Tag: adventure

Pau en Voiture

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We decided to temporarily leave the amazingness of Bordeaux and take a side trip to Pau. After an auspicious start — during which Enterprise Rent-A-Car gave away our reserved voiture, then after paying three times the original amount elsewhere we couldn’t figure out how to put the dang thang in reverse … while facing downhill with a large parked car in front of us, all the while wondering why we’d decided to leave Bordeaux in the first place — we took our Renault on a lovely little road trip. Rain was forecast but the sun was rebelliously out in spades, and we navigated the endless ronds points rather expertly, if I do (admittedly as the passenger) say so myself. Nothing but admiration for the verdant countryside, with T salivating over all the castles on the way, most notably the Château de Cazeneuve. We finally arrived in Pau after four leisurely and utterly pleasant hours.

Bordeaux is to Pau what Athens is to Symi: a study in country contrasts. Where Bordeaux is urban cosmopolitan, Pau is — especially en route — rural medieval. Bustling and high brow vs. mild and down to earth. Shiny vs. matte. Pau is a tiny condensed city, with a pretty rough entry once we left the countryside. It didn’t help that it took forever to find the actual apartment, and then longer to find the parking, only to arrive with towels on the floor and paper in the bin. All was blessedly sorted while we went to dinner, though, at a restaurant literally right next door to our place, as we contentedly consumed delicious grilled prawns and a bottle of chilled Sancerre. Things were most certainly looking up.

We spent our first full day exploring the city, which is super cute in the light of day. Beautiful mountains, architecture, and castles galore. Visited the Musee des Beaux-Arts (unexpectedly fantastic), had an excellent Asian fusion prix fixe lunch, and topped it all off with what T described as the best macarons he’d ever tasted in life. High praise from Monsieur. Day two we drove to Lescar and Sauveterre-de-Bearn, two darling little towns a couple hours outside of Pau. Castles, churches, and beautiful countryside, with the perfect combination of majesty and magic, and that fresh, crisp air you can both feel and taste. Everything and everyone welcoming and unassuming.

We left on Halloween — at this point sad we’d miss the festivities that were being prepared directly under our living room window — and arrived back in Bordeaux without incident. The next week and a half would be spent in a different section of the city next to the Gare St. Jean, a little grittier than our previous digs but steps from the train station. Maybe we’ll take advantage of our new location and see the Guggenheim in Bilbao?

Symi Sloth 

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By the time we got to Symi — after all our quasi exertions — we were well ready to chill. And chill we did. Properly. For six. straight. weeks. By far the laziest time we’d spent on the island to date. Weather was for the most part a perfect sunshine/breeze combo, intermittently and unprecedentedly chilly, with more rain than we’d ever experienced. We even put the heat on a few times … a Symi first. Symi in September and October is a dream. Summer, when temps regularly hit mid-to high 80’s but somehow feel so much hotter … not so much.

What to say about Symi? It’s a fairy tale-esque little island, rough around the edges but oozing with charm. It was love at first sight for us and this tiny (year-round population of approximately 2,500, tripled in high season) little hot pocket. It has a “downtown” (Yialos), and “village” (Chorio), both comprised of mostly grand, super colorful, Italian-influenced houses. A picture-perfect port with a mix of exquisite and more accessible yachts alongside a smattering of fishing boats. Your customary Greek restaurants and coffee shops with outdoor seating skirting the shore. The ever-present smell of Greek spices wafting as you walk about town. It’s both simple and unexpectedly sophisticated.

There were runs to town for drinking, swimming, and (primarily) food shopping. An around-the-island yacht tour, which included four swimming stops and a massive BBQ lunch replete with (my favorite!) grilled chicken, fava beans, spaghetti, potato and greek salad, green beans, typically terrible Symi wine, and more. Jaunts to beaches where we read, swam, and lazed all day. Chartered a boat with some local friends and did more of the above, with a follow up dinner party at a (new to us) neighbor’s. Another side trip to Thessaloniki. Irregular exercise to YouTube videos. But we honestly spent most of our days reading, puzzling, taking in the view of the harbor, watching movies, playing ScrabbleGo (which I’m now typically and madly obsessed with), planning and cooking dinner, ignoring our project lists, and deciding if we’d had enough of a break to justify yet another overindulgent happy hour.

Despite the plethora of relative non-activity, our time on Symi flew by. We will return next year and hopefully start our projects early … before we revisit the inevitable sloth mode. For now, though, we bid it a fond adieu as we head to Athens: always a blast and the perfect defibrillator.

