking about presents and the bad shepherds pull out bottles of Tequila and start gulping.  The message was as clear as the empty bottles. Both sides argue over the meaning of Christmas while the adorable Peter Pan devil hops, jumps, skips and darts about the stage so light on his feet that you just know he’s going to fly away any minute. He had the time of his life. 

The evening ends with the good shepherds chasing away the devil and his accomplice as familiar Christmas melodies sung in Spanish blast from a gigantic speaker next to the stage.  It was a Christmas pageant like none other.

 

Another cruising season begins!

     We found Gitane just as we left her.  She was a peaceful, welcome sight for road-weary eyes. Her sun awning and dehumidifier kept her dry and cool during the summer hurricane season.  She calmly awaited the truckload of new parts and supplies that we carried with us over the 3,230 miles that we drove from the Pacific Northwest to her dock in Puerto Vallarta. 

 

     We went to work the very next day.  Cruising for two seasons along the Mexican coast had taken its toll resulting in a long worklist:  replace two bad injectors in the engine; replace the Racor filter system and engine fuel filter and bleed the system; replace a broken zipper on the dodger and reinforce the original stitching as well as the stitching on the bimini; install a new BBQ; re-attach the wind generator; repair the windless; install new running rigging; install a newly designed exterior reefing system for the main sail and attach the sail; retrieve a repaired genoa from the sailmaker with whom we left it in the spring and attach it; stow a new Honda generator and a new Central Pneumatic compressor and hooka system; install a newly galvanized CQR anchor; climb the mast to check the lights and install a new Windex; retrieve the electronics from the safety of the oven and install them; and last but not least, replace the shower bar and nozzle in the forward head and repair the faucets.  Our workday started in the cool morning air and ended in the heat of early afternoon when we rewarded ourselves with a swim in the pool. 

     Our workday routine lasted for 12 days when at last we motored through the channel to the open water of Banderas Bay.  We were thrilled when all systems worked as they should!  We raised our sails, turned off the engine and enjoyed a beautiful afternoon cruise in 85 degree sunshine and 15-knot winds to La Cruz anchorage. 

 

 

     We decided to sail differently this year while I get used to my new hip and do my darndest to prevent dislocating it: we’re staying local, spending windy days sailing this gorgeous 20-mile-wide bay and retreating to the anchorage with the setting sun.  The sailing in this bay is the best along this coast so we’re taking advantage of it.  We spend calm days cleaning, provisioning, taking Cheng to the vet for his weekly vitamin infusion and basically enjoying the amenities of this small town including free weekly movies at the marina and a fabulous Sunday crafts market. 

     Ken is happy as a clam at high tide using the new hooka to scrub off the accumulation of critters and grass that like to attach to the hull in this warm water.  His cleaning sessions also charge the batteries so we get a twofer for his efforts. 

 

Life is good on the hook. 

The times they are a changin'

It’s autumn.  The fog hangs low in the morning, slowly dissipating with the warmth of the subdued afternoon sun.  Festive red, yellow and orange colors are eye candy as we walk the trails, drive the country roads, and rummage in the garden.  The fallen leaves that crunched under the weight of my bike now crunch under my crutches.  Pumpkin fields dot the landscape. How can I choose just one to carve?  Huge crates overflow with an abundance of colorful gourds enticing one to touch.  How many can I bake?  It’s a time to snuggle in, to stay inside where it’s warm and cozy with the spiced scent of pumpkin cookies permeating the space.  It’s a time to turn inward after our active summer, a time to let my new hip replacement heal, a time to catch up on good books, a time to plan our trip south.  I love this season.     

     

 

 

Strawberry fields forever?

