A couple of months ago, and much to our dismay, we realized
that the Caribbean was not going to come to us—it wasn’t even going to meet us
half-way—so we decided that if we wanted to see it on our boat and in our
lifetime, we needed to keep inching our way south. Originally, we were going to
leave in early November, then mid-month, then the 30th, then the 1st
of December, then the 2nd. (Spoiler alert: We finally
left on the 3rd. It’s now mid-December so I totally know how that
worked out. Hint: Not well. But that’s the next blog post.)
So why the constant delays? I chalk it up to forces beyond
our control. Things like:Delay #1: Mexican Immigration. This sounds more sinister than it is, but as you may be aware, we are only allowed in Mexico on 6-month tourist visas so every so often we need to leave and come back. We use this opportunity to go back to the States, do some gringo provisioning, and take care of business that doesn’t require use of the Mexican postal system. We figured we would go ahead and get it done while we had easy access to an airport, a dog-sitter, and a cat-tolerator, and also because we knew—given our track record—that there was no way we would be out of Mexico by the end of the year. So off we went to Corpus Christi with three light carry-ons, and back we came a few days later with three heavy carry-ons and three large pieces of checked luggage. Editor’s Note: A BIG thank you to Pud’n for letting us fill her spare bedroom with packages from Amazon and boxes from every marine supply store in the country. We hope you were able to get your doorbell fixed.
Would someone please buy Mexico a new stamp pad? This is
what stands between us and being legally in the country. Even blown up and enhanced,
it’s still hard to make out the date. And this was one of the better stamps we’ve
had.
Delay #2: The Posse. Again, not as sinister as it sounds. 2017 marks the inaugural run of the Panama Posse, an idea bandied about by a group of us cruisers here in Barra and brought to fruition by Dietmar and Suzanne of S/V Carinthia. Editor’s Note: One of the large bags that we slogged back from Texas was full of Posse member swag, so it wasn’t all Goldfish Crackers and boat parts…just most of it. For those of you wondering what a Panama Posse is, it’s just the name of our rally. There are many rallies in the boating community—the Coho-ho-ho, the Baja-ha-ha, and the Pacific Puddle Jump are just a few. And no, I’m not making those names up. Most rally names are pretty much the direct result of booze-filled brainstorming sessions so in the grand scheme of things, “Panama Posse” isn’t so bad. (Of course, when the locals try saying it, it comes out sounding like “Panama Pussy” so there’s that.) Now for you lubbers wondering what a rally is, it’s a loose confederation of boats heading in generally the same direction in sort of the same timeframe with kind of the same goal in mind i.e. arriving in a particular destination on our boat and in our lifetime. There are 40 or so boats in this year’s rally. We won’t all be leaving at the same time, or necessarily stopping at all the same places, or staying for the same amount of time at the places we do stop, but we’ll all keep in touch via a daily SSB net, Facebook, and email so we can pass on information and/or meet up with other members when we find ourselves in the same places and hopefully, if all goes well, we’ll all meet up on the Pacific side of the Panama Canal in June 2018 for a celebratory party. That’s where the rally ends, but it officially began here in Barra on November 29th with a kick-off party sponsored by the marina and who were we to pass up free drinks and a taco bar. We had to stick around for that.
Delay #3:
Last-minute provisioning. Now I realize that “last-minute” is usually factored
into the original timeframe and shouldn’t cause a delay, but in this case it
did set us back because we had to split our designated provisioning day into
two because you can only get non-Mexican butter at a store in Melaque and that
couldn’t be done on the same day we did our main provisioning in Manzanillo.