Rhodes Roads

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After an hour-long flight from Thessaloniki, we arrived on the considerably rougher roads of medieval Rhodes. Stayed with our favorite family at the Lefka Hotel, where there’s always a warm welcome and a lengthy gab and gossip over tea, coffee, and cake. Unfortunately we followed that up with a regrettably overpriced and underwhelming dinner — particularly disappointing after our recent trip — on a rooftop in Old Town, and then called it a night.

On August 30 we celebrated our 30-year anniversary. Crazy that we’ve been (happily, no less!) married more than half my life. Enjoyed a lazy recuperation day, topped off with a super nice evening at the recently developed marina. I had some crazy vodka and wasabi cream drink that was surprisingly good, T his go-to mojito. We then had a divine dinner at a new (to us) spot, and got the perfect table. (Side note: For most people this would be a casual comment. For me, however, as I’m prone to overthink and later lament decisions — especially if made quickly with an abundance of options — I’ll call both the securing and acknowledging a major coup.) Digressive authorial insight notwithstanding, it was a good sign and boded well. The restaurant was peaceful and properly romantic, the service uncommonly attentive, and our delicious dinner of tagliatelle shrimp and pork belly did not remotely disappoint.

The next day we spent luxuriating on the beach, as we do, blithely procrastinating on the (loosely defined) business we needed to handle. Nevertheless, we ignored our mutual internal nagging and lazily lounged, waiting until our last day to reactivate our WiFi box and eSim, get T’s iPhone battery changed, visit our go-to Rhodian jeweler to get a couple of pieces modified (including an exquisite anniversary bracelet we found in Thessaloniki), and indulge in a hearty lunch of sea bass and pork shank. The day culminated in an absolutely sublime (and free!) tribute concert of classical piano with baritone accompaniment — rivaling any opera I’ve ever attended — in a castle courtyard with amazing complementary acoustics. An unexpected and incredibly special treat. 

P.S. I must say I regret storing my pickleball paddle and shoes in L.A. Apparently there was play in both Thessaloniki and Rhodes, as well as Padel (which I haven’t yet tried but think I will also like/inevitably obsess over.) Alas, I shall not make that mistake again. In the meantime, we head to Symi for a couple months of extended chill time. 

Los Angeles Hop to Our First Greece Stop

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Our flight from Roatan to Los Angeles felt long but smooth, and we were thrilled to finally arrive at our Greece pit stop: a condo in Marina del Rey. Super nice, great location, A+ on bed and bedding (the importance of which should never be underestimated), and a kitchen where we could finally cook instead of eating out daily. Visited the Getty Villa Museum (outstanding collection of Greek and Roman art), checked out a cool used bookstore (The Iliad), got some solid pickleballing in at Westchester Playa, chuckled at some comedy (Chocolate Sundaes at the Laugh Factory in West Hollywood), had some good dinners both in and outside our place, walked around our ‘hood, rode bikes along the beach, and did a fun puzzle. Also went to the (shockingly overpriced) movies and saw Together (thrillingly disturbing), Weapons (surprisingly clever and thoroughly entertaining), and Naked Gun (got a few laughs, but no one can compare to OG Leslie Nielsen IMHO). All in all, despite a hair catastrophe still too traumatic to yet commit to permanent history and losing a gem from one of my favorite rings, we thoroughly enjoyed our week and a half stay in So Cal. 

From LA we flew a total of 16 hours(!) to Athens, not including an overnight stay in Turkey. Stayed one night at the sumptuous Athens Sofitel (yum), and then took a puddle jumper from Athens to Skiathos (less than a half hour), followed by a one-hour ferry ride to Skopelos. Needless to say, we were ready to relax when we finally arrived at our destination. Sweet little island, with one notable claim to fame: it’s the site of several scenes from the Mamma Mia! movie. Skopelos is pretty pricy for Greece (maybe because of this distinction?) and exponentially more green than any island we’ve visited so far, with temperatures significantly more mild and civilized than we’ve ever experienced in Greece in August. We could actually wear long sleeves at night; Symi by contrast is undoubtedly a pulsating hot rock right now. The vibe is different on Skopelos, too: super mellow, with a seemingly higher level of understated sophistication and class coupled by a marked absence of gawdy tattoos and inebriated, high decibel tourists.