Maybe not.  We rode our bikes on a 19-mile round trip over hill and dale along bucolic country roads to Sakuma Bros. Field #2. Large, red letters and an arrow spray painted on a sheet of plywood pointed into the dusty field.   Sakuma Bros. had just received notice from a local judge that they were required to provide housing for not only their migrant workers but also the families of their workers.  Sakuma responded that they could not afford the expense of housing families.  The workers disappeared and rather than allowing the jumbo, juicy, sweet, red berries to rot in the fields, Sakuma opened the fields to the public.  It was a five-day free-for-all.  Moms, dads and kids came to pick as much or as little as they liked without charge.  We rode to a row, took our containers from our paniers, bent over and started picking.  In less than half-an-hour our containers were filled and our backs were killing us.  Content with a couple of pounds needed for jam, we carefully layered our containers in our paniers, clipped into our pedals and turned west toward home. Riding past the deserted housing complexes, we thought about the migrant workers who used to settle in for the season.  Who will be around next year to do this back-breaking work day after day? Without a workforce, the fields won’t be planted and the thousands of pounds of berries that are flash frozen and shipped around the world will be a mere memory.  The company loses, the workers lose, the local economy suffers.  Surely we can figure out immigration laws that work for everyone.  Otherwise, strawberry fields will exist only in the lyrics of a once popular song.  
    

  

On the road again

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. 

Earth Day

Living on the Pacific Ocean we are acutely aware of the fragility of this enormous body of water. 

Usually, we are anchored in natural bays rocking gently, and sometimes not so gently, to the motion of the ocean.  We roll with the swells and bounce in the short chop.  The anchor rode is pulled taut when a squall blows through.  The sound of the surf on the beach lulls us to sleep and awakens us in the morning.  We spend most of our time outside, aware of minute changes in air temperature and humidity.  We look over the side of the boat and decide to swim or not based on the clarity and temperature of the water. 

We’ve seen dolphins and whales swim through an anchorage.  We watch as small fish clean the bottom of our boat by eating the algae growth.  Offshore, we marvel at the paddling turtles, dolphins frolicking across our bow, and breeching whales.  Pelicans and frigates are our constant air-borne companions. 

On this day about 25 of us gathered on the beach in La Cruz to honor Mother Earth by picking up trash.  We fanned out and walked about ½-mile to a natural breakwater and then retraced our steps picking up what we missed the first time.  Our bags fill with plastic caps, bottles, candy wrappers, paper, Styrofoam chunks, fishing line, all things foreign to a fish or turtle or bird that might ingest them. 

All of us who gathered have reduced our footprints. We make our own water, use solar panels and wind generators to create electricity.  We’ve chosen to live off the grid and feel good about making a minuscule dent in protecting our planet, making a difference in our neighborhood. 
 
When we finish, the organizers build a bon fire and serve us tacos on Styrofoam plates and beverages in plastic cups.  Amazingly talented musicians perform music written just for this occasion, celebrating our oneness with our plant.  The irony is not lost on us.    

Movie night

It’s Thursday night which means free movie night at the marina in La Cruz.  A crowd gathers at sunset at the outdoor amphitheater.  It’s a BYO event, which includes your own cushions as the amphitheater is made of concrete.  If you prefer, you can purchase a hot dog or beverages from the marina deli.  They’ve set up a small table and hauled down two dock carts; one filled with little bags of free popcorn and the other filled with ice and cold beverages.  It’s quite a treat. 

You enter at the top of the structure where short two-foot wide rows sit atop five-foot wide rows.  This pattern alternates down to the base so you can choose to sit down and stretch out or sit upright on the short portion.  We choose to luxuriate in the space and toss our cushions down, stretching out every inch that we can, making ourselves comfortable enveloped in the soft heat of the day held in by the concrete.  A light towel over our legs wards off the mosquitoes. 

A large screen hangs between poles at the base of the theater.  Our view through the lines and around the screen is of boats safely nestled in their slips, the dim lights of the town and further in the background, up the hill clinging to the edge of a cliff is a restaurant with its patio lights ablaze. 

The movie starts as the stars hang in the dark sky. 

It’s the best movie house that I’ve ever been in.