La Social Life

 I came back from running errands the other day only to discover Evan buried deep in projects and Maia nowhere to be found. “Haven’t seen her since breakfast,” Evan mumbled as he worked. “Pass that screw driver.”

Considering it was 3pm, I thought we should try to track her down and see about feeding her. So I started calling around. Maia sightings had been made throughout the day—one boat reported feeding her, while another mentioned she had asked for sunscreen. Eventually we found her on Eyoni—one of a crowd 7 girls who were in the midst of a princess tea party.

 Maia’s currently being neglected—by us. But she seems to be making the most of it. There are close to 20-kids in the marina right now and considering only two of the families are South Pacific bound—she has good odds for showing up on a boat where food and care are available.

 We are also enjoying the crowd of families. Clearly we have to eat—and this town is pretty good for sit down street tacos and with this many people, kid tables are a given. So busy as we are, we haven’t opted out of La Social Life—in fact we’re embracing it. Maybe too enthusiastically…

Bucerias Festival--Celebrating Life by Defying Death

 If Mexico had personal injury lawyers this country would be a lot less fun. Although I must say it’s become a much safer country over the past 15-years. Yes, there is that drug war stuff—but I’m talking about the fact your chance of being blinded by a random firework or injured on an unsafe children’s ride has been reduced considerably.

not sure how these shoes make sense anywhere let alone in a town of cobbled streets, but all the girls were wearing them...

But this is still a user beware kind of country. If something looks unsafe, appears poorly maintained, or seems like a bad idea—it probably is. It really is that simple. Beyond that, it’s a heck of a lot of fun to live without fences and warning signs and use your common sense when it comes to adventure.

Which brings us to last night:

 Festivals are the ultimate user-beware adventure: there are inebriated vaqueros with bb guns (whose pellets can ricochet back into the crowd even after they hit the target that makes the gorilla pee on their buddies…); there’s children’s rides that were either retired or condemned at some point in MY childhood; there are twelve-piece brass bands in every corner competing against the cacophony (and the performances on the main stage); and there are the fireworks.

 If Mexico didn’t already have a patron saint, I would have nominated the guy who invented fireworks. Their role in daily life really is really something to behold. Last night we realized we’ve probably seen more fireworks in our year here, than Maia had previously seen in her life to date.

the castillo before it's lit

 But last night’s lighting of the Castillo was something she’d never seen before. A Castillo (Castle) is a three story tower filled with fireworks. The fireworks go off in stages and as each stage fires, images appear and then spin--shooting sparks into the crowd. The show took about 20-minutes and culminated with Jesus’ crown flying off his head and into the sky where it exploded into overhead fireworks.

 And that was the point where we collected our very tired girl and caught a cab home. The revelry continued into the night—and no doubt the town will be very quiet today. But living with this kind of break-neck joy feels pretty right to us…

Bucerias—Festival of Our Lady of Peace

contemplating a surf landing

 I’m not sure if every town in Mexico has its own patron saint (and corresponding festival and feast day) but if I had to guess, based on the number of fiestas we attend, I’d say yes…

Fireworks over the fleet

 The good thing is fiestas in Mexico are not ‘seen one fire works, seen them all’ type events. Each has a unique twist. Right now in La Cruz’s sister town of Bucerias it’s the feast of Our Lady of the Peace. The festival started nine days ago—we were told by one man that the church says you need to start celebrating nine days before a feast, not sure if that’s a direct edict, but who’s going to say no to a ten-day party?

 The tradition of our Lady of Peace tells that during a December night in the 7th century a miracle occurred when Saint Ildephonse entered the Cathedral of Toledo. He found the Virgin Mary sitting on the archbishop’s chair and as a gift she gave him a cloak. Ildephonse died on Jan 23rd, and the next day Jan 24th, was dedicated to remember the miracle.

 Somehow this tradition reached the tiny fishing town of Bucerias, which in 1948 was made up of just seven palapas. The town claimed the feast as their own and added a few things—a blessing of the fishing fleet (which is harboured in La Cruz) that happens at about noon on the 24^th and some crazy fireworks, which happen later tonight.

 Maia and I headed over to meet the fleet today. While 60 boats were expected, the bay is running with a pretty good swell right now, so only a few dozen decorated and heavily filled boats arrived just outside the surf zone.

 As fireworks were shot back and forth, a few of the boats made trial runs at the surf, then backed off and made mid-ocean transfers to reduce the number of passengers they had aboard. Finally they let fly at the beach. With engines roaring they rushed through the surf and right into the midst of the crowds (who tried to gage where each boat would land and run away in the right direction…)

after the boats were safely in, it was off to church for the blessing

 There were a couple of near capsizes and a few near collisions, but with every fishermen for miles in attendance the face-saving recoveries were swift, even if they did lead to a few bruises.

Maia and I decided though that surf landing doesn’t look like that great an idea. And leaving looks even worse.

Docked

great sunsets but sometimes rolly anchorage...

We pulled into a slip this morning after a near collision (note to selves--rules of the road still apply, even when docking…) and an engine outage (fuel connector disconnected). It was a stressful start to a plan that was meant to make our lives easier.