After a day of well deserved jet lag recovery, we spent four of the next five at the beach. The beaches on Skopelos are beautiful, more than one with (generally Greece-elusive) sand, all complemented by typically picture-perfect turquoise waters. It never ceases to amaze me how contentedly we can do nothing but read and swim and chill on the beach for 10 – 11 hours at a time, and then be bizarrely exhausted at day end as if we had actually exerted some real energy. I’d blame it on the jet lag, but you can only use that excuse for so long …

Finally finished 52 Pickup, a high-promise-but-low-delivery, unduly drawn out, and ultimately disappointing read. Suffice it to say I was happy to get it over with. Busted out the books I’d purchased at The Iliad with zero expectations, and have been pleasantly surprised by the first of my take: Beautiful Lies by Lisa Unger. The methods and frequency of her intermittent interactions with the reader can be tiresome and distracting, but the story at least flows well, and is so far both compelling and unpredictable.

Our week in Skopelos flew by, and I’m glad we got to visit. Perfect place, season, and duration to start our extended Greece vacay. Next up: Thessaloniki, where we’ve threatened to go for years. It’s the second largest city in Greece after Athens, so the energy and entertainment will be totally different, We should be just rested enough to fully appreciate it.

Diving Deep on Roatan

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Our trip from San Carlos to Los Angeles en route to Roatan was short and sweet. We spent three days in L.A. Beautified (haircuts for us both, the works —mani/pedi/brows/lashes — for moi). Played some pickleball. Saw one of T’s childhood friends for a BBQ (at which we drank too much and ate too little, a well known recipe for the disaster which inevitably befell me and almost waylaid our 5 am departure the following morning). Somehow we (meaning I) pulled it off and made it to Honduras not only in one piece with no additional messiness, but also with one less piece of luggage (stored in L.A.) Speaking T’s love language fo sho and got the trip off on the right foot after a very shaky start.

Roatan was hot, but not nearly as infernal as Mexico. We’d stayed at Las Rocas before and got our same little cabana, surrounded by lush greenery, a porch with a hammock, and the ever-present-and-still-unnerving armed guards. Makes you wonder what could go on without them … We took a couple of days to settle in and catch up on sleep, then I kicked off our activity spree with a water taxi to the West End to get my pickleball fix. They play every day except Sunday, 8 – 10ish, with two courts and another super friendly crew. So on the days i didn’t dive I gladly braved the formidable heat to get my pickleball on.

That said, Las Rocas is a dive resort. And dive we did. (That’s why we went, after all.) My goal was to get to 100 dives — and I’m never mad at a goal — so I did 33 dives to get to 100 exactly! The diving there is both beautiful and crazy convenient. The marine life is super abundant and rich, the water clear and warm (average 84 degrees), and the dives themselves diverse and interesting and always 100% zen. Literally dozens of different species, with a shark, sea turtles, spotted eagle rays, stingrays, barracuda, squid, moray eels, and some super sweet swim throughs thrown in for bonus dramatic effect. I took the GoPro out for its virgin runs, despite owning it for years. (Always seemed like too much to add to the whole already cumbersome diving sitch.) But as is the case with most things procrastinatory, I couldn’t believe I hadn’t pulled the trigger earlier. Soooo easy, soooo cool, and soooo worth it! On top of all that diving deliciousness, the boat that leaves three times a day was literally steps from our cabana’s front door, they set up all our equipment and broke everything down before and after each dive, and they stored it all in the dive shop and loaded it back on the boat before every excursion. Chef’s kiss on the entire Las Rocas diving experience.

My sister-in-law joined us for a week, and that was ridiculously fun. We talked and laughed and drank and ate on loop, dived, played pickleball, watched the weekly beach crab races (far less interesting in practice than it sounds), and did some puzzling (with much kinder chasers to the masochistic one I started the vacation with) together. She’s an amazing, true, joyful, thoughtful, supportive, always game friend and confidante (37 years!) with the perfect mix of mischief and joie de vivre. Love you, Jude!

We ended up staying on Roatan for almost a month — twice the time of our first trip in 2023 — so we were ready to go when our departure date finally arrived. Milked the hell out of our time there, and enjoyed every second. Next up: a brief stay in Los Angeles again (Marina Del Rey, to be exact) before we head to Greece for a few months. The added bonus of diving so much on Roatan is that I likely won’t feel the need to dive in the overpriced and frankly underwhelming underwater worlds of Greece. One (admittedly super heavy) bag we can leave behind + one (consequentially super happy) husband = total travel win-win. Onward!

