Tag: adventure

El Burro Beckons

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El Burro is part of a cluster of beaches in Bahia Concepción. so less than a one-hour sail from Santispac. The two spots are therefore both unsurprisingly similar and distinctly different. Same chill vibe, but more so. Fewer boats — not that were many in Santispac — and fewer huts, RVs, and people in general. The one cafe here, Nomadico, albeit expensive, has very good food, super hospitable proprietors, and excellent mezcal. Carlos, an enterprising local, sells fresh seafood on the beach. The weather was a perfect mid-80s with frequent welcome breezes. The water is clear and the sand is white.

Nothing about this place sucks.

We made two amazing improvements that I feel increasingly qualify us as legit sailors. 1) We made our own yogurt (not nearly as difficult as you might imagine), and 2) We got the water maker going. Both are game changers, but the latter tops the list. Now we can turn sea water into fresh drinking water wherever we go … and it’s actually good. Minds officially blown. To add to our sailorism, we tooled around the neighboring beaches on our dinghy — fully womaned by yours truly, thank you very much — and went for swims at each. One yielded a bountiful clam catch that unfortunately looked better than it tasted; we didn’t properly prep them so they were inedibly grainy. Alas, sea lessons learned.

Noteworthy grub: skewered prawns, pesto pasta with prawns, fresh halibut with udon noodles, chicken wings, rib eye steaks, baked chicken with vegetarian paella, bruschetta on freshly baked baguettes, chocolate chip cookies with walnuts … To be clear, no one is starving up in here. So (obviously necessarily) I’ve started doing boat workouts. Heather Robertson is my current go-to YouTube fitness chick: no frills and no nonsense. Maybe hope can still indeed be kept alive. 

We were here for the full moon and some epic evenings, many of which culminated in binge watching Happy Valley, an excellent and intense British drama series. I finished Hello Beautiful: not deep, and longer than it needed to be, but sufficiently engaging. And now, after years of it topping my list of favorites, I’ve started re-reading Anna Karenina. Like puzzles, I almost never revisit books. But I’ve been feeling the urge for something juicy and meaty, and Tolstoy fits the bill.

After two lovely weeks at El Burro, we headed to Mulegé to stock up on food and diesel (but no water, yes!) en route to Pulpita and then Isla Coronados.

At Last We (Re)Splashed

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After four months on San Carlos land, we were finally back on the water. We spent a week getting reacquainted with full time life on the hook, and then headed to Bahia Concepción, about 100 nautical miles southwest. Our noforeignland boat tracks confirmed (admonished?) that this was our first since June of last year, so we embarked on a 20-hour relatively uneventful (motor)sail — not including the mysterious loss of our autopilot, which annoyingly necessitated hand steering for most of the trip — and arrived on Santispac Beach: a sweet, peaceful little anchorage with markedly greener water and just a few other boats. RVs and campers like it too, since they can pitch tents in private palapas overlooking the sea and park in an open, under-crowded space behind them.

Since I’m rationing my puzzles (only four left, yikes), and can only intermittently ScrabbleGO (can’t seem to shake that habit) due to the end of 24/7 wifi, I’ve been reading again — voraciously, as is par for my endeavors course. First up: Erasure by Percival Everett, a prolific author whose work I was strangely unfamiliar with but came highly recommended by a soror with whom I’ve rekindled a relationship far stronger than it was in college (Shout out to Lisa!). Provocative with complex characters and intricate storylines, it is a clever, layered, and solid read. It also inspired the movie American Fiction, which won an Academy Award for Best Adapted Screenplay. Ironically I wasn’t as crazy about it after reading the book — too many material plot departures — but it’s nevertheless good to see him getting his flowers. Next up was Murakami, one of my favorites, with his memoir What I Talk About When I Talk About Running: Enjoyable, quick, and although autobiographical, still written in his signature style. I was also really struck by his quote “Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional.” Poignant in its brevity and stark in its current application to family matters, it strongly resonated with me and was a total aha moment. I then read James, another Everett novel, also very well written and thought provoking. The two books are both different and familiar, and I look forward to reading more … maybe I Am Not Sidney Poitier next. Finally, Eastbound, by Maylis de Kerangal, another author recommendation by a good friend (Salut, Laurence!) is a tiny book packing a concentrated literary punch.