It’s worth noting that when we first started out on this
odyssey, we took six days to provision. We filled every spare inch of the boat
with frozen food, canned goods, and toiletries and then ended up not using most
of it because—and you won’t believe this—people in Canada and all down the
western coast of the US do have access to food, soap, and even toothpaste! That
was a real eye-opener for us. Needless to say, when we set out for Mexico, we
only took three days to provision, and mainly just gringo items that we figured
would be hard to find. But it turns out—and you won’t believe this—but you can
get pasta, potato chips, and paper towels in Mexico! So now we can do our
provisioning in one day and keep it to things that may be hard to find in the
smaller towns. Things like AAA batteries, small propane bottles, and toilet
paper. Now yes, I do realize that people all over the world wipe their butts,
but will I be able to find ultra-soft, three-ply toidy paper with a hint of
cocoa butter? I don’t think I can take that chance.
"When your tush demands some cush." I'm going to trademark that in case Regio wants to use it in exchange for a lifetime supply of tush tissue.
But back to the butter that contributed to our delay. I’m
not sure if you’ve ever had Mexican butter, but it’s more akin to margarine…and
not in a good way (assuming there is something good about a product that’s one
molecule away from plastic.) Editor’s
Note: For those that think I’m being a little too harsh on margarine, keep in
mind that I come from a long line of Southerners where even though grease is
considered one of the four basic food groups (along with sugar, salt, and
alcohol), margarine will get you kicked out of the kitchen (Miracle Whip will
get you kicked out of the family.) At any rate, while Mexican butter is technically
a dairy product, it is so oily that whatever you put it on immediately tastes
like it’s been coated in cooking spray. Store it in the refrigerator, and it
turns into a block of granite. Leave it on the counter, and it turns into soup.
Luckily, in Melaque, there is a gringo-friendly store called the Super Hawaii
that carries butter from the US and—if you really want to be fancy—from France.
Super Hawaii also carries a variety of gringo comfort foods such as chili, Cheese-Its,
Hamburger Helper, and Kraken Rum in the big bottle.
Delay #4: New ink! I got my first tattoo thirty years ago when you
still went to a “parlor” in the dodgy part of town and the guy doing the tattoo
may or may not have been in a motorcycle “club” (though he definitely smelled
like he slept with a Harley…or two.) I don’t even know if they were called
“artists” back then—my guy was called “Sugar Bear” and hand-drew a “Celtic
cross” on my shoulder using a Bic pen before going to town with needle and ink.
You’ll notice I’m using quotation marks a lot. That’s probably because I’m
still not sure if the smudge on my left shoulder is really a “tattoo” or an
after-market birthmark. I’m too embarrassed to admit that I did this to myself,
so I prefer to tell people it’s a scar I got doing battle with a giant squid
coming around Cape Flattery. It’s not really lying…either way you get inked.
But I’m really pleased with my new tattoo. I put a lot of
thought into what I wanted. It had to be small, simple, and somewhat meaningful—with
an emphasis on the first two because I knew that 15 minutes of pain was all I
could handle. We went back to the guy that did the Captain’s tattoo last July
because he’s a good artist, he has steady hands, and he’ll turn the stereo up
full volume to drown out the swearing. Editor’s
Note: I do believe I broke the world record in number of F-bombs uttered in a
five-minute period as evidenced by a near unbroken stream of
“fuckfuckfuckfuck...” while he was doing the fill in. And even though this
is Mexico, where every business is behind a roll-up door and furnished DIY
style, the experience seemed less “back alley” than my first go-round—probably
because the shop was well-lit and very clean, there wasn’t a row of choppers
out front, and the tattooist didn’t have a Marlboro hanging out of his mouth
the whole time. The Captain got the same tattoo as I did so now we’re all
matchy-matchy, but in a “shared experience” kind of way as opposed to a “today
we’ll both be wearing the red-checked polos over navy slacks” way. Editor’s Note: “Shared experience” in this
instance suggests the bigger picture of doing this boat thing together. The
Captain sat in the chair for 12 hours straight when he had his octopus tat
done—so his “experience” this time around was more “15-minute nap”. At any
rate, when the tattoo artist gave us the “care and cleaning of your new tattoo”
speech, I’m pretty sure he said to keep it lubricated, avoid the swimming pool
for a week, and delay your voyage by two days. Yeah, I’m fairly certain that’s
what he said.
