Despite the fact that someone had (tightly!) edged in next to us at our Puerto Escondido slip, we exited without incident and (motor) sailed about three hours to Puerto Balandra: a sleepy, deceptively sweet little anchorage with a half dozen other boats. We were unfortunately welcomed by an onslaught of bees, however, so immediately hustled to get all the screens on the hatches and port lights. Hmmm … Portend much?

Later that night, the bugs got busy. Tiny, annoyingly tenacious mosquitoes that wormed their way through our screens. We tried (for a hot minute) to co-exist, but sadly ’twas not meant to be. We employed the one-two punch of a mosquito coil and The Executioner: the cruelest, most effective insect killer ever, a mini tennis racquet that electrocutes unsuspecting flying critters and leaves them (k!)rispy with a sadistically satisfying snap, crackle, and pop. 

Still later it started raining, the first we’d experienced since our journey began. We chose to be optimistic and take it as a reversal of our earlier omens … until we noticed that the boat that had been comfortably far from us was now right next to us. Um, we’’re not dragging, are you dragging? They said they weren’t but … ugh. Got up later to move the boat, but it was so dark we decided to stay put until daylight.

Unsurprisingly, we hoped to get outta dodge ASAP. But Mother Nature had other ideas, namely a tropical storm that the previous day’s rain had foreshadowed. Again, ugh. Puerto Balandra didn’t want to love us or grant us a quickie divorce.

While the second day was hot and muggy (profound thanks to the A/C gods yet again), darkness was accompanied by the furious revenge of the relatives and allies of the previous night’s victims. It got so bad that I actually turned on my phone screen to attract them so I could end their evil vigil and proactively smash them by hand on said screen. When that proved unsatisfactorily inefficient, I employed the next level: shining my flashlight so I could attract even more and properly fry them with the aforementioned Executioner. (Yes, that’s its legal name, and yes, it lives up to its moniker.) Apologies to my super sweet, kind hearted, vegan, literally-wouldn’t-hurt-a-fly niece. So sorry, Sydney, It was them or me, hon, and I (admittedly selfishly) chose myself over those satanic bloodsuckers. 

Suffice it to say that I see why there weren’t many boats there. You also apparently need a permit (really? from whom? how??) to go to the beach, which is by the way surrounded by mangroves and flies. Ugh for real for real. After two days, couldn’t exit that anchorage quickly enough; ain’t nobody got time for all that. Sorry not sorry, Puerto Balandra, It’s not me, it’s you.