As is usually the case, we ate well: blueberry scones, pumpkin bread, steaks, mapo tofu, clam and garlic pizza, an unfortunate chicken dish by yours truly (Boo, New York Times), chicken wings (much more successful and fortunately commandeered by Captain T), and a surprisingly delicious and totally improvised celery, chicken, and potato soup. All told, our time at Santispac was incredibly chill and a pretty complete 180 from San Carlos. In addition to swimming, we did a big hike up a nearby mountain … but without the schedule of the gym and the regularity of pickleball, I’m going to have to carve out some time to do some weights and get some proper, regular exercise soon. T’s much better and more motivated to sweat in solitude (swimming, rowing, kayaking), while I like a routine and gravitate towards more organized activities that include — but don’t necessarily require communion with — other people. Either way, I’m gonna have to do better. Here’s hoping all that and more happens at our next stop: Playa el Burro.

Don’t Disturb This Groove

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It was a little jolting to be back in Mexico after a few weeks on the west coast. And while it was fun (always!) to see family and friends in the Bay Area, it was cold … and even colder in Washington (made a quick jaunt to catch up with a longtime friend and see the highly entertaining RuPaul’s Drag Christmas), so it was expected but still bizarre to be hit by the Mexican heat wall upon our December arrival. Definitely neither sweaters nor gloves wanted nor needed.

It was nice too to be back in San Carlos, specifically. It’s a little city with dramatic mountains, beaches, and skylines, and it grows on you the more time you spend there. Since the Kouk was on the hard, we rented an apartment to facilitate boat prep, wait out the nasty northerlies, and frankly minimize unnecessary roughing it (cuz … why?). Our first full day we hightailed it to the nearest (OK, only) gym, and signed up immediately to atone for our extensive European dietary transgressions and diminish as much proof of said sins as possible. And, of course, as San Carlos is home to the largest (16-court!) pickleball club in Mexico, I re-registered posthaste.

It goes without saying that traveling is fantastic. That said, it’s also nice to stay put for a minute and relish a little routine. I did yoga and weights and pilates reformer classes three times a week, played pickleball three to five times a week, and rode my folding bike to and from each venue. I also participated in a few pickleball tournaments. Even won gold in one, although I’m at least currently convinced that tourneys aren’t my thing: too stressful and pressure packed, thus not especially enjoyable, which is after all the point … What was T doing during all this time you might ask? Well, working on the boat por supuesto. He had a list of literally hundreds of tasks, and blessedly didn’t want me in the way for most of it. It also gave him an excuse to blow off his gym membership, so a win-win. 

Anyhoo, we met some great people, had some great times, and were essentially in no rush to leave. I got my drama out of the way early on: wide street grate plus unfortunate forearm, knee, and leggings disaster plus shocked lying-in-the-street-but-trying-to-get-up-quickly-to-avoid-prolonged-mortification plus bravely riding home dripping blood plus prompt spousal doctoring (with iodine, no less) equalled an experience that was inevitably all uphill from there. Between the shrimp festival (winner: to-die-for bacon wrapped langoustine), full moon beach party complete with beautifully colorful fire-lit lanterns we personally launched into the clear black sky, locally produced and somewhat insane musical The Follies, countless plates of amazing avocado toast with fried egg and bacon (crazy yum) on the courts made by the equally amazing Sarayi, on par with the bulging containers of Pollo Lopez’s consistently delicious rotisserie chicken with roasted potatoes and onions peppers and salsa that just fit in my pickleball backpack, a host of good dinners and card games and the continued refinement of my escalating mezcal addiction … ummm, appreciation … some seriously good times were had by all. 

With the exception of a week in lively Mexico City, we stayed in San Carlos almost exactly four months. The final countdown was the first week of April, when we left our last apartment, moved away from easy access showers and dishwashers and water and large washer/dryers and air conditioning, and back onto the boat. We then put a punctuation mark on all of T’s hard work and did some majorly satisfactory cleaning — the likes of which you generally only do when you’re about to sell your house — and settled into life in the yard before we provisioned for our next passage and finally (successfully!) splashed on April 7. Despite the fabulous stay it was time, and we were ready to spend a few months escaping the heat of the city and exploring more of the Sea of Cortez. We anchored for a few more days before we said gracias and adios to San Carlos, and headed to our next stop: Bahia Concepción.

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!