Day 1-2 of the Third Voyage: In which we arrive in Mexico, are greeted by the navy, and discover that our Spanish-language skills leave a lot to be desired.

We delayed our departure a couple of days for the arrival of a very special guest. The Captain’s Dad (henceforth to be known as Honorary Master Seaman Cliff or just HMS Cliff if I get lazy) was able to join us on this leg of the odyssey and we’re thrilled to have him on board.

And so it was that we set out from San Diego in the early morning of May 19^th for a ten-hour journey to Ensenada. About an hour out, San Diego faded into the mist, Tijuana appeared through the haze, and we tranquilly crossed the invisible water border into Mexico. The calm did not last. Not five miles into Mexican waters and we spotted a fast-moving boat barreling up the coast. It turned suddenly, came our direction, veered off slightly behind us, and then came back toward us. A few moments later and we were hailed over the VHF by an officer of the Mexican Navy who requested to speak to the captain. After inquiring as to our port of departure, our destination, the number of people on board, and if we were in possession of “drugs or anything else that might be illegal” we were instructed to turn off our engine and prepare for an inspection. A few moments later and the boat—carrying at least seven very serious looking naval crewman, including two manning machine guns—came up alongside us and one of the crew extended out a long pole with a net on the end. The Captain dutifully put our passports and boat papers into the net and we waited—bobbing in the water—for the officer-in-charge to examine our documents. After about ten minutes, they returned our documents, thanked us for our cooperation, and zoomed off toward a fishing boat in the distance. Once underway again, I think it took a good 15 minutes for everyone on board to get over the shock of what had just happened and another five to all agree that that was about the coolest thing ever. After all, how many people can say that they’ve been intercepted by a navy boat and, for all intents and purposes, held at gunpoint until it was determined that they were not there under nefarious circumstances. Editor’s Note: the Captain asked me if I got a photo and I had to admit that I didn’t because I didn’t want to be whipping anything out in case the guy with the machine gun had an itchy trigger finger. Like I said, it was cool after the fact. At the time it was just surreal. The rest of the journey into Ensenada was uneventful. Which was good because I think we had had enough excitement for one day.

We arrived in Ensenada about four in the afternoon and headed into the Cruiseport Village—so named because of the giant cruise ships which loom over the marina—and attempted to find our reserved slip. As we were tying up, a security employee with a clip board came over and it was soon after that I realized that even though I had successfully completed the first three sections of Rosetta Stone, my Spanish-language skills were woefully lacking as I could barely decipher his mile-a-minute Spanish. After several attempts (“Lo siento. Repetir, por favor?”), I latched onto “llame” and “barco” and told him the boat name was “Raven”. He immediately began shuffling through several pages of boat names while muttering, “Raven, Raven, Raven”. At long last, he exclaimed “ah ha!” and pointed at the list. I looked at the name and it said, “Doodle Doo”. At this point, two things hit me: firstly, my pronunciation must be really terrible and secondly, who the hell would name their boat the “Doodle Doo”?

The next morning, we cleared into the country. Now the Captain and I had been to Canada numerous times and all it took was a passport and a quick game of 20 questions and you were usually good to go. Mexico was a whole different ballgame. Now if you’re going to clear into Mexico, Ensenada is the best place to do so because it is the only port where all the government agencies and the Banjecito are under one roof so there’s no running around all over town. So the process goes like this (and feel free to skip this part if extreme bureaucracy makes you nauseous): First stop is immigration where everyone presents their passports and fill out forms, then it’s over to the Banjecito to pay the immigration fees after which you go back to the immigration counter, show them your fee receipt, fill out an additional form, and get your passport stamped. Next you visit the Port Captain where you present your boat documents and crew list, then it’s back to the Banjecito to pay your port fee upon which you return to the Port Captain (and hope he’s still around), present your fee receipt, and get your crew list stamped. The next stop is back to the Banjecito to get your “Temporary Import Permit” (don’t ask, just know that without it they can seize your boat), complete more paperwork and pay the “TIP” fee. Final stop is Customs where you get to fill out yet another form but thankfully do not have to trot back to the Banjecito as this is a freebie. Total time: two hours (and we had all our paperwork in order—we met a few people who were on day two and even three just trying to get cleared due to document discrepancies.) Editor’s Note: Mexican regulations state that if there is any fishing gear on board, everyone must have a fishing license whether they fish or not. So we spent an additional half hour at a separate location getting our licenses which, interestingly enough, cost more than all the other government fees put together. So if you’re wondering which arm of the Mexican Federal Government wields the most power, it’s Fish and Game.

The rest of the day was spent provisioning at Costco and the local Supermercado in preparation for the long trek down the Baja Peninsula to Cabo San Lucas. We felt somewhat prepared as we had our English-Spanish translator phone app to figure out what the labels said and what the product exactly was because just because it’s in the fresh meat section and has a dancing pig on the package, one should not assume it’s a pork product. (It was in fact chicken or as the translator put it quite ominously, “feather package”.) We also had a currency converter app to determine pesos to dollars and let me throw something out to other cruisers heading south…stock up on your gringo-favorite items in the States but do all your fresh food provisioning in Mexico. The total bill was less than half what we would have paid in San Diego.

Loaded down with two weeks’ worth of foodstuffs, we headed back to the marina and were stopped at the entrance by a security guard. He asked for the name of the boat, we told him “Raven”. He flipped through the pages on his clipboard muttering, “Raven, Raven, Raven”. He radioed the marina office. He consulted another guard. A third guard came up and joined in the search through the list. Eventually the security guard from the day before came by, said that he recognized us, and waived us through. As we gathered our shopping bags and headed in I’m pretty sure I saw him point toward us and say to the other guards, “Doodle Doo”.

 

Pictured: An Ensenada street scene and yes, that is a pharmacy. Can you believe it?

Not pictured: The thousand and one chotchkie vendors following us trying to make a sale. This was self-preservation. When "no, gracias" doesn't work, taking random photos at least buys you a few seconds of peace.

 

 

Pictured: Celebratory champaign upon arrival in Mexico featuring our fine plastic stemware.

Not Pictured: The owners of the "Doodle Doo" as that certainly ain't us!