San Carlos: Last But By No Means Least 2025 Sea Stop

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It had been windy in San Pedro. Nail-biting-is-the-anchor-gonna-hold windy. But we had to get out of there. We had a reservation in San Carlos, and it was only a four-hour sail. Time to knuckle up.

The morning of our departure, the wind was still showing its ass … so we tried to give it time to get it out of its system. With no end in sight by noon, though, we just had to go. And can you say “shit show”? Holy guacamole, that was the craziest sail we’d had to date. The waves were no less than ten feet high, crashing like a mutha, the boat seeming to rise at a 45 degree angle, me at the helm so T could guide us from the bow … It was seriously like something out of a sailing movie/nightmare. A little more action-packed than we’d anticipated, to put it mildly. Then T insisted on raising the sail, since he was afraid of what would happen if the engine gave out in the midst of all the madness. This entailed latching himself onto a belt that he in turn latched to the rails. (‘Cuz you have to leave the cockpit to raise the main on our boat, a set up I’ve never been crazy about. Captain T says you inevitably have to go on deck to fix something anyway, so … Anyhoo, that morning I would have greatly appreciated a mainsail line leading directly the cockpit, as all I could visualize was T flying over the side of the boat.) Neither of us had put our lifejackets on either, because it was so hot (bad move; won’t do that again). I felt like a badass afterwards, but in the moment it was equal parts exhilaration and terror.

The trauma drama lasted about an hour, but it felt like so much more. Jesús Cristo. The sailing was still pretty rocky afterwards, but blessedly nothing resembling the outset. When we finally arrived in San Carlos after about six hours, we were beyond relieved … followed quickly by total shell shock. After being in such calm environments since entering the Sea of Cortez, San Carlos was unexpected. And frankly a lot: An alarming amount of boats in the harbor, blasting the loud bass and twang mix of Mexican beats, people laughing and shouting, random and dangerous miscellany jutting out of the water with no markers … a total WTF moment. But we docked like champions (next to a power boat with no fenders, daring us to hit it so they could calmly collect all of our coins), cranked up that glorious A/C, and thanked our lucky stars. 

San carlos is a noticeably friendly place, with tons of restaurants and beautiful beachfronts. And OMG … the pickleball. I’d researched the pball sitch ahead of time (as I do), and had my week planned out. Well. let me just say that the San Carlos Pickleball Club (“SCPC”) did not disappoint. It’s apparently the largest pickleball facility in Mexico — 14 legit courts with 24/7 access — with a crazy schedule and ridiculously welcoming community. I got out there the following morning (unfortunately late, because … no Uber in San Carlos. Hmmm …) and got a few games in. Then the games continued for the next three days (and one night) straight. Unfortunately had to break to get the boat ready … but I’ll see you again in December, SCPC!

We didn’t get to properly tour San Carlos since we were really just stopping off on our way to store the boat in Guaymas. but we heard and saw enough to want to check it out more. So we’ll explore it later in the year when it’s not so hellaciously hot. And contrary to the poor reviews, the marina was totally fine and the service was excellent … so much so that we decided to haul out there instead of schlepping to Guaymas. Infinitely more convenient, at about the same price.

Despite the inevitable tooth gnashing, the haul out went smoothly, and the boat was driven slowly and effortlessly to Marina Seca. This is where the real work began, with the sun scorching from morning to night, and very little water (meaning no to limited A/C). We had to take down, fold, and store all the sails and stack pack (more than a notion); remove and rinse all the lines; cover all the metal hardware and instruments; store the kayak and paddleboard; deflate the dinghy; remove and flush the outboard engine; plug the windlass holes with wire to discourage rodents; lock the stern anchor and life raft; install shades on the deck; close the propane tanks; stow all the cockpit cushions; empty the fridge and freezer; stack all the interior cushions to prevent mold … Suffice it to say, it was a lot of action. 

After all was said and done, we still had to pack. For five months. I’m not the best packer, but I was proud that I got everything into one (admittedly large and obnoxiously heavy) bag, not including my dive bag, and a carryon backpack. T hates that my bags are always so — well — much, but I honestly did my best. We cracked our final bottle of champagne to celebrate, had some fish tacos at nearby La Caluca, slept wetly and fitfully for the fourth night without A/C, and got out of there at 6:45 the following morning … to LA for a few days before we head to Roatan for a month of scuba diving. Word has it that there’s also pickleball there. Double deliciousness incoming! 

