We set sail from Ensenada to Asunción, a three-day cruise and our longest to date. Chef T made a delicious array of waist-busting carbs for the passage: saucepan cookies, banana bread, spaghetti bolognese, and fresh baguettes. Hoping at some point we’ll be slim again, ‘cuz we’re definitely currently on the fat track. 

No wifi or cell signal, so no feeding my obsession with New York Times Spelling Bee (serious, followed by, Wordle, Connections, and Strands. Not gonna lie, I go through a wee bit o’ withdrawal when I can’t get my games on …) Instead, alternating between Jo Nesbo (with his gratuitously complicated and macabre plots, The Leopard is par for the course), the ever-bizarre and thought-provoking Haruki Murakami (this time short stories, Men without Women), and a dash of Wordbubbles. It’s both disconcerting and liberating and to be forced out of connection when you’re in the middle of the ocean.

We were pumped that we avoided a nasty storm at the outset. The sea was glassy, the horizon stunning, skies clear, stars bountiful and bright. A day in and we finally turned the motor off. Immediate zen. We tried the Monitor windvane for the first time, too (an autopilot that uses wind vs. power). Averaging six knots, all three sails out, two reefs in the main … oh yeah, baby. 

Of course when everything’s going perfectly, the pendulum is bound to swing … and swing it did. Mightily. Unbeknownst to us, we were experiencing both the literal and proverbial calm before the storm. Whereas day 1 was heaven, day 2 was pure hell: nausea-inducing waves for a straight 24 hours. Went to bed feeling sick and woke up sick (just one slice of banana bread all day, so unsatisfying dry heaves on both occasions. TMI I know, but UGH). We finally broke outta that sh*t middle of day 3, The sun came out and the waves mellowed like they hadn’t just traumatized us. Regardless, we were thankful. Chef T whipped up some tasty pork fried rice and all was right again with the world. 

Arrived in Asunción and anchored without further incident. We ended up staying a week there. It was too windy to venture out sooner, and since we were still PTSD’d out after leg two of our previous passage, we didn’t want a preventable repeater. It meant that we couldn’t easily go to shore either, though, so we were landblocked most of the time. T went out with a local guy, Larry, one day to get more fuel, and pleasantly surprised me with a delicious mesquite-grilled chicken on the way back. (The man knows the way to his woman’s heart is through el pollo.) A couple days later the weather was relatively calm and we ventured into town to see what was what. Not a lot, honestly, but the people were super nice. We stocked up on our increasingly beloved Topo Chico mineral water, limes, relatively good looking meat, and some ginormous chicken drumsticks. I don’t know what they’re feeding their chickens in Asunción, but i’m not mad at them. T baked them with some vegetable paella, and feast we did — heartily and thankfully. I also made some banging pesto pasta with shrimp (yes, i do lift the occasional culinary finger). 

We also made two unfortunate and simultaneous discoveries in Asunción: leaks in the poop tank and in the hot water heater. The poop sitch is manageable. We just have to pump the goods regularly, which is no problemo. We’d been advised to replace the aluminum tank with a plastic one, and unwisely ignored said advice. Alas. So now we’ll have to try to get one mailed to Mexico and hope it reaches us some time this century. The hot water heater, on the other hand, will be annoying for more than a minute. Cuz … like … dishes? showers?? I was lamenting about both to a sailor friend, who said she didn’t use hot water unless she’d been sailing and the engine heated it up. I asked, “So how do you shower and wash dishes?” Her reply: “We take a swim in the ocean and rinse off in the cockpit, and sometimes the hose even gets warm from the sun. And we wash our dishes with salt water and rinse with fresh.” I was shooketh. And immediately knew she was more hardcore than I’ll ever be. She didn’t agree with me, but I need me some hot water. Stat. Not to mention a fresh mani: My nails are tragic.