No one will claim that La Cruz has an ideal anchorage. But, on a windy afternoon with a swell running, it rates somewhere around mediocre. This means that anything that needs to be done on the boat needs to happen by 1pm, because at pretty much at the stroke of 1:01pm the wind and chop come up and stays up until 4pm—which by coincidence perfectly matches the town’s siesta.

 If I hadn’t booked as many stories as possible into the next two months, and Evan wasn’t trying to finish a half-dozen boat projects, and Maia wasn’t trying to do school work and see friends (the past few days have included a pirate night, a sleepover, and a birthday party…) we’d make the anchorage work. But when we were all sitting on a bench in the town square the other day, waiting for:

a) the anchorage to calm down

b) the dentist to come back from siesta so we could book appointments

c) the grocery store to reopen after siesta so we could shop

d) the hair cutting place to reopen after siesta so Evan could get a trim

e) any café to open so we could actually enjoy our break

we realized that being at anchor wasn’t a very efficient place to be…

So here we are. At the dock. It’s 3pm and Maia is running feral with friends. Evan is doing Evan stuff. I’m working (when not blogging) and outside the breakwater I hear the wind and surf.

Savannah is the smaller cat across from us...

I sort of feel like I’ve gone all soft and wimpy—but knowing that we’re paying the discounted 50 cents a foot puddlejump rates is helping me deal with it…

Into the Mountains

With our new friends off crossing an ocean, and our family about to head into the Sea of Cortez for the next 6 months, we wanted to leave La Cruz with more of a grasp of the area than simply where to find good street tacos (and we wanted to get away from the jet skis that arrived with Semana Santa, when what seems like ½ the country comes to the beach to play.) So we headed inland to San Sebastian del Oeste – an old colonial town about 65 km from Puerto Vallarta that only recently got a paved road (before that it was impassable whenever it rained and was mostly serviced by a small airstrip).

San Sebastian is not a tourist destination in any real sense. Visitors only trickle in when they learn about the magical little mountain town by word of mouth. The 800 or so people who live here support their families by raising livestock, mining, operating the limited tourist services and running coffee and agave plantations (the local agave is fermented to craft a tequila-like drink called raicilla—and while raicilla used to be known as a potent moonshine, it’s been rebranded as a trendy boutique beverage that is said to be the oldest alcohol spirit known to man).

The town is stuck firmly in another era—the silver and gold rush.

Veins of silver were discovered in the mountains by the conquistadors in 1605. By 1785 San Sebastian was one of the main silver and gold mining centres in New Spain--with 30 mines and a dozen haciendas (each had 60-80 employees and 250+ slaves running them). By the time the Mexican revolution hit in 1910 the area was home to 30,000 people.

 The Mexican Revolution brought an end to the hacienda system and the mines closed in 1921 and leaving the town to fade away. Today the town seems half empty. But the narrow cobble streets, great wooden doorways and hidden orchards invite exploration.

 One of our stops was Hacienda Jalisco, a gorgeous old mining company centre that has the same run-down feel of the old antebellum mansions of the south. Like those southern plantations, the hacienda system relied on slave labour. A fact that came heart-wrenchingly clear to us when the caretaker explained the hacienda no longer had electricity because it took dozens of burros and several workers simply to keep the generators running.

As we toured through the property we were shown the entry to a 2.5 km tunnel that was built during the revolution; when banditos were such a problem that tunnels were constructed between the mines, the haciendas and the garrison in San Sebastion.

Despite the faded paint and lack of modern amenities, Hacienda Jalisco has a glamour to it--which is probably why it had a second heyday during the filming of the Night of the Iguana when John Huston, Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton stayed in the spacious upstairs rooms.

All of San Sebastian has the feeling of faded glory to it. And when we walked down the 250-year old cobble streets; discovering secret pathways, stone bridges and soaring archways that seemed to have been forgotten with time, I had a sense of what our waiter had said over our leisurely breakfast (complete with strong local coffee). I had asked if the new road made it better in town, bringing in more tourists. He said it was a mixed thing--there are more tourists now. With the easy drive people can come to the town for a day trip think that they’ve seen it and leave. But San Sebastian really needs you to slow down to understand it and if you rush, you miss what it has to show you.

Currents

It was our old friend Stewart who spotted the sea turtle: A green lump, drifting asleep on the ocean’s currents. The girls all rushed to the side of the boat to watch it as we sailed past. Maia was awed. “Maybe it’s the one I released,” she whispered.

The idea that this turtle was the same one she set free from the Yucatan last year is improbable. But as we say goodbye to friends who are sailing off to the South Pacific, to their Land of Beyond, I want her to believe in the improbable.

One of the first things we taught Maia about goodbye was, if it really matters to you, goodbye will somehow, someway be followed by hello. “The world is round and that means we’ll meet again,” is a phrase that was given to me when my tears came at a long ago goodbye. So it’s a phrase I’ve passed on to Maia, to help her through the hardest moments in cruising.

She holds those words tight. And amazingly this week (one of huge and heartbreaking goodbyes as Maia, Mairen and Siobhan go different ways) has been the week where the phrase came to life, and our round world brought us old friends from unexpected places.

