mexico – S/V koukla

I’ve been to San Jose a few times: twice on my own and once for my nephew’s wedding. It’s a super cute little town, and it has unsurprisingly developed quite a bit in the last decade. While it still has an artsy vibe, it’s considerably more upscale now. We knew almost immediately that one week just wasn’t gonna cut it.

Day two we broke out the folding bikes to tour the town and scope out the local pickleball spot (shout out to Club Huerta!). Rode my bike there — a few intermittently hairy miles away — every other day-ish … and when my tires weren’t flattened by the sketchy road conditions. True confession: I am totally addicted to pickleball. I’ll admit that I’m an enabler, too. There, I’ve said it. Not apologizing, just sayin’. It’s just so. much. fun. I play for hours at a time and love every minute, win or lose. I of course prefer to win, but any good game works. And it’s always entertaining to see that while the names and hometowns change, the characters are pretty much the same: you’ve got your bangers, droppers and spinners; those who take the game entirely too seriously and those who pretend they don’t; the (usually male chauvinist) ball hoggers; the drivers who refuse to play close to the kitchen; the flagrant cheaters and the ones who almost always call a close ball out; the swearers and apologizers; young and old; all sizes, shapes, colors, and backgrounds. It’s truly a great equalizing sport, and the fact that you can go solo and get your fun, cardio, and socialization on for as long and hard as you want … chef’s kiss. Since T will play with me only under duress, and only enjoys playing with particular people, he’s always thrilled when he doesn’t have to sacrifice his time, jeopardize his body and ego (he has experienced some totally-not-funny-but-so-ridiculous-you-can’t-help-but-be-a-terrible-wife-and-chuckle court misfortunes), and inflame his plantar fasciitis just to indulge me.

OK, moving on … Mexican food has not historically been my jam. But T got me into fish tacos a while ago and I’ve been hooked ever since. I’m happy to report that San Jose del Cabo did not disappoint in the taco department. The best we had were at La Lupita Taco y Mezcal downtown: not cheap, but both the tacos and mezcal were worth every peso and did the joint’s name justice. We did a repeater visit at their other location on Valentine’s Day and the sequel was just as good as the original. We also went on the perennial Thursday Art Walk (enriching and entertaining; a lot of incredible galleries here), biked to the local beach and christened our chairs and umbrella (the latter will require some future finessing), watched the Eagles destroy the Chiefs in the Super Bowl (sooooo satisfying), saw a movie (Absolution/Implacable. didn’t realize it was all in Spanish — with no subtitles — so didn’t get everything but was 100% clear that it was totally depressing and the absolute opposite mood we were going for at the time of viewing), did some puzzling, gave my nails and toes some much needed attention, visited the beautiful Gypsy Soul House (a decadent pampering indulgence that kicked off with the “nordic spa experience”: champagne, nuts and cranberries, followed by body exfoliation, outdoor shower, barrel sauna, cold plunge, sauna, shower, more champagne … all before a delicious 90-minute deep tissue massage. YUM). Groceries are about the same price as in the U.S. (how do the Mexicans afford it?), but spa treatments are bizarrely inexpensive. T got a haircut (long overdue), and also took a side trip to LA to visit friends and replace our busted water heater and poop tank. So our bucket squatting and cold water dishwashing days are numbered … hallelujah!

One of the coolest things about cruising is the ability to alter your itinerary whenever and however you like. We ended up spending three weeks in San Jose vs. the originally planned one, and enjoyed our stay immensely. Next stop: Los Frailes, en route to La Cruz de Huanacaxtle — La Cruz for short — on the Riveria Nayarit.

We sailed 14 hours from Avalon to San Diego, and another 12 from San Diego to Ensenada. Both trips were delightfully uneventful, although the stretch to Mexico was pretty rolly.

San Diego is the epitome of California living. The weather is perfect, the people friendly, the entertainment accessible, and we were able to handle our business efficiently. We were told that we needed to stop here for exit paperwork (turns out that wasn’t necessarily the case, but the marina insisted on it in case we had an existing and therefore dreaded TIP — temporary import permit — on our dinghy). We had originally planned to sail straight to Mexico, but made the San Diego stop per our Ensenada marina’s request/mandate. We know people who weren’t able to enter the country because of an uncanceled TIP, so we were OK with taking the precaution.

So Cal makes you realize just how small San Francisco is.. We rented a car since San Diego is huge, which turned out to be a great decision. We did all of our exit paperwork, saw Nosferatu on the big screen, soaked in the decadent marina hot tub, provisioned (including the fiercely addictive Trader Joe’s cheese puffs and cheese crunchies, along with the mandatory chicken I was terrified I wouldn’t be able to find enough of in Mexico). I got a great mani/pedi and played some excellent pickleball at Waterfront Park, both a short distance from our marina. We finally got my critical puzzle deliveries (missed the drop off in Avalon), and put an exclamation point on our last day with a large order of Five Guys french fries (plus a double cheeseburger for T). Suffice it to say that our fitness journey is currently not a linear one.

We arrived in Mexico without incident and ultimately found our marina and slip. A little bit of confusion post docking when they hadn’t reserved us for 50-amp electrical, but we were exhausted and really didn’t; want to move. Luckily they finally let us borrow a 30-amp and all was well. We successfully handled all our business with the port captain the following day, and met up with Rodd and Shelly (S/V Tasi) for some fish (shark!) tacos and gab. T beat the pants off me at pool (it’s OK, he has to be able to win some game against me.

Got an excellent body scrub and 80-minute massage at the hotel spa. I usually request men since women tend to give wimpier massages, and when this tiny little Mexicana showed up my heart sank. But sistahood put a hurt-so-good deep tissue massage on me that left me muy, muy satisfied. Then my buzz was killed by the Texans losing to the cheater Chiefs in the playoffs. We hosted a sweet couple — Judy and Gene, who came to Ensenada four years ago and never left — for cocktails. One thing that’s great about living in a small space is how little time it takes to clean up before you’re expecting company. So even if I’m feeling like our place is not presentable for socializing, it doesn’t take long for it to be (excuse the obvious pun) shipshape.