Bahia San Pedro: Sweet Sea Stop #6

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We sailed 17.5 hours (60/40 motor/sail, averaging 4.5 knots) to our next stop. Got uncomfortably close to a tanker (still figuring out our Raymarine and AIS navigational tools), but otherwise the passage was drama-free. And the night was magical . Gotta say, Mexico is pretty consistently fantastic when the sun goes down: the sunsets never get old, and the stars are usually out with a vengeance. It was sooooo hot in the cockpit, though; we were still sticky in tank tops at 2:00 a.m. 

At about 10:00, we arrived at San Pedro, another sleepy little bay. And the only boat at the time. (It’s awesome when you have your total pick of anchoring spots.) The water was beautiful and it was totally peaceful. T took a dunk, I took a shower, and we baked — with the fans providing minimal assistance — until we could turn the generator on later and crank up the A/C and wifi. (Yet again, we’d neglected to charge the power box when we had electricity. Our justified punishment? No immediate power gratification.)

It was crazy windy during our short stay. Thank goodness our anchor is solid … but of course you never really know that until after the fact. Night one a ginormous power boat next to us started dragging, so they pulled their anchor up — in itself a little disconcerting — and we were in the cockpit at midnight battling the wind, hoping like hell that they didn’t get close enough to hit us, grinding our teeth and ready to motor off at any moment. (Although to where I’m not sure, since the moon didn’t come out until 1 a..m … ) The following night was more of the same, but we had more confidence in our anchor at that point. and the other boat had thankfully made tracks by then.

By contrast, the days were mellow and the sea beautiful, both visually and physically. The water temperature was perfect to cool off with a dunk, and dunks were abundant and sorely needed. I finished some totally marginal books. (Every marina has a “library”, so without a mailing address or a bookstore nearby, you get what you get and you don’t get upset.) Not a Happy Family by Shari Lapena was a quick, predictable, and non-recommended read. (How in the world do these authors become New York Times bestsellers?) Also started 52 Pickup by Elmore Leonard, who also wrote the made-into-movies books Get Shorty and Be Cool that John Travolta starred in. This book is a little rough so far (and a little racist?), but I’m gonna stick with it and see where it goes.

On our last night, T made super scrumptious fried shrimp rolls with some rice paper we’d literally had for years. Maybe even a decade. Improvised and totally delish. So all in all, a fairly enjoyable two-day stay. Have to admit, though, that I’d been chomping at the bit to head to our next stop: San Carlos. The marina is supposed to suck, but it is a marina, and … wait for it … there’s a new 14-court pickleball facility nearby. Swoon!

It’s Getting Hot In Herre …

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We were sad to say adios to San Juanico, but Mamá Naturaleza strongly suggested it was time to get out of there. A storm was a-brewin’, and the Kouk was unpleasantly rockin’ to the beat. So we took advantage of the wind and set sail at about 6:00 pm to Santa Rosalia. The 17-hour trip started out a little shaky but ended up being a nice passage, with more sailing than motoring (yes!) and a bright full moon to guide us. There were no other boats that we could see or track, and we even got all three sails up for a while. The difference between sailing with and without the motor is just … aaahhhhh.

Santa Rosalia is an actual town (population 15,000), so were be able to reprovision, unload our garbage, get our laundry done, and top off our water. We also stayed at a marina — a small one, but a marina nonetheless — which meant unlimited power, wifi … and A/C! The A/C was consistently, deliciously welcome since they aptly call this place Santa Roastalia. High 80s coupled with 70%+ humidity (Weather Channel correctly stated “feels like 100”) during our stay, plus stingy wind. Record temperature in July: a mouth-drying 118. Nelly would have been right at home, ‘cuz it definitely was gettin’ hot up in (t)herre! 

it’s an old mining town, and it’s pretty simple. The main attractions are some old mines (shocker) and trains, a museum, and the Santa Barbara church which was — seemingly totally randomly — designed by Gustave Eiffel. (Yep, the same Eiffel who designed Paris’ Eiffel Tower). Turns out it wasn’t actually so random: The church was first presented at the Paris Universal Exposition of 1889 and later acquired by the French mining company El Boleo. And El Boleo once exploited the copper deposits in this region. So there you have it. Small opportunistic world.