Coral was born when we were all sailing in Mexico last time. Her parents were two of our favourite people, always ready to offer help, or a laugh. They’ve stayed in our lives through the years, drifting in and out unexpectedly. And if by magic, Coral and her dad, Stewart (and his lovely new family) turned out to be holidaying in Mexico this week.

So we went sailing, and during that sail we told Stewart about another, even more improbable connection. We met a nice couple, Karl and Andrea (and their two boys), at the marina. We discovered that they too had cruised before the kids came along—a few years before us in fact. They were on a Westsail 28, they said. We knew people on a Westsail 28, I responded: Todd and Steph on Mangoe. We loved them, I explained, but lost track of them after they had their first babies in New Zealand and we moved back to Canada.

It turns out Karl and Andrea had sold their old boat to Todd and Steph, and Andrea said they are still in contact with them. So now, we are too. Which is how we learned from Steph that they are still in New Zealand and have four kids now. “The last one- you'll never believe- named Ceilyh ( no D- just too much.)" she wrote, "Cuz we've always loved that name and of course there are great memories associated with it.” (Our last boat, a Fortune 30, was also called Ceilydh--so there is a baby named after our boat!!)

And this morning, on the day we’ll say a few more big goodbyes, another friend arrived. This one doesn’t go back as far, but for Maia, she may be most significant of all. Amy, from Third Day is here.

There was a moment, when the turtle drifted past us, while old stories were being exchanged, when Maia began to believe that the currents that carry nomads apart can also bring us back together. And she made a pact with that turtle, to keep an eye out for him on the ocean, and to say hello again someday in the future. “The world is round,” she told him as he drifted out of sight.

Lucha Libre!!

 Like just about any traditional Mexican event we’ve attended we had no idea what to expect when we headed to the Lucha Libre match last night (despite the fact I've seen (and groaned through) Nacho Libre.)

 We knew the sport was popular, we’ve seen the masks for sale everywhere. But when we arrived at the dusty soccer field at sunset (paid $2.50 for tickets) and saw the ring surrounded by overflowing bleachers, rows of filled plastic chairs and crowds of kids, we started to get an inkling about the deep devotion locals feel for it.

 It’s billed as Mexican wrestling, but what it really is, is comic book heroes come to life. It is filled with such high-flying crazy action that you almost expect word bubbles to appear above the fighter’s heads with “Kappooowwww!” or “Zammmmmmm!” accompanying the spectacular moves.

 It’s hard to even call the luchadores fighters. Many of the hitting moves are faked, and the sequences of leaps, spins and flips are perfectly choreographed.

 This doesn’t take the fun out of it though--these guys are skilled (and for us it really added to the fun—not sure I could stomach real wrestling) The entire crowd supports the good guys, cheering on the técnicos while they try to fight a fair and elegant match against the brawling bad guys, the rudos. But for each technically executed leap or spectacular flip by a técnico, the rudos counter with a rule-bending dirty trick.

 The match is spent on the edge of your seat with lots of leaping up to cheer on the winning technicos. It's noisy and chaotic as the crowd chants the name of their heroes and the skilled moves are greeted with rockus music and excited commentary. Then the mood shifts when the rudos’ tricks and nasty moves begin to topple the técnicos. It looks as though evil may prevail over good. The heroes are nearly beaten down by the bad guys, and they end up cowering, injured in the dust, surrounded by concerned children.

 The crowd boos and scolds the rudos and cheers on their heroes, who slowly recover (and then sign a few autographs before returning to the ring). The result is pure theatre: Crazy, audience interaction theatre.

 The good guys always win.

Moments of Magic

 Our little grocery store gets busy as the day goes on, but here it is just opening

I’ve been waking before sunrise. 
Between our own stress from too many work deadlines (but I’m not complaining, the cruising kitty is refilling) and the sympathetic stress I’m feeling for friends who are deep in preparations for their South Pacific crossings, I’ve got insomnia.

 Morning tortillas are fresh warm pillows of goodness

Jumping into the day isn’t the way to go though, so I walk. Either with Maia, with a few friends, or both--We head off and explore our little corner of Mexico, watching as it begins to greet the day.

 I'm not a fan of chicharones, but considering how many are made each day, someone is...

When Maia was little, she used to complain about our 1.5 km walk to school. So I used to tell her to watch for the moments of magic that happened, just for her. I think my mum told me something similar, because rather than scolding or cajoling me when I didn’t want to walk, she simply pointed out the things I could only see at walking speed; footprints from a bird in the roadside dust, the way that the light fell on a tree, or a puppy playing under a bush…

 We've watched these puppies grow up on our morning walk

The idea for our morning walk was to go fast, and get some much needed exercise. But with each passing day we've added someone (or something) new to the route. Today we had to stop and greet storekeepers and puppies, a burro and some pigs, several chicken and chicks, and a child or two. We’re very slow when we walk now. No faster than a sailboat, really.

 Terco the burro (his name means stubborn) is a highlight of the morning walk

But there are so many moments of magic, just for me.