The
new tattoo! Told you it was simple! It’s right behind the ankle. The photo
doesn’t do it justice because pictures tend to add 10 lbs. and a layer of fonk
to the feet. But I think the anchor is very apropos. After all, if I ever go
overboard, I just know I’m going to sink straight to the bottom.
Delay #5: An unexpected illness. In the days leading up
to our departure, we thought it’d be nice to visit all our favorite restaurants
one last time. So we went to Garcia’s for some of the best wings in the area
and the two-for-one happy hour that starts at noon and ends at 6:00 pm;
Simona’s, well-known for their German cuisine and double-shot mixed drinks;
Loco Loco, arguably the best pizza in Mexico and makers of a mean Cuba Libre;
Nacho’s, one of Barra’s oldest establishments and purveyors of the town’s most
potent strawberry margarita; and Manglito’s, the first restaurant we ever
visited, consistently good and probably the best rum punch this side of the
Captain’s. But Pipi’s holds a special place in our hearts. The venue isn’t noteworthy—six
or seven tables set up outside a kitchen down one of Barra’s side streets. The
food isn’t fancy—basic Mexican fare (plus a decent burger) that’s consistently
good. And there’s not a whole lot of ambience unless you count the traffic that
goes by. But the hospitality of Senor Pipi and his family is what sets it
apart. They greet us like friends, remember our preferences, and patiently help
us along with our Spanish. During the summer months, when there were fewer
tourists in Barra (especially during the week—Tuesdays, specifically, were eerily
quiet), we went to Pipi’s regularly. Not
only because we really like the place, but because it’s important to support the
local businesses. During “low season” aka “incredibly hot time”, a lot of the
restaurants close either for economic reasons or, in the case of many
gringo-owned establishments, so the owners can go “back home” aka “somewhere
cooler” for six months. Aside from Wednesdays and a week-long vacation around
Easter, Pipi’s was always open, and it wasn’t uncommon for us to be the only patrons
there. I think this is one reason Senor Pipi likes to ply us with “en la casa”
rounds (mostly out of appreciation, but partly because once you get the gringos
going, they find it hard to stop, and the free round will often beget a paid
round, and so on.) So a few days before we were set to leave, we had lunch at
Pipi’s. Three (or was it four?) rounds of drinks plus two rounds of “en la casa”
plus whatever was imbibed once we got back to boat and…okay, so maybe it wasn’t
an “illness” that waylaid us per se, but let’s just say that nothing got done
the next day and the following morning and it was necessary to pad the departure
timeline. Editor’s Note: If someone on
board is under the weather—either from illness, allergies, or over-imbibing—the
customary answer to, “How are you feeling?” is now, “Like I had lunch at Pipi’s.”
Senor Pipi: Our favorite enabler.
Extra Credit Delay: We have learned from our mistake. It
would have made sense to leave on December 1st. We were ready to go,
a half dozen other Posse boats were planning to head out that day, and, more
importantly, December 1st is when the marina rates go up (“High
season, amigo!” they explain as they pick you off the floor.) But…and here’s
the deal breaker…December 1st fell on a Friday. At which point I’d
like to direct your attention to the blog post titled “False Start of the Third
Voyage” in which we tempted fate by leaving on a Friday and our generator
promptly blew up. Editor’s Note: Okay, so
it went more “squeeee, sputter, sputter, clunk” but our timetable and our
wallet were certainly blown to smithereens. Not wanting to go down that
path again, we felt it prudent to delay departure for at least a day…which
turned into two because the marina gave us a bro-deal on the daily rate given
our nine-month tenure.
So that brings us to Sunday, December 3rd. Did we
leave? Why, yes. Yes, we did…
Woohoo...can't wait for more..
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