The Taco Traveler

I just learned today that it's pronounced "why-mas" after having pronounced the hard-G for a month. Oh well - at least someone finally told me. After getting Chemistry all set for summer, where temperatures here could get up to 120 (and hotter in the boat), I called for a cab from the Marina Seca office because I'm traveling heavy. As I was going through my clothes last night, packing, I just had too many shirts and pants (and yes, shoes) I wanted to wear this summer that haven't seen the light of day in Mexico. I've got my internal frame backpack, my regular rolling max-carry-on-sized suitcase, and my laptop backpack (thanks, Johnny G and Brenthaven - here's your blog mention for sponsoring me with a free backpack; twelve people just saw the brand name "Brenthaven" and two of them clicked on that link and are checking out your products right now). So, it wasn't until the guy on the phone said it would be 200 pesos to Guaymas that I decided I'd cram myself onto a bus for 14 pesos.

I actually started to walk towards Guaymas from San Carlos, which after riding the bus that far, would have been a crazy walk - like 12 miles or so. But as I was walking in the 85 degree heat, lugging my backpack, luggage and laptop, I couldn't help but think of Lawrence of Arabia and his desert crossings. I should be able to do 12 miles in only 85 degrees. But then the bus came, and I boarded last after 12 teen-aged boys, who all went to the back of the bus then watched me as I tried to maneuver all those bags without knocking anyone out or falling down myself as the bus started jerking along. I nearly got applause when I managed to get the backpack off and sit down (really, one of them yelled "Again!"). As the ride went on, more and more people crammed into that bus to where the aisle was completely full and people were almost hanging out the front door. And there I am with my three bags, wondering how in the hell I'll get off the bus when my stop at the Tufesa bus terminal comes. Luckily, a couple of stops cleared out most of the forward aisle-standers, and the nice girl next to me and the bus driver both took care to let me know that the terminal was coming up, so I had time to prepare a more graceful exit.

I'm sitting in a restaurant across from the Tufesa terminal called "La Palapa." Excellent food; I've had chips & guac (of course), shrimp tacos, a big glass of water, and I'm on my third Tecate Light. I have no idea how many hours it takes to get to Phoenix, so I'd better fill up. It was sixty bucks (US) to Phoenix from Guaymas. Then I hop on an Alaska Air flight tomorrow. I don't mind the red-eye bus trip, and I'll probably sleep well after barely sleeping last night and getting up at 6am this morning to raise the mainsail in zero wind to rinse the salt off and scrape all the barnacles and weeds off Chemistry's bottom before she gets put away for the summer.

There's a Scorpions Unplugged show on TV, and I almost feel bad that I hate it so much. I was psyched when it first came on: "Yeah, Scorps!" But it's horrible. It really is. The front row has been standing there, passively, twenty feet from the stage, not crossing what must be a taped line on the floor. Not rock-fan behavior at all. The backup singers, ala the Robert Palmer girls, sway along and coo "Ooh Ooh Ooh" for background texture on "The Zoo." There are sections of the audience swaying with their arms above their heads; it seems like a forced "I'm trying to have fun" compliance. Oh, and the average age of the audience seems to be about 20, and they're all beautiful. Half-way through just about any song so far, I feel like the Scorps must be thinking, "Damn, I didn't know our songs were this long."

"Holiday" wasn't bad, thanks to the rockin' island beat and the obviously paid background dancing chick with the black bra, white shirt completely unbuttoned, hopping and twirling. But when the rest of the audience started hopping, you could see the front row keeping an eye on their feet, ever careful to not cross the taped line that the producers said they couldn't step over. "And tilt your head back, close your eyes, raise your arms and clap and pretend this is the greatest thing you've ever seen, dammit, or you're outta here!"

It's only 6:30 and my bus doesn't leave until 10pm. But after sailing all this time, it would be crazy if I can't manage to productively kill 3.5 more hours.

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The bus ride wasn't too bad; it took a couple hours longer than it was supposed to due to a delay at the border, but I still arrived at the Phoenix airport in plenty of time. The frustrating thing was passing by the airport on the south edge of town, and continuing on for another 20 minutes to get to the bus station, then having to pay for a cab ride back to the airport. I shared a ride with a South African couple who were on the bus and who'd also put their boat into Marina Seca for the summer.

The plane ride seemed a lot shorter than it was because of a fortunate seat assignment that put me in a row with two gorgeous nurses who didn't seem to mind that after so much time trying to get my thoughts and needs across in Spanish, once freed to use English I was a blabbermouth and couldn't stop talking for much of the three hour flight. What's with all the nurses I've met lately? Maybe a sign I should be careful and remember that I'm... gulp... 40. No more front-handsprings on the sidewalk when I'm trashed, I guess.

So I'm here in Seattle now for a couple weeks trying to get some serious work done, see friends and family and clean up the house for sale. Then it's back to Florida for three weeks with the boys.

TT

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