Night one we shared a belly-busting order of perfectly cooked lemon pepper wings and papas a la francesa (french fries). And just like that, I knew the Rosalinos were my people. We ventured out another day for some delicious — and ridiculously cheap at $1.50 each — fish tacos, and schlepped with fellow sailors one evening to indulge in some apparently infamous hot dogs. (I’m admittedly not a hot dog chick, but still … they didn’t really live up to all the hype.) Dodged some vicious neighborhood canines (maybe they’re so angry because it’s so hot?), did some grocery shopping and ice cream indulging (which I’m really gonna need to chill out on, pun belatedly intentional. That said, the shop is so trippy it’s worth the visit just to see the bizarre assortment of stuff for sale in addition to ice cream: electronics, shoes, beauty supplies, cake mix … you name it, they pretty much had it).

To be honest, though, it was so flipping hot that we mostly retreated to the boat to escape the torture and luxuriate in the A/C. We made spicy shrimp and veggies, fresh lumpia (with our second-to-last glass of champagne, double yum), mystery catfish-esque stir fry, and buttery halibut-like pan fry. Pardon the lack of seafood clarity, as we bought the latter two (in my mind, courageously) from a guy sitting on the corner with a bunch of ice coolers and nary a sign nor label. So we used our eyes and noses, and crossed our fingers. ‘Cuz who the hell knows what kind of fish he was actually describing en español?

On our last night in Santa Rosalia, we revisited our inaugural gorge fest at Tonka’s and decided to have brochettes this time. Huge order that was thankfully dry … otherwise we would have devoured that super-sized meat portion in the same way we showed no mercy to the mountain of fries that accompanied it (just as good as the first time, by the way), with tasty sopa verde, accompanied by mescal shots for me and margaritas for T. We rolled ourselves out of there to the ice cream shop (again. sigh.) and got ready to depart the following day at las cuatro de la tarde (4:00). Next stop: a 17-hour sail to spend a few days in Bahia San Pedro. We can only hope it won’t be as much of a frying pan there, since we’ll be anchoring out and vulnerable, with limited power (and therefore A/C). Universe, please be gentle with us and take pity on our fragile souls.  

San Juanico: Exactly Where We Wanna Be

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Now this is more like it.

After actually sailing away from the hellaciousness of Puerto Balandra on a blissful, glassy-watered, seven-hour passage, we arrived in San Juanico. It was the isolated, white sand-beached, turquoise-watered stuff that sailing stories are made of. It was also pleasantly breezy and devoid of stinging flying insects. Score!

We experienced a couple of firsts in San Juanico. Number one: launching our new paddleboard. I had only been paddleboarding once before, in Cabo, like a decade ago. T took it out the first day when I (correctly) thought the waves looked a little choppier than a sistah needed them to be. The following morning I got the board in the water, got on the board, got on my knees on the board, got upright on the board, paddled away on the board — five distinctly easier said than done moves — and didn’t fall once! Took it out again a few days later, paddled upright both to and from the beach, and again stayed dry. So it apparently wasn’t a fluke … yaaaasss queen! I guess all those yoga balancing moves paid off. Whatever the case, it was super fun and felt like a pretty good (increasingly necessary) workout. I do need to improve my paddle steering, though; can’t make a 180 degree turn without getting on. my knees. Stay tuned …

In the meantime, the coves in San Juanico are enchanting. We dinghied to shore, took a beautiful hike along the beach and experienced more of the Goldilocksesque not-too-hot-and-not-too-cold-but-just-right, refreshing, and crazy clear water of the summertime sea. We ushered in first number two as we (and by “we” I mean T) popped our spearfishing cherry and caught two big mamma jammas on our first hunt. Surprised us all! We overcooked them (mistook tough skin for tough flesh), but they were nonetheless impressive on our plates and inspired us to continue our fishing forays.. On our last night, we put the wood we’d picked on our hike to good use and had a perfect little bonfire on the beach, accompanied by our last bottle of Pouilly-Fumé and potatoes roasted on the coals.

As RuPaul would say, we had several many delicious meals in San Juanico: tofu with garlic noodles, spicy chorizo with bell peppers, rib eye steak with my famous mashed potatoes, lentil soup with smoked turkey leg, and probably (OK, definitely) too many cocktails. In our defense though, we have to consume all of our perishables (including two remaining bottles of champagne!) before we leave Mexico end of June. So really — despite what you may read, see, or suspect — we’re not being gluttonous. We’re just being good global citizens, conscientious and unwasteful. 

Muchos gracias, San Juanico, for being a sublimely textbook destination. This little oasis is a sound reminder that life does not suck. We’d planned to stay a few days, which turned into a week, essentially until our food supplies got thin and our garbage full. ‘Cuz … why not?

Puerto Balandra: Sea Quickie